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Tag: Paramahansa Yogananda

  • Emily Dickinson’s “Delayed till she had ceased to know”

    Image: Emily Dickinson - Amherst College - Daguerrotype of the poet at age 17, circa 1847 - likely the only authentic, extant likeness of the poet
    Image: Emily Dickinson – Amherst College – Daguerrotype of the poet at age 17, circa 1847 – likely the only authentic, extant likeness of the poet

    Emily Dickinson’s “Delayed till she had ceased to know”

    Emily Dickinson’s “Delayed till she had ceased to know” explores the tragic irony of fulfillment arriving only after the recipient has surrendered consciousness, while its spiritual implications echo Paramahansa Yogananda’s emphasis on inner realization, perseverance, and the danger of abandoning the search for divine fulfillment too soon.

    Introduction and Text of “Delayed till she had ceased to know”

    In my earlier essays on Dickinsonian poems, I have discussed the speaker’s tendency to privilege inward experience over outward appearances. In “Delayed till she had ceased to know,” the speaker turns that concern toward the painful consequences of mistimed fulfillment. 

    The poem presents a woman who dies only an hour before the arrival of some long-awaited joy or victory. The terrible irony is not merely that fulfillment comes too late, but that it comes so close to her death that the knowledge of its approach might have enabled her to continue living.

    This idea has a meaningful parallel in the teachings of Paramahansa Yogananda, who repeatedly emphasizes that genuine fulfillment must ultimately be discovered within rather than dependent upon changing external circumstances. 

    From that perspective, the poem’s tragedy can be understood not simply as the loss of an earthly reward, but as the surrender of hope immediately before the possibility of fulfillment becomes apparent. 

    The speaker does not explicitly identify the anticipated “bliss” as divine realization, and the poem wisely leaves its nature uncertain. Nevertheless, Yogananda’s spiritual emphasis on perseverance and inner awareness provides a useful lens through which to consider the speaker’s haunting question: What if the defeated soul had known how near the victory really was?

    Delayed till she had ceased to know

    Delayed till she had ceased to know –
    Delayed till in its vest of snow
    Her loving bosom lay –
    An hour behind the fleeting breath –
    Later by just an hour than Death –
    Oh lagging Yesterday!

    Could she have guessed that it would be –
    Could but a crier of the joy
    Have climbed the distant hill –
    Had not the bliss so slow a pace
    Who knows but this surrendered face
    Were undefeated still?

    Oh if there may departing be
    Any forgot by Victory
    In her imperial round –
    Show them this meek appareled thing
    That could not stop to be a king –
    Doubtful if it be crowned!

    Commentary on “Delayed till she had ceased to know”

    Emily Dickinson’s “Delayed till she had ceased to know” examines the poignant consequences of a victory or blessing that arrives only after the person who longed for it has passed beyond the ability to receive it.

    First Movement: “Delayed till she had ceased to know”

    Delayed till she had ceased to know –
    Delayed till in its vest of snow
    Her loving bosom lay –
    An hour behind the fleeting breath –
    Later by just an hour than Death –
    Oh lagging Yesterday!

    The speaker begins with the stark repetition of the word “Delayed.” The repetition immediately establishes the central grievance: something desirable was coming, but it came too late. 

    The woman has “ceased to know” before the anticipated joy arrives, suggesting that the tragedy involves not simply physical death but the loss of consciousness necessary to experience fulfillment.

    The speaker then places the woman’s “loving bosom” within a “vest of snow.” The image of snow suggests both physical burial and emotional stillness. The warmth associated with the “loving bosom” has been overcome by the cold finality of death. 

    The contrast between love and snow emphasizes the gulf between the woman’s former vitality and her present condition.  The precise measurement of time makes the tragedy especially painful:  “An hour behind the fleeting breath – / Later by just an hour than Death –.”

