The Perfect One
It was the advent of the dawn as the prelude of the Nightingale crept into the silence of the morn’ to submit to the hymns of the sun.  I arose from my deep slumber, looked into the mirror, and saw the image of God gazing back at me.  I raised my hand and he raised his.  I turned my head and he turned his.
Each gesture was synchronized with the other, but my thoughts still remained out of sync and infinitely short of his.  I was still a scholar searching for my faith, and his was the source of all wisdom and passion.
To become like him, I have to feel what he feels; a parched field crying for the rain, or a fertile one smiling with the sun; a silent brook longing for a sea to run to; the wailing sounds of an eagle’s prey, or the purr of a lion after the hunt was over.
When these feelings become part of me, I have to lose myself and become a pauper suffering between the pangs of his humiliation and the annihilation of his pride; a priest struggling between his faith and his perdition; a newborn in search of his mother; a scientist caught between his discovery and his curiosity, or an ignorant soul trapped between the darkness of his mind and the light of his will.
When I know what these thoughts and feelings are, I can see my potential in the mirror.  I am on the way to finding out how my image thinks.  This knowledge hides in my sub-consciousness and remains above my awareness, but my spirit will always push me toward my God-self that dwells at the summit of my aspirations.
I am far from being perfect, but am on the way to knowing what it is.


From my book entitled, "In Reverence to Life."

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