The rustle of leaves/Anahata Nada.



When the mind has died to itself , died to its own clamour and noise, fallen silent. That state is devotion. There is no separation between Man and God then. Its a state of an alive intelligence. A simple awakening. A silent flowering. A blessing. A warmth. A smile. And its beyond all this too. That can't be fathomed. That can be known, but not deciphered. enjoyed but not analysed. In this extraordinary simplicity and primal innocence lies the redemption of woman. In the rustle of leaves in the night wind. In the rain in the air and even the distant noise of a TV somewhere. Beauty holds them all. And Beauty alone is supreme.

The wind is strong. The storm though abated, hasn't completely left. There is more rain in the air. The night wears on.