You tell me again and again that just as your self-knowledge shines forth in my self-knowledge, so too your love is manifest in my love for myself. I must see this manifestation clearly. You say that the very fact of my being occupied with myself always—in this itself lies the direct expression of your preoccupation.
My preoccupation with myself never abandons me. The effort to preserve this body, my thoughts and worries, my studies, my meditation upon you, my complaints and prayers at your feet—in all these pursuits I remain forever absorbed in my own happiness, my own peace, my own highest good. Can this preoccupation truly be your preoccupation?
From my waking to my sleep, throughout all my days and nights, this preoccupation continues. Is this preoccupation itself your love? You are showing me this truth so clearly that I cannot deny it in any way. Then why do I still wander about in such restlessness, searching for your love?
This vision—I lose it. Ignorance and pride come and veil this sight. But now there is no such veil. For a moment you have lifted that curtain. I see: you yourself awaken me, me sleeping against your breast; you open my eyes to show me your cosmic form. You yourself wash my face. You clothe me and seat me in worship. You give me the vision, touch me with truth, and feed me my morning meal. You take me with you on your dawn wanderings.
Showing me your many forms, speaking to me in countless ways, guiding me at every step, bring me safely home. In my learning, become my direct teacher and impart knowledge to me. What other teacher can enter so deep within, shine so brilliantly, and reveal truth? Who else can impress truth so firmly upon the depths of the mind?
When I write, bring forth into the stream of memory in my mind such precious truths! Guide the pen in your hand and inscribe those truths. When I speak your words in gatherings and assemblies, stir the stream of memory in my mind, move my speech like an instrument, let truth flow from my lips. In those hearts and minds beyond me, in those hearts and minds I cannot reach, awaken understanding; impress truth upon those minds.
Bathe me yourself, feed me yourself. As in my childhood and boyhood, a tender mother, a kinswoman, or a nurse would bathe me—with even greater patience than theirs, with still more care, bathe me and feed me. They merely poured water on my body, merely placed food in my mouth. They could not nourish my skin. They could not give me the taste of food, could not digest it for me.
In my meetings with the beloved, in the gathering of friends, when love awakens in my heart, when the sweetness of love fulfills me and dispels the sorrow of my heart—I have thought of this love as merely my own. But now you say it is yours; you awaken it in my heart, you kindle it, you keep it alive.
It is with this love that I come to you. And then, in your strange way, you magnify it, and my heart becomes one with the infinite heart. Then no one remains an enemy, no one remains a stranger—all become my own. In the joy of all, I find my joy; in the sorrow of all, I find my sorrow. Then I see with brilliant clarity the truth of your teaching: that what I, in my delusion, call merely my own love—that love which is utterly certain, boundless, infinite, universal—that love is yours. You are the innermost, the inmost of all. You are the most loving, the most beloved.