The Winds of Wonder

There’s a willed yearning …

There’s a willed yearning …

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By

RY Deshpande

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There’s a willed yearning …

Wonders of the timeless have stepped into time,

Bell-beats of silence in the echoing valley;

Certainly chance and cause conspired together

For hopes to gather wings to fly to destiny.

Now she is moving into measured paces,

The unwritten scripting rich tomes of morrow;

Someone has suddenly brought that orange fire,

And crimson seed too to sow in the furrow.

Thrilled Monsoon is storming with millennial joys,

With thunder and haste carrying rapture’s moods.

As the lustrous soul gets drenched in downpours

Veins too experience rush of plenitudes.

There’s a willed yearning for the third victory,

Splendorous life growing in a divine body.

5 June 2026

The Mother about Three Victories

… the first victory is to create an individuality. And then later, the second victory is to give this individuality to the Divine. And the third victory is that the Divine changes your individuality into a divine being.

There are three stages: the first is to become an individual; the second is to consecrate the individual, that he may surrender entirely to the Divine and be identified with Him; and the third is that the Divine takes possession of this individual and changes him into a being in His own image, that is, he too becomes divine.

We want this Divine with whom we are identified to enter our individuality and make it into a divine personality acting in a divine world. And this is what we call transformation. But the other precedes it, must precede it. If that is not done, there is no possibility of doing the third.

https://incarnateword.in/cwm/07/14-december-1955/ [p. 402]

Featured Image: Sahyadri Monsoon

One response to “There’s a willed yearning …”

  1. RY Deshpande Avatar
    RY Deshpande

    Rain-tide in Savitri
    Book Four Canto One

    Next through its fiery swoon or clotted knot
    Rain-tide burst in upon torn wings of heat,
    Startled with lightnings air’s unquiet drowse,
    Lashed with life-giving streams the torpid soil,
    Overcast with flare and sound and storm-winged dark
    The star-defended doors of heaven’s dim sleep,
    Or from the gold eye of her paramour
    Covered with packed cloud-veils the earth’s brown face. ||93.7||

    Armies of revolution crossed the time-field,
    The clouds’ unending march besieged the world,
    Tempests’ pronunciamentos claimed the sky
    And thunder drums announced the embattled gods. ||93.8||

    A traveller from unquiet neighbouring seas
    The dense maned monsoon rode neighing through earth’s hours:
    Thick now the emissary javelins:
    Enormous lightnings split the horizon’s rim
    And, hurled from the quarters as from contending camps,
    Married heaven’s edges steep and bare and blind:
    A surge and hiss and onset of huge rain,
    The long straight sleet-drift, clamours of winged storm-charge,
    Throngs of wind-faces, rushing of wind-feet
    Hurrying swept through the prone afflicted plains:
    Heaven’s waters trailed and dribbled through the drowned land. ||93.9||

    Then all was a swift stride, a sibilant race,
    Or all was tempest’s shout and water’s fall. ||93.10||

    A dimness sagged on the grey floor of day,
    Its dingy sprawling length joined morn to eve,
    Wallowing in sludge and shower it reached black dark. ||93.11||

    Day a half darkness wore as its dull dress. ||93.12||

    Light looked into dawn’s tarnished glass and met
    Its own face there, twin to a half-lit night’s:
    Downpour and drip and seeping mist swayed all
    And turned dry soil to bog and reeking mud:
    Earth was a quagmire, heaven a dismal block. ||93.13||

    None saw through dank drenched weeks the dungeon sun. ||93.14||

    Even when no turmoil vexed air’s sombre rest,
    Or a faint ray glimmered through weeping clouds
    As a sad smile gleams veiled by returning tears,
    All promised brightness failed at once denied
    Or, soon condemned, died like a brief-lived hope. ||93.15||

    Then a last massive deluge thrashed dead mire
    And a subsiding mutter left all still,
    Or only the muddy creep of sinking floods
    Or only a whisper and green toss of trees. ||93.16||

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