The Eternity of the Transcendental
I do not praise the fleeting clay, but the divine, supreme Soul who ignited the cosmic spark to worship within this universe.
The idol is merely an anchor for the wandering mind, the origin of all our grand rituals.
In this mortal form, I honor the eternal grace-whether found on an altar of gold or a simple block of stone.
Yet, in restless thoughts, I only cloud my inner heart;
the blind fail to see the Sculptor hidden within creation's art.
They breed divisions, fueled by the vanity of pride, even as scriptures crown mankind above the earth.
Here lie our vices-the chaos, bias, and greed.
Let the rigid dogmas of bigotry recede in the presence of pure bliss.
Bind humanity in sacred harmony, let the earth find its release.
Within the sanctuary of my soul, I have enthroned the Lord of Peace.
If only a fraction of mercy rains upon this mortal shore!
For whatever form I worship, it is not the form itself that I adore.
Beneath the veil of shapes, I seek the absolute whole,
offering no rituals, save the devotion of my soul.
Let me find deliverance by serving creation as its priest; grant me fortitude, grant me courage, and keep my spirit at peace.
Let no spiritual numbness shackle my living days.
You are the chalice, the bloom, the idol of clay.
Living within the form, yet remaining formless, you flow through this cosmic maze.
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