Page 162

Who has given me this restless vital,
Dark unrest and endless suffering?
In the prison cell of attachment
And in the ocean of fear,
I hear the wild laughter of inconscience.
Will I ever discover You, 0 Lord?
To me You are nothing but a stone-hearted God
Who never descends
And who always remains in the ecstasy-life
Of Heaven.[12]

Again, the poet counterbalances such usage by reversing his previous criticism and representing his Lord as intimate and adorable:

IT HURTS ME

It hurts me a little,
Lord, when the world speaks ill of You.
But it hurts me a lot, Lord, when I speak ill of You;
For You are so beautiful to look at,
You are so delicious to eat,
You are so precious to possess
That I really do not know what to do.
I am not only useless but helpless.[13]

In this poem we encounter one of the central paradoxes of mystical writing: although the knowledge of God takes place at a level far beyond the senses, indeed, when the senses are withdrawn, mystic writers often fall back upon the language of the senses in order to shed light on the completeness of God-union. Sri Chinmoy's line "You are so delicious to eat" is paralleled in the poetry of George Herbert:

You must sit down, sayes Love, and taste my meat:
    So I did sit and eat. [14]

and of St. John of the Cross:

Deep-cellared is the cavern
Of my love's heart, I drank of him alive.[15]