    The speaker could have described the reward as arriving long after the woman’s death, but instead the poem specifies “an hour.” The narrow interval intensifies the sense of missed possibility. The desired fulfillment was not impossibly distant; it was almost within reach. Death simply arrived first.

    The closing apostrophe—“Oh lagging Yesterday!”—personifies the past as something capable of moving too slowly. Yesterday itself seems responsible for the delay. Time, rather than simply passing, has become an adversary that has failed the woman at the precise moment when she needed it to move differently.

    From Yogananda’s perspective, the passage can also suggest the spiritual danger of allowing external circumstances to determine one’s inner state. Yogananda repeatedly taught that lasting peace and fulfillment are not ultimately dependent upon the changing conditions of the material world. 

    The woman, however, appears to have reached a point at which the external arrival of bliss matters desperately because she has no evidence that it is coming. The tragedy therefore lies partly in the absence of inward assurance. 

    If the soul could remain convinced of an approaching fulfillment even when outward circumstances offered no confirmation, surrender might be postponed.  The first movement thus establishes the poem’s fundamental irony: fulfillment was not necessarily impossible; it was simply not known to be coming before death intervened.

    Second Movement: “Could she have guessed that it would be”

    Could she have guessed that it would be –
    Could but a crier of the joy
    Have climbed the distant hill –
    Had not the bliss so slow a pace
    Who knows but this surrendered face
    Were undefeated still?

    The second movement shifts from certainty about death to speculation about what might have happened differently. The speaker asks whether the woman could have survived if she had somehow known that joy was approaching.

    The image of a “crier of the joy” is especially significant. A crier is a herald, someone who announces important news before the event itself occurs. The speaker imagines such a messenger appearing on a distant hill, carrying evidence that fulfillment is approaching. The joy itself might still be far away, but knowledge of its arrival could have provided the hope necessary to endure.

    The distance of the hill is important as well. The messenger is not yet at the woman’s side. The desired event remains separated from her by space and time. Nevertheless, even an announcement of its approach might have changed her decision to surrender.

    This possibility resonates particularly strongly with Yogananda’s emphasis on perseverance in spiritual life. His teachings repeatedly encourage the seeker not to abandon the inward quest merely because the desired realization has not yet appeared.

    Spiritual progress may remain invisible for a considerable period before its results become apparent. In that sense, the speaker’s “distant hill” can be read metaphorically as the place from which the first evidence of approaching fulfillment might appear.

    Yet the speaker is more uncertain than a straightforward spiritual teaching would be. The poem does not say that the woman would certainly have survived. Instead, the speaker asks:  “Who knows but this surrendered face / Were undefeated still?”

    The phrase “Who knows” preserves the poem’s mystery. The speaker can imagine another outcome but cannot prove it. The woman’s surrender may have been premature, but the poem cannot determine whether knowledge of the approaching bliss would actually have saved her.

    The word “surrendered” nevertheless connects physical death with spiritual defeat. The woman’s face has yielded because hope apparently arrived too late. Yogananda’s teachings provide an illuminating counterpoint here: the spiritual seeker must continue looking inward even when external circumstances seem to announce defeat. Inner awareness can sustain perseverance precisely when visible evidence is absent or contrary.

    The tragedy, then, is not simply that the woman died. It is that the poem leaves readers wondering whether she died one hour before she needed to, because the knowledge of impending joy might have given her the strength to continue.

    Third Movement: “Oh if there may departing be”

    Oh if there may departing be
    Any forgot by Victory
    In her imperial round –
    Show them this meek appareled thing
    That could not stop to be a king –
    Doubtful if it be crowned!

    In the final movement, the speaker broadens the poem from the fate of one woman to the larger question of those whom Victory overlooks. Victory is personified as a powerful imperial figure moving through the world in a triumphant procession:  “Any forgot by Victory / In her imperial round –.”

    The language of “imperial” introduces images of conquest, authority, and worldly power. Victory seems almost like a monarch distributing crowns to those who have succeeded.

