By George A. Boyd ©2001
There is a river, whose source is in the higher planes
Whose spring is immortal, founded in the Word.
Its supply is inexhaustible, its power immeasurable.
Before this Mighty Power, all men bow.
There is a river, upon which the spirit travels,
Through unstruck tones of the Eternal Shabda,
Through the darkness of unknowing,
To the origin from which the spirit was born.
There is a ferryman who travels this river.
He dwells in the silence
Behind the turmoil of thinking
Waiting for the aspirant to ascend to his feet.
This is a river that pride cannot enter.
Surrender and humility lead to its waters.
Meditation and prayer are boats upon its current.
The ferryman, guide, to its furthermost shore.
He who enters this river unravels deaths mystery.
Dying while living, he takes to the Sky
Traveling through realms words cannot capture;
Immersed in rapture and ineffable Grace.