What is that axis ‘round which the world spins,

so subtle, silent, past the reach of sense,

unmanifest, beyond our mortal grasp?

 

Which map reveals the road that leads us there—

its hidden geography of the soul?

Without us, or within our heart’s own depth?

 

Does distance fill the breast with longing’s pull,

or closeness loose a joy no cause can claim,

unearned, unfounded, flooding every gate?

 

Why strive at all to crack this wordless koan?

Is it enough to stand in adoration,

or lie prostrate in full submission’s peace?

 

The passer-by, when unknowingly filled

with quiet calm he cannot name or trace,

and never need to wonder whence it came?

 

We wave the flame, join our palms, praying to

Sri Ramana Linga! Sri Arunachala! —