How to call It?

How to call It?

The terrestrial situation today seems to require or demand the action of a puissance far superior to all of our little mortal powers, to all of our degrading obsessions, to all of our hypnotisms – to our inertia and our selfish, dumb idiocy. Australia burns, glaciers melt, all natural balance and poise is compromised.

One knows nothing.

And yet whenever, through some incomprehensible miraculous occurrence, one is suddenly in contact with a drop of true love, a pearl of complete beauty, a ray of reconciling harmony, then, in this very instant, one knows.

One knows what?

There are no words pure enough.

And whenever, tranquil at last, divested of the mechanical whirlpool that swallows our hours, one may simply recover the awareness of the Force above, of its vertical sword of imperious sweetness, then too one knows: one knows that one just has to surrender to Her and rely on Her, while calling Her and opening to Her unreservedly, so that She may make of us relays and instruments.

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