Love Perfected, Life Divine by Swami Kriyananda

Author:Swami Kriyananda
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781565895256
Publisher: Crystal Clarity Publishers

I was hardly allowed a moment’s respite before another scene presented itself before me, like a painting upon the curtain of vapor which hung so persistently before me. This scene struck a closer chord upon my memory than any I had yet beheld.

The cool, spacious interior of a marble-pillared studio slowly disclosed itself to my view. It was open to an enchanting vista of terraced gardens and dark, undulating woods. Gay parterres of brilliant blossoms spread out before me like a wonderfully patterned carpet of intricate and exquisite design. Within the studio was the combination of grace and confusion normally seen in an artist’s studio. At an easel, working assiduously, was the artist himself, his face turned toward the canvas, away from me.

Posed before him, in an attitude of indolent grace, sat a beautiful woman, arrayed in clinging diaphanous drapery. A few jewels gleamed here and there on her garment, glistening like stars upon her arms and bosom. Her hair, falling in loose waves from a band of pale blue velvet that encircled her brow, was a warm brown in color, like a leaf in autumn with the sun shining upon it. I could see that whatever she might be according to the strictest canons of beauty, the man who was painting her portrait considered her more than beautiful. I heard his voice, low and murmurous, yet as distinct in its diction as all sounds had been conveyed to me in this dream pageant. It was exactly as if two persons on a stage were speaking to the audience.

“If we could understand each other,” he said, “I think all would be well with us in time and eternity!”

There was a pause. The picturesque scene before me seemed to glow and gather in intensity as I gazed.

“I know what is in your heart,” she said. “It beats with mine. Yet, alas, I am the ward of a wealthy nobleman. His desire is to wed me. Were you and I to wed each other, he would kill us! He is not a good man. He is self-concerned, heartless, and”—she hesitated a moment, then continued, “evil!”

“I am aware of that,” replied the artist. “When he commissioned me to paint your portrait, he knew I loved you. I think he hired me because he thought he could gloat over us both. Even now, he comes into this studio to chuckle inwardly at our suffering.”

“Is it necessary that we be together?” she asked him, tears in her eyes. “Could we not both enter monasteries? Our love, in any case, is above all given to God.”

He smiled suddenly. “That is the only solution!” he cried.

“But can I escape this spider’s web?” she asked.

“Let us wait until tonight,” he whispered. “I shall wait for you below the walls of this castle. He cannot prevent us from giving our lives to God!”

“Oh! therein lies the answer!” she whispered in return, looking furtively toward the door. “We’ll enter two monasteries. There, in lives of holy dedication, our prayers to

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