To be a dust particle
I want to be like a dust particle
which moves with the wind.
It goes everywhere.
Can go, sit on the head of a king,
or can go and fall at the feet of someone.
And it can go and sit on a little flower,
and it can go and sit everywhere.
But I want to be a particle of dust.
That is fragrant,
that is nourishing,
that is enlightening.
Shri Mataji Nirmala Devi,
aged seven and as narrated by her in Dhulia, India, 14th January 1983.
To My flower children
You are angry with life
Like small children
Whose Mother is lost in darkness
You sulk expressing despair
At the fruitless end of your journey
You wear ugliness to discover beauty
You name everything false in the name of truth
You drain out emotions to fill the cup of love.
My sweet children, my darling
How can you get peace by waging war
With yourself, with your being, with joy itself?
Enough are your efforts of renunciation
The artificial mask of consolation
Now rest in the petals of the lotus flower
In the lap of your gracious Mother
I will adorn your life with beautiful blossoms
And fill your moments with joyful fragrance
I will anoint your head with divine Love
For I cannot bear your torture anymore.
Let me engulf you in the ocean of joy
So you lose your being in the greater One
Who is smiling in your calyx of Self
Secretly hidden to tease you all the while
Be aware and you will find Him
Vibrating your every fibre with blissful joy
Covering the whole universe with light.
Shri Mataji Nirmala Devi, to the seekers of the USA on her first trip there in 1972.
I See A Mountain
I see a mountain from my window
Standing like an ancient sage
Desireless, full of Love.
So many trees and so many flowers
They plunder the mountain all the time.
Its attention is not disturbed
And when the rain pours
Like many pitchers of clouds bursting
And it fills the mountain with greenery,
The storm may come soaring,
Filling the lake with compassion
And the rivers flow running down
Towards the calling sea.
The sun will create clouds and
Wind carries on its feathery wings
The rain onto the mountain.
This is the eternal play
The mountain sees
Without desires.