The Singular: Silent Dialogue

I gave the same excuse.
I kept on believing what I wanted to believe
The unspoken promises that you could never keep.

But it's a sin, oh, it's a sin to tell yourself a lie!

I never lost you.
You were never mine.

In this supremely excellent chamber my reflection is drawn.
Here a special spiritual dialogue flows between you and your own soul.
The account of love composed in that expressionless reverence
reflects in hidden breathless silence, in the moonlight of memory-absorbed letters.
Yet how astonishing this is—
that part of the confession of entreating feeling you have given to your soul
is merely a transformation of my innermost soul's deep emotion.

You have become a participant in absolute spiritual surrender;
yet in incomplete promises you have absorbed such a legend
that reveals your deep attachment,
though that feeling is dedicated only to your thought-companion,
that is, to my inner soul.
This is why I am unprepared for your spiritual touch.

Startled by the awakening of my specialized emotion,
the deeper your entreaty grows,
the more my heart becomes overwhelmed by a shelterless pain.
This cage of feeling cries out:
Are you then eager
to stop the cruel blow to my heart's unbearable wound through the torment of your own cage?

This resonance, prepared in subtle faith, is ready
for the acceptance of a merciless enchanted path.
Any plan severed from the spiritual results only in failure.
The conviction upon which you continue to hold your entreaty
is so deep that in wounded pride this bodily existence seems spontaneously moved to self-sacrifice.

Without your fragrance my external being seems prepared for death-agony.
The profound meaning of this impossible, imaginary feeling
grows firm only in your inner soul.
In this bond, our identical dwelling
in the supreme soul for eternity is inevitable.

Establish insight in the most secret province of my heart.
You will feel that in my inner soul you have become another name for separation,
in every particle of which exists only your portrait—
you.

O incomparable one, ascetic, solitary, my inner thought-companion,
my entire being is dedicated
to awaiting the return of your profound sense of touch.
You are the inner dweller, unearthly, glorious in inconceivable excellence.
The eagerness to witness your love fills my heart.
The finest pulse of our memory-song
is only the radiance of my madness in your unshakable mind.
This heart is drenched in the yearning of your intense love.

The metaphor of this unbearable yet infinitely joyful feeling is love's tenderness,
without which my soul's protected chamber seems empty, meaningless.
Take your seat, my engraved thought-companion, in this impossibly beautiful chamber.

In your inner soul there seems to be a deep atmosphere
of eternal wonder in spiritual analysis in this special chamber.
Your insight is merely subject to my whims.
On this infinite path, does the madness of intense touch not make you restless?
Surely it does.
Your entry into this chamber has made it clearer.

In your slow movement, the extraordinary trace of this feeling has blazed up in love's radiance.
Your soul has become agitated
because you have forbidden any uninvited touch.
This incredible resolve is possible only through you.

My slow pulse is enchanted by your fragrance.
Without this scent it is impossible to awaken pulse in my life,
because no second being possessing your scent exists in this world.
This fragrance of yours needs to merge eternally in my inner soul.
Throughout this chamber there seems to spread an unsettled hint—
is its immediate destination perhaps terribly inaccessible?

In this astonished chamber only my touch's reverberation exists,
which is complete weeping-embrace.
Under what special cycle's influence did this become possible?

The uninvited conspiracy of the tear-soaked state in which your external being has tormented itself
has defeated this special chamber of my supreme soul.
In this silent cage only your madness exists,
absorbed in the desire for my scent-taking.

I say again:
only by touching the chamber's tears can your total feeling's salvation be possible.
For gaining that proximate spiritual power, only your self-surrender is needed.
But for that you will have to wait long in this chamber,
though that waiting is outside the rules of this worship,
yet there is no opportunity for delay.

When the time of your presence throughout my inner soul's chamber passes,
you will be ready to return again to this special chamber.
Your feeling will then flow unceasingly.
So that not the slightest pain touches that sensitive emotion of separation,
toward that goal your inner soul is accepting love's ultimate submission.
My inner soul, dedicated to that magnificent love,
I am covered in scattered enchantment by the purity of your beauty,
which has attracted even this universe's creativity.

The intensity of your feeling has made you more praiseworthy.
Your total effort has captured my attention again and again.
Whatever is immortal, every atom of it is part of your feeling.
In your stillness the earth becomes still.

Speech, mind, eyes...
All these make the love-filled soul sing praise.
O blissful beloved,
my supreme soul moves like rain-clouds in your inner sky.
Only for the purpose of approaching your gentle form,
what is established in ears and eyes flows only in the mind;
calm that.

That resonant emotion called maya, situated in love's precipitation in the scattered mind.
On that inaccessible path you must be prepared to abandon external existence.
On that journey lie difficult restraint and inevitable destiny.
It manifests only in a part of my feeling,
in whose magic my inner soul is bound.

On that decayed path, what is self-existent is considered the best.
In scattered mind, accept
this account of divine, supreme feeling.