    Yet the speaker asks that, if Victory ever forgets anyone along her grand procession, she should be shown this particular woman.  The contrast between imperial grandeur and personal humility becomes especially striking in:  “Show them this meek appareled thing”

    The woman is not dressed in the outward symbols of power. She is “meek,” apparently possessing none of the conventional magnificence associated with victory. Yet the speaker asks that Victory recognize her nonetheless.  The next line deepens the irony “That could not stop to be a king –.”

    The woman did not live long enough to claim the triumph that may have been approaching. The word “king” continues the poem’s imagery of crowns, imperial power, and worldly recognition. 

    Yet the speaker’s phrasing also makes conventional victory seem strangely inadequate. The woman who could not become a “king” may possess a worth that does not depend upon earthly status.

    Here again, Yogananda’s distinction between external achievement and inward realization offers a useful parallel. The world’s definition of victory depends upon visible accomplishment, recognition, and the attainment of desired circumstances. Spiritual realization, by contrast, is inward. A person may appear externally defeated while possessing an inner consciousness that is untouched by worldly failure.

    The woman occupies precisely this ambiguous position. Outwardly, she has lost. She has died before receiving the anticipated joy. She has not become a “king,” and she does not receive an obvious crown. Yet the speaker refuses to reduce her to defeat.  That refusal becomes most powerful in the final line:  “Doubtful if it be crowned!”

    The speaker does not resolve the question by declaring that the woman ultimately receives a spiritual crown. Instead, the speaker leaves her status uncertain. The uncertainty is essential. The woman may have missed worldly victory, but perhaps worldly victory was never the highest measure of her worth.

    Yogananda’s spiritual philosophy can therefore deepen, rather than settle, the poem’s ambiguity. If true fulfillment is inward, then the external delay of victory need not determine the ultimate condition of the soul. 

    Yet the speaker refuses to reveal whether such an inward victory was actually achieved. The final “Doubtful” keeps the poem suspended between tragedy and transcendence.

    Ultimately, “Delayed till she had ceased to know” is a poem about the cruel importance of timing, but it is also a poem about the relationship between outward circumstances and inward endurance. 

    The speaker presents fulfillment as something that may exist only a moment beyond the reach of the person who desires it. The poem’s deepest tragedy is that the woman might have endured had she known how near the promised joy had become.

    Read alongside Paramahansa Yogananda’s teachings, the poem acquires an additional spiritual dimension. Yogananda’s emphasis on inner realization suggests that the seeker should not measure ultimate fulfillment solely by external events or abandon the inward search because visible victory has been delayed. 

    The speaker, however, remains deliberately less certain. The poem does not assure us that the woman possessed such inward certainty, nor does it identify the delayed bliss as explicitly divine. Instead, the speaker leaves her audience with the haunting possibility that the woman surrendered at the very threshold of fulfillment.

    By placing the “meek appareled thing” before the personified figure of Victory, the speaker finally questions whether conventional victory can adequately measure human worth. The woman may never have received her earthly crown, but perhaps the absence of that crown does not constitute the final truth about her.

    In the space between surrender and victory, between death and delayed bliss, the speaker leaves readers to contemplate a question that Yogananda’s spiritual teachings likewise encourage us to consider: How can we know how close we may be to fulfillment when outward circumstances give us no evidence that it is near?

    Image: Emily Dickinson - Commemorative Stamp
    Image: Emily Dickinson – Commemorative Stamp

  • Emily Dickinson’s “If I should die”

    Image: Emily Dickinson - Amherst College - Daguerrotype of the poet at age 17, circa 1847 - likely the only authentic, extant likeness of the poet
    Image: Emily Dickinson – Amherst College – Daguerrotype of the poet at age 17, circa 1847 – likely the only authentic, extant likeness of the poet

    Emily Dickinson’s “If I should die”

    The speaker in Emily Dickinson’s “If I should die” is contemplating the ongoing, indifferent progression of world enterprise following mortal departure. The speaker finds quiet comfort in the uninterrupted continuation of earthly life.

