Latest / Sri Aurobindo Studies / Savitri: a Legend and a Symbol by Sri Aurobindo, Book I The Book of Beginnings, Canto 5 The Yoga of the King: the Yoga of the Spirit's Freedom and Greatness, pp. 78-80

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Savitri: a Legend and a Symbol by Sri Aurobindo, Book I The Book of Beginnings, Canto 5 The Yoga of the King: the Yoga of the Spirit's Freedom and Greatness, pp. 78-80 · Sri Aurobindo Studies

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  His soul retired from all that he had done.
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  Hushed was the futile din of human toil.
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  Forsaken wheeled the circle of the days.
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  In distance sank the crowded tramp of life.
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  The silence was his sole companion.
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  Left impassive, he lived immune from earthly hopes, a figure in
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  the ineffable Witness Shrine, pacing the vast cathedral of his
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  thoughts under its arches, dim with Infinity and heavenward,
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  brooding of invisible wings. A call was on him from
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  intangible heights, indifferent to the little outpost mind he
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  dwelt in the wideness of the Eternal's reign, his being now
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  exceeded thinkable space. His boundless thought was
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  neighbor to cosmic sight. A universal light was in his
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  eyes. A golden influx flowed through
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  heart and brain. A force came down into his
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  mortal limbs, a current from the eternal seas of bliss.
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  He felt the invasion and the nameless joy, aware of his
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  occult Omnipotent source, allured by the omniscient
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  Ecstasy, the living centre of the illimitable widened to
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  equate with the world's circumference, he turned to his
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  immense spiritual fate. Abandoned on a canvas of torn
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  air, a picture lost in far and fading streaks, the earth
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  nature's summit sank below his feet.
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  He climbed to meet the infinite Moor above the Immobile's ocean.
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  Silence saw him pass. An arrow leaping through
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  Eternity suddenly shot from the tense bow of time, a ray
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  returning to its parent sun, opponent of that glory of
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  escape. The black incontinence swung,
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  its dragon tail lashing A sumbliss infinite by its force
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  into the deep obscurities of form.
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  Death lay beneath him like a gate of sleep.
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  One pointed to the Immaculate delight, questing for God.
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  As for a splendid prey he mounted burning like a cone of
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  fire. To a few is given that God like
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  rare release, one among many thousands never touched,
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  engrossed in the external world's design is chosen by a
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  secret witness eye, and driven by a pointing hand of light
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  across his soul's unmapped immensitudes, a Pilgrim of the
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  everlasting truth. Our measures cannot hold his
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  measureless mind. He has turned from the voices of
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  the narrow realm, and left the little lane of human time in the
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  hushed precincts of a vaster plan.
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  He treads the vestibules of the unseen, or listens, following a
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  bodyless guide to a lonely cry and boundless vacancy, all the
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  deep cosmic murmur falling still.
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  He lives in the hush before the world was born, his soul left
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  naked to the timeless One, far from compulsion of created
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  things, thought and its shadowy idols disappear.
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  The moulds of form and person are undone.
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  The ineffable wideness knows him for its own, a lone forerunner
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  of the godward earth among the symbols of yet unshaped things.
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  Watched by closed eyes, mute faces of the unborn, he journeys
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  to meet the incommunicable. Hearing the echo of his single
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  steps in the eternal courts of solitude, a nameless marvel
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  fills the motionless hours. His spirit mingles with
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  eternity's heart and bears the silence of the Infinite.