Shri Ramakrishna sang on 6-30-1884: Is Mother merely a simple woman, born as others are born? Only by chanting her holy name does Shiva survive the deadly poison. She it is who creates, preserves and destroys, with a mere wink of her wondrous eyes; she holds the universe as womb. Seeking a shelter at her feet, the devas feel safe and Mahadeva lies prostrate at her feet. Is Kali, my Mother, really black? The Naked One, of blackest hue, lights the lotus of the heart. Why should I go to Ganga or Gaya, to Kashi, Kanchi or Prabhas, so long as I can breathe my last with Kali's name upon my lips? What need of rituals has a man, what need of devotions any more, if he repeats the Mother's name at the three holy hours? Rituals may pursue him close, but never can they overtake him. Charity, vows, giving of gifts do not appeal to Madan's mind: the Blissful Mother's lotus feet are his whole prayer and sacrifice. Who could ever have conceived the power her name possesses? Shiva Himself sings her praise with his five mouths! In Shri Ramakrishna's room on 3-2-1884 Trailokya Sannyal sang: O Mother, I hide myself in thy loving bosom; I gaze at thy face and cry out Mother! Mother! I sink in the sea of bliss and am lost to sense in yoga-sleep; I gaze with unwinking eyes upon thy face, powerless to turn away. O Mother, I am terrified by this world; my spirit trembles and cries out in fear. Keep me, sweet Mother, in thy loving bosom; cover me with the spreading skirt of thy love. O Lord, Destroyer of my shame! Who but Thyself can save the honor of thy devotee? Thou the ruler of my soul, my very life-support and I thy slave for evermore.... Seeking a shelter at thy feet, I have for ever set aside my pride of caste and race, O Lord, and turned my back on fear and shame. A lonely pilgrim on life's way, where shall I go for succor now? For thy sake, Lord, I bear men's blame; they rail at me with bitter words and hate me for my love of Thee. Both friends and strangers use me ill. Thou the guardian of my name; Thou mayest save or slay me, Lord! Upon the honor of thy servant rests, o Lord, thy name as well; Thou the ruler of my soul, the glow of love within my heart; do with me as it pleases Thee! Lord, Thou hast taken me from home and made captive with thy love; shield me forever at thy feet, O Thou Beloved! Upon the nectar of thy love, feed me both day and night, and save Premdas, thy slave. Thou it is that dancest, Lord, and Thou singest the song; Thou it is that claps hands in time to music; but man, who is an onlooker merely, foolishly thinks it is he. Though but a puppet, man becomes God if moving with Thee; Thou the Mover, the Driver. But man is weighted down with woe, dreaming that he is free. Thou the root of all, Thou the soul of souls; Thou the master of hearts; thru thine unbounded grace Thou turns even the meanest sinner into the great saint. Upon the sea of blissful awareness waves of ecstatic love arise: rapture divine! play of God's Bliss! How enthralling! Wondrous waves of the sweetness of God, ever new and ever enchanting, rise on the surface, ever assuming fresh form. Then once more in the great communion all merge, as the barrier walls of time and space dissolve and vanish: dance then, o mind! Dance in delight, with hands upraised, chanting Lord Hari's name. O Mother make me mad with thy love! What need have I of knowledge or reason? Make me drunk with thy love's wine; O Thou who steals thy bhaktas' hearts. Drown me deep in the sea of thy love! Here in this world, this madhouse of Thine, some laugh, some weep, some dance for you: Jesus, Buddha, Moses, Gauranga (Indian saint, previous embodiment of Shri Ramakrishna), all are drunk with the wine of thy love. Mother, when shall I be blessed by joining their blissful company? Monday, Feb 21, 1887, Shivaratri, festival of Lord Shiva--Tarak and Rakhal, disciples, at a Calcutta monastery sang: There Shiva dances, striking both his cheeks, and they resound, ba-ba-bom! Dimi-dimi-dimi! sounds his drum, a skull garland from his neck hangs! In his matted locks the Ganga hisses, fire shoots from his mighty trident! Round his waist a serpent glitters, on his brow the shining moon! (Narendra the composer) In May 1887 at the Calcutta monastery Narendra sang: I salute the Eternal Teacher, embodiment of Brahman's Bliss, essence of knowledge and liberation, giver of supreme joy, who is all-pervading, like akasha, and is the goal of the Vedanta; who is One, eternal, stainless, pure, witness, who dwells beyond all modes, transcending them. There is none higher than Guru, better than Guru, this Shiva declared. I sing of blessed Guru, Brahman, I worship, meditate and bow down to blessed Guru, Brahman. We are born, o Lord, in the earthdust, our eyes blinded by dust; with dust we toy like children at play; o give us assurance, Thou Help! Wilt Thou cast us out of thy lap, o Lord, for a single mistake? Wilt Thou turn away leaving us helpless? Oh, then we cannot rise but lie forever dazed and undone. Mere babes are we, Father, with baby mind; at every step stumbling and falling. Why then show us thy terrible face, why do we behold thy frown? Small are we--do not be angry with us, but tenderly speak to us when we do wrong; for though Thou dost raise us a hundred times, a hundred times we fall again! What else can one with a helpless mind? Lord, I am thy servant, thy servant! O Lord, my master, my master Thou! From Thee I have received two pieces of bread and loincloth; when I sing thy name, devotion wells up in my heart and shields me from harm. Thou the Master All-Compassionate; this I repeat! Thy servant Kabir takes refuge at thy feet. O Shyama (Dark One: Kali), my only hope is thy hallowed name! What need I ritual, smile, conventionality? Thy name dissolves death's bonds, as Shiva has proclaimed, and I am Shiva's servant, whom else obey? O Mother, come what may, I repeat thy name; why should I fret myself to death? To Shiva's words I cling.