    Introduction and Text of “If I should die”

    Emily Dickinson’s “If I should die” focuses on human mortality. The poem consists of four movements, utilizing Dickinson’s customary short lines and characteristic slant rime. The speaker considers the inevitable continuation of nature and human activity  after individual physical presence ceases entirely.

    This short work presents a calm acceptance of death. The speaker reflects on the fact that daily routines proceed without pause: the morning sun, seasonal bird activity, and economic transactions continue unabated. However, instead of expressing grief or dread, this speaker takes solace in knowing that earthly affairs remain active, orderly, and bright.

    In my earlier essays on Dickinsonian poems, I have discussed the poet’s creation of speakers who view physical departure through calmness and detachment. By observing nature and business, the speaker comes to terms with personal transience while celebrating the enduring colorful vitality of the surrounding physical and social world.

    If I should die

    If I should die,
    And you should live –
    And time should gurgle on –
    And morn should beam  –
    And noon should burn  –
    As it has usual done  –
    If Birds should build as early
    And Bees as bustling go  –
    One might depart at option
    From enterprise below!
    ‘Tis sweet to know that stocks will stand
    When we with Daisies lie  –
    That Commerce will continue  –
    And Trades as briskly fly  –
    It makes the parting tranquil
    And keeps the soul serene  –
    That gentlemen so sprightly
    Conduct the pleasing scene!

    Commentary on “If I should die”

    The speaker in Emily Dickinson’s “If I should die” is exploring with tranquil acceptance the nature of mortality through the steady, ongoing operations of nature and society.

    First Movement: “If I should die”

    If I should die,
    And you should live –
    And time should gurgle on –
    And morn should beam  –
    And noon should burn  –
    As it has usual done  –

    In the opening lines, the speaker introduces a hypothetical situation involving personal death alongside the survival of others: time continues to flow without interruption, described with the word “gurgle.” Morning light shines and noon heat burns just as it always has on the earthly plane.

    The speaker emphasizes that natural cycles remain completely indifferent to individual mortality. Morning and noon retain their established routines. This consistency shows that the physical world does not stop or mourn. The universe keeps its steady pace regardless of human absence, maintaining its ongoing, familiar rhythms.

    Second Movement: “If Birds should build as early”

    If Birds should build as early
    And Bees as bustling go  –
    One might depart at option
    From enterprise below!

    Continuing the conditional thought, the speaker observes that birds will still construct nests early in the day. Bees will continue their energetic gathering tasks. Nature’s industrious activity persists without pause, demonstrating that life’s fundamental forces carry on seamlessly even after an individual’s physical life has ended.

    Because natural activity persists so reliably, departing from earthly work becomes a manageable choice. The word “enterprise” summarizes all human endeavor. The speaker recognizes that any one individual’s involvement is not required to sustain the world’s grand design, making personal departure feel far less disruptive or alarming.

    Third Movement: “’Tis sweet to know that stocks will stand”

    ‘Tis sweet to know that stocks will stand
    When we with Daisies lie  –
    That Commerce will continue  –
    And Trades as briskly fly  –

    Moving into the third movement, the speaker shifts focus from natural phenomena to human society. It is comforting to realize that financial institutions remain stable. While humans lie beneath the flowers, economic markets and business transactions proceed with their customary energy and speed across the world.

    The contrast between lying with flowers and active trade highlights human transience. Society’s institutions outlasts individual lives. The speaker gains comfort from this stability, recognizing that human civilization maintains its energetic flow and enterprise long after any single participant has departed from the physical world.

    Fourth Movement: “It makes the parting tranquil”

    It makes the parting tranquil
    And keeps the soul serene  –
    That gentlemen so sprightly
    Conduct the pleasing scene!

