It is Maya!
Dost thou not know her?
Illusion -- dreams -- phantoms.
But, to the wise, Maya is more.
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But, to the wise, Maya is more.
Look around:
All that thou see'st,
Trees and shrubs, The grass at thy feet,
All that walks or creeps,
All that flies from tree to tree,
All is unreal: All is Maya.
Our bodies, our limbs, our very thoughts.
We ourselves are slaves to Maya.
What remaineth? Who can say?
Love to the lover,
The child to the mother,
The song to the singer,
God to the worshipper;
These, wandering thro' the world of Maya,
Are perchance shadows of that which is.
-- Holst, Savitri (based upon the sanskrit Mahabharata)
