That which is beyond all and is without attribute,
That which the Hindus call Hari,
The ultimate Monad, The One
Which does not admit of a second,
Of which nothing can be said or even thought
But That which we can only indicate
And consider in the inmost seat of our being
Has always been,
Though we err to so attribute being to Hari.
Before this universe was, that moment
Before all time existed, a moment
That is now as much as it was then,
That One, Hari, held in His infinite self
An awareness of That One,
An event that never was nor can ever be,
Adopting being and self to Himself,
Thus creating Himself, and by that what is not Himself,
Which is what we are.
None of this is, more, nor is He,
But inasmuch as He Is we are not,
And in that being which Hari holds not
We have our being which we have not,
Nor ever had, nor ever will.
In that moment, which was not,
Was created all that ever will be or not be,
Each minute singularity the product
Of all that has gone before
Back to that single event that never was,
And it will continue so,
Ever moving outward from that event,
Never and ever to return.
Each thought and desire or whim or idea creates anew
A new universe wherein He, we, may delight in our being,
Which is not.
Inasmuch as He Is we are not,
And would we to be, He is not.
Would that we could plunge,
Self-first into that abyss of non-existence
Wherein is Hari where we may be as He is,
Is not.
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