    In the final lines, the speaker highlights the soothing effect of this ongoing activity. Knowing that lively individuals continue to manage social and commercial affairs brings peace. The departure becomes quiet and smooth because the overall societal picture remains well-ordered, active, and thoroughly pleasing.

    This assurance helps maintain inner stillness during life’s final transition. As Paramahansa Yogananda explains, an individual grounded in inner peace remains radiantly serene regardless of life’s shifting circumstances. He has colorfully described that attitude as standing “unshaken midst the crash of breaking worlds.” This speaker maintains this calm state while recognizing that earthly existence will flourish continuously.  

  • Emily Dickinson’s “Taken from – men this morning”

    Image: Emily Dickinson - Amherst College - Daguerrotype of the poet at age 17, circa 1847 - likely the only authentic, extant likeness of the poet
    Image: Emily Dickinson – Amherst College – Daguerrotype of the poet at age 17, circa 1847 – likely the only authentic, extant likeness of the poet

    Emily Dickinson’s “Taken from – men this morning”

    Emily Dickinson’s “Taken from – men this morning” dramatizes the soul’s transition from earthly life to a metaphysical kingdom, where the departed assume exalted, courtly roles.

    Introduction and Text of “Taken from – men this morning”

    The speaker in Emily Dickinson’s “Taken from – men this morning” narrates the sudden removal of a young girl from the human realm, portraying death not as an end but as a grand procession escorted by divine beings. In my earlier essays on Dickinsonian poems, I have discussed the poet’s intuitive grasp of the soul’s immortality, a theme central to this work.

    Taken from – men this morning

    Taken from men – this morning –
    Carried by men today –
    Met by the Gods with banners –
    Who marshalled her away –

    One little maid – from playmates –
    One little mind from school –
    There must be guests in Eden –
    All the rooms are full –

    Far – as the East from Even –
    Dim – as the border star –
    Courtiers quaint, in Kingdoms
    Our departed are.

    Commentary on “Taken from – men this morning”

    The speaker presents death as a ceremonial transition, where mortal hands relinquish the body to divine escorts who lead the soul onward.

    First Stanza: “Taken from – men this morning”

    Taken from men – this morning –
    Carried by men today –
    Met by the Gods with banners –
    Who marshalled her away –

    In the first stanza, the speaker establishes a stark contrast between human agency and divine intervention. The repetition of “men” in the opening two lines emphasizes the physical, earthly handling of the deceased: taken and carried by human hands on the same morning. This literal action suggests the funeral procession, where mourners bear the body to its final resting place in the grave. 

    The phrase “this morning” imparts a sense of immediacy and suddenness, as if the transition occurred without warning, leaving the living to grapple with the swiftness of loss.

    However, the tone shifts dramatically in the third line with the introduction of “the Gods with banners.” Here, the speaker introduces a mythic or metaphysical dimension, where divine beings arrive to claim the soul. The image of “banners” evokes a triumphant procession, not a somber burial. 

    The “Gods” do not come in mourning but in celebration, as if welcoming an honored guest into a higher realm. This portrayal aligns with the teachings of Paramahansa Yogananda, who explains that death is “temporary emancipation,” given when karma determines that the present body has served its purpose.

    The verb “marshalled” further reinforces this sense of order and purpose. The “Gods” do not merely collect the soul; they escort it with dignity and direction, guiding it toward its current earned destination. The speaker thus reframes death not as a tragic cessation but as a dignified passage, where the soul is received by celestial hosts. 

    In my earlier essays on Dickinsonian poems, I have discussed the poet’s employment of riddling imagery to veil profound spiritual truths, inviting readers to contemplate the mystery of what lies beyond the veil.

    This stanza also subtly challenges conventional mourning practices. By depicting the “Gods” as the true escorts, the speaker implies that human grief, while natural, may be misplaced. The departed are not lost but are being led to a grander existence. 

    Paramahansa Yogananda teaches that when a dear one dies, instead of grieving unreasonably, one should realize that he has gone on to a higher plane at the will of God, and rejoice that he is free. The speaker’s vision thus offers comfort, not through denial of loss, but through a reimagining of death as a glorious transition.

    The brevity of the lines, with their alternating meter, creates a rhythmic cadence that mimics the steady march of a procession. The short, clipped phrases—”Taken from men,” “Carried by men,” “Met by the Gods”—build a sense of movement, as if the reader is witnessing the soul’s journey in real time. This structural choice enhances the poem’s dramatic effect, drawing the reader into the scene of departure and divine welcome.

    Second Stanza: “One little maid – from playmates”

    One little maid – from playmates –
    One little mind from school –
    There must be guests in Eden –
    All the rooms are full –

    The second stanza narrows the focus to the identity of the departed: “One little maid” and “One little mind.” The repetition of “One” underscores the singularity and preciousness of this young life.

    The speaker emphasizes the girl’s youth by referencing her “playmates” and “school,” evoking images of childhood innocence and the abrupt interruption of daily life. The phrase “from playmates” suggests a sudden separation from the joys and companionship of youth, while “from school” implies an early departure from the realm of learning and growth.

    Yet, the speaker quickly pivots to a broader, more mystical assertion: “There must be guests in Eden – / All the rooms are full –.” Here, Eden is not depicted as a sparse or exclusive paradise but as a bustling, welcoming place, already filled with departed souls. 

    The image of “rooms” full of guests suggests a communal afterlife, where the departed are not isolated but are part of a vast, vibrant community. This vision resonates with Paramahansa Yogananda’s description of the astral world, where souls enjoy a freedom such as they never knew during their earthly life.

    The phrase “All the rooms are full” also carries a note of gentle irony. On the one hand, it suggests that Eden is so populous that there is barely room for another guest. On the other hand, it implies that the arrival of each new soul is anticipated and welcomed, as if the house of eternity is always ready to receive its next inhabitant. The speaker’s tone is not one of alarm but of quiet assurance, as if the fullness of Eden is a natural and comforting state.

    In my earlier essays on Dickinsonian poems, I have discussed the poet’s use of domestic imagery—houses, rooms, gardens—to convey metaphysical concepts. Here, Eden becomes a grand guesthouse, where the departed are honored visitors. This metaphor makes the abstract notion of the afterlife more tangible and relatable, especially for readers who may find comfort in the idea of a welcoming, populated heaven.

    The stanza’s structure, with its alternating lines of tetrameter and trimeter, maintains the rhythmic momentum established in the first stanza. The short lines create a sense of intimacy, as if the speaker is confiding a secret truth about the nature of death and the afterlife. The near rime between “school” and “full” provides a subtle sonic link, reinforcing the connection between the girl’s earthly life and her new, eternal home.

    Third Stanza: “Far – as the East from Even”

    Far – as the East from Even –
    Dim – as the border star –
    Courtiers quaint, in Kingdoms
    Our departed are.

    In the final stanza, the speaker shifts to a more abstract, cosmic perspective, describing the distance and mystery of the departed realm. The simile “Far – as the East from Even –” evokes an immense, almost unbridgeable gulf between the world of the living and the world of the dead. 

    The East, symbolizing dawn and beginnings, stands in stark contrast to Even (evening), representing closure and endings. This spatial metaphor suggests that the departed have moved beyond the cycle of day and night, into a timeless realm where such distinctions no longer apply.

    The phrase “Dim – as the border star –” further emphasizes the elusive nature of this realm. The “border star” refers to a star on the edge of visibility, a faint light that marks the boundary between the known and the unknown. 

    This image captures the speaker’s acknowledgment that the afterlife remains partially veiled from human perception, accessible only through intuition and contemplative musing. 

    In my earlier essays on Dickinsonian poems, I have discussed the poet’s employment of such liminal imagery to convey the mystery of spiritual truths that lie just beyond the reach of ordinary understanding.

    Yet, despite this distance and dimness, the speaker offers a striking vision of the departed: “Courtiers quaint, in Kingdoms / Our departed are.”  The word “Courtiers” suggests that the dead assume roles of honor and service in their new existence, attending to the divine in celestial kingdoms. 

    The adjective “quaint” adds a touch of charm and antiquity, as if the departed have become part of a timeless, elegant order. This portrayal aligns with Paramahansa Yogananda’s teaching that souls in the astral region are clothed in gossamer light, free from the burdens of the physical body.

    The speaker’s use of “Kingdoms” (plural) suggests a multiplicity of divine realms, each with its own court and order. This vision resonates with yogic teachings that describe the astral world as a land to which souls go at death, where they enjoy freedom such as they never knew during their earthly life. 

    Paramahansa Yogananda explains that in the Lord’s dream astral world, souls carry no frail, heavy frames that collide with other crude solids and break; after all, light, even in the material realm, remains indestructible. 

    The final two lines bring the poem to a close with a gentle, almost matter-of-fact assertion: “Our departed are.” The speaker does not speculate or plead; she simply states the truth as she intuits it. 

    The departed are not gone; they are present, alive, and active in their own realm. This assertion offers a profound comfort to the bereaved, suggesting that death is not a separation but a transformation, where loved ones continue to exist in a higher, more vibrant state.

    The stanza’s structure, with its compact lines and rime between “star” and “are,” creates a sense of closure and resolution. The short, declarative phrases mirror the speaker’s confidence in her vision, as if she has peered beyond the veil and returned with a message of hope and assurance. 

    The poem thus ends not with a question or a lament, but with a quiet affirmation of the soul’s immortality and the enduring presence of the departed.  Thus the speaker’s complete and abiding faith and assured confidence are clearly unveiled.

  • So Many Bubbles Drift

    Image created by Gemini inspired by the poem
    Image created by Gemini inspired by the poem

    So Many Bubbles Drift

    —inspired by Paramahansa Yogananda’s “Vanishing Bubbles“

    So many bubbles drift into view—then burst and fade away.
    They ripple by, play for a time, then pass on into the sea.
    I aspire to learn whence they come and whither they stray.

    Raindrops fall and splash—then dissolve without delay
    As they rush like thoughts that flash but leave no memory.
    So many bubbles drift into view—then burst and fade away.

    Night’s stars are bright but lose their shine upon dawning day.
    Cherished friends and loved ones dear—no longer here to stay.
    I aspire to learn whence they come and whither they stray.

    Lilies come blooming; bees and birds all do in sunlight play.
    Then comes the hour that all remains is one bare, empty tree.
    So many bubbles drift into view—then burst and fade away.

    The players sang their parts then slipped into another way—
    The cosmic screen whereon they moved hides what used to be.
    I aspire to learn whence they come and whither they stray.

    I will use my time to discover the truths that do so heavily weigh—
    To unveil the Infinite Force that shines then dims through eternity.
    So many bubbles drift into view—then burst and fade away.
    I aspire to learn whence they come and whither they stray.

  • Emily Dickinson’s “To lose one’s faith – surpass” 

    Image: Emily Dickinson - Amherst College - Daguerrotype of the poet at age 17, circa 1847 - likely the only authentic, extant likeness of the poet
    Image: Emily Dickinson – Amherst College – Daguerrotype of the poet at age 17, circa 1847 – likely the only authentic, extant likeness of the poet

    Emily Dickinson’s “To lose one’s faith – surpass” 

    Emily Dickinson’s “To lose one’s faith – surpass” reveals the speaker’s vision of faith as a singular inward inheritance whose loss exceeds material loss.

    Introduction and Text of “To lose one’s faith – surpass”

    Emily Dickinson’s “To lose one’s faith – surpass” is an American-Innovative lyric featuring the Dickinsonian plethora of dashes, while remaining unrimed. The speaker contrasts spiritual loss with material loss.

    The tone remains steady and reflective, allowing meaning to unfold through simple comparative statements rather than extended argument or narrative expansion.  The speaker frames faith as something more interior than property or inheritance. The poem moves between material imagery and inward consequence.

    To lose one’s faith – surpass –

    To lose one’s faith – surpass –
    The loss of an Estate –
    Because Estates can be
    Replenished – faith cannot –

    Inherited with Life –
    Belief – but once – can be –
    Annihilate a single clause –
    And Being’s – Beggary –

    Commentary on “To lose one’s faith – surpass”

    The speaker presents faith as an inner possession whose loss creates a deeper condition than material ruin. The poem moves toward inward deprivation rather than external loss.

    First Stanza: Cannot Get Back

    To lose one’s faith – surpass –
    The loss of an Estate –
    Because Estates can be
    Replenished – faith cannot –

    The speaker begins with a quiet but firm comparison between faith and material inheritance. An estate represents something large, structured, and recoverable in worldly terms.

    The speaker completes the contrast by establishing permanence in loss. An estate may return through circumstance or restoration, but faith does not follow that pattern of recovery.

    The tone remains calm, almost observational, as if the speaker is stating a condition of reality rather than offering persuasion or argument. The word “surpass” suggests that spiritual loss rises above material loss in seriousness. The speaker sets a hierarchy of inward and outward value.

    The estate functions as a symbol of continuity in earthly life, where loss can be repaired through time, labor, or inheritance. Faith, however, is treated as singular and non-repeatable. Once absent, it does not return in the same inward form.

    The speaker’s phrasing suggests a quiet finality, where spiritual absence becomes a lasting condition rather than a temporary state.  The simplicity of diction reinforces the seriousness of the claim, allowing the idea to feel inevitable rather than debated.

    In earlier commentaries on Dickinsonian poems, I have discussed Dickinson’s creating  metaphysical weight through plain comparison rather than rhetorical expansion.  The speaker’s structure mirrors this method, placing two forms of loss side by side until their difference becomes unavoidable.

    Paramahansa Yogananda explains that inward perception of spiritual reality requires sustained alignment, and when that alignment is broken, outer substitutes cannot fully replace it, as taught.

    The speaker’s comparison therefore moves beyond economics into inward life itself, where restoration is not guaranteed.  The stanza closes with a sense of irreversible distinction between what can be regained and what cannot.

    Second Stanza: You, too, maybe!

    Inherited with Life –
    Belief – but once – can be –
    Annihilate a single clause –
    And Being’s – Beggary –

    The speaker shifts toward origin, suggesting that belief is not merely learned but carried within life itself as an initial endowment.  The phrase “but once” introduces a sense of singularity, as if belief arrives in a form that does not naturally duplicate.

    The speaker turns language itself into a structure of being. A disruption in understanding is presented as capable of total inward collapse.  The “single clause” suggests that even a small fracture in comprehension can affect the whole structure of belief.

    The tone remains restrained, yet the implication is severe, as though identity depends upon coherence of inward language.  The speaker concludes with a stark image of existential deprivation. “Beggary” becomes a condition of being rather than a social state.

    The loss described is not partial but total in inward effect, where existence continues but without spiritual fullness.  The simplicity of the final phrase intensifies its meaning, leaving the impression of stripped interior life.

    In other essays, I have noted that Dickinson often compresses entire states of existence into single concluding words that carry structural weight.  Paramahansa Yogananda explains that when inner awareness of divine connection is obscured, life continues outwardly but loses its sustaining inner richness.

    The speaker’s logic suggests that faith is not supplementary but foundational to inward coherence. The poem ends by presenting existence without faith as a condition of essential lack, where being remains but fullness and purpose are withdrawn.

  • Emily Dickinson’s “Going to Heaven!”

    Image: Emily Dickinson - Amherst College