Latest / Sri Aurobindo Studies / ⁠Savitri: a Legend and a Symbol ⁠by Sri Aurobindo, Book I The Book of Beginnings, Canto 4, The Secret Knowledge, pp. 60-63

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⁠Savitri: a Legend and a Symbol ⁠by Sri Aurobindo, Book I The Book of Beginnings, Canto 4, The Secret Knowledge, pp. 60-63 · Sri Aurobindo Studies

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  All here, where each thing seems its lonely self, are figures of
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  the soul, transcendent one. Only by him they are.
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  His breath is their life. An unseen presence moulds the
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  oblivious clay. A playmate in the mighty
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  Mother's game, One came upon the dubious whirling globe to hide
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  from her pursuit in force and form a secret spirit in the
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  inconscient sleep. A shapeless energy, a voiceless
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  word. He was here before the elements
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  could emerge, before there was light of mind or life could
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  breathe. Accomplice of her cosmic huge
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  pretence. His semblances, He turns to real
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  shapes and makes a symbol equal with the truth.
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  He gives to his timeless thoughts a form and time.
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  He is the substance, he the self of things.
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  She is forged from him, her works of skill and might.
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  She wraps him in the magic of her moods and makes of his
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  myriad truths her countless dreams.
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  The Master of Being has come down to her, an immortal child,
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  born in the fugitive years in objects wrought in the persons
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  she conceives. Dreaming, she chases her idea of
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  him, and catches here a look and there a jest.
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  Ever he repeats in them his ceaseless births.
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  He is the Maker in the world He made.
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  He is the vision, and He is the Seer.
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  He is himself the actor and the ACT.
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  He is himself the knower and the known.
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  He is himself, the dreamer and the dream.
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  There are two who are one and play in many worlds in knowledge
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  and ignorance. They have spoken and met, and
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  light and darkness are their eyes.
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  Interchange. Our pleasure and pain are there.
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  Wrestle and embrace our deeds. Our hopes are intimate to their
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  tale. They are married secretly in our
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  thought and life. The universe is an endless
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  masquerade, for nothing here is utterly what it seems.
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  It is a dream fact, vision of a truth which but for the dream
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  would not be wholly true. A phenomenon stands out
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  significant against dim backgrounds of eternity.
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  We accept its face and pass by all it means.
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  A part is seen. We take it for the whole.
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  Thus have they made their play with us for roles, author and
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  actor with himself as seen he moves there as the soul, as
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  nature. She here on the earth where we
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  must fill our parts, We know not how shall run the drama's
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  course. Our uttered sentences veil in
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  their thought. Her mighty plan she holds back
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  from our sight. She has concealed her glory and
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  her bliss, and disguised the love and wisdom in her heart.
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  Of all the marvel and beauty that are hers only a darkened
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  little we can feel. He too wears a diminished
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  Godhead. Here He has forsaken His
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  omnipotence, His calm He has foregone and Infinity.
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  He knows her only. He has forgotten Himself to her.
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  He abandons all to make her great.
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  He hopes in her to find himself anew Incarnate, wedding his
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  infinity's peace to her creative passions, ecstasy although
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  possessor of the earth and heavens, He leaves to her the
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  cosmic management and watches all the witness of her scene, a
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  supernumerary on her stage. He speaks no words or hides
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  behind the wings. He takes birth in her world,
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  waits on her will, divines her enigmatic gestures, sense the
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  fluctuating chance turns of her mood, works out her meanings.
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  She seems not to know and serves her secret purpose in long time.
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  As one too great for him, he worships her.
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  He adores her. As his Regent of desire, he
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  yields to her. As the mover of his will, he
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  burns the incense of his nights and days, offering his life a
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  splendor of sacrifice, a rapt solicitor for her love and
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  grace. His bliss in her to him is his
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  whole world. He grows through her in all his
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  being's powers. He reads by her God's hidden aim
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  in things, or a courtier in her countless retinue, content to be
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  with her and feel her near. He makes the most of the little
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  that she gives, and all she does drapes with his own delight.
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  A glance can make his whole day wonderful.
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  A word from her lips with happiness wings the hours he
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  leans on her for all he does and is.
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  He builds on her largeses his proud fortunate days and trails
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  his Peacock plumaged joy of life and sons in the glory of her
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  passing smile in 1000 ways he serves her royal needs.
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  He makes the hours pivot around her will, makes all reflect her
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  whims. All is their play.
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  This whole wide world is only he and she.