At noon, when the sun is at its highest, Man ooze out like maggots and sprawl against each other. Speaking gross proclivities of flesh and metal And filling the air with kindling, nectar. And you have asked many times, trembling in the rain, Now lulled by the sleep of your dreams, When this night is perpetual And your head burns in the sun. The germination of the untimely seed, The budding of the walnut tree, The rain, pouring down ceaselessly, They trouble not thee and me. The buffeting flood overwhelms the tree, The trunk, an aged time-worn giant, Shall shelter and sustain thee, sheltered, Beneath its bosomy height. The mystery of the Lotus and the Bee, The silent patient tamarisk by the sea, The secrets of thy silent passion, And mine unspeakable ecstasy! Moon-browed fragrant Love! Her strange soul and fate, And strange lands wherein She walked Until She met with Thee. O sweet delirium of the heart, O bliss incomparably sublime! And over it all, the single transcendent syllable [skandha] Of Her perfume, as a bell-note returning From faint Gulfs of solitude To one glad darling soul, Or Sri’s [the feminine principle] single music And just as it is with our own lives, The same is true for the world. The sorrows of the past will always remain, But that's no reason to lose hope for the future. The world always spins forward– Events are inevitable and unstoppable, But how you feel about them isn't. This is what follows– It's a story of love and honor. Joy and sorrow– Peace and war– They're merely cogs in the wheel of the world. The world has begun to move again. It's in constant motion, heading for the same place over and over again. Even I can't tell what the final destination will be. However, there's one thing I know for sure. The direction it's heading, the future. And we are also marching towards our future. This is only the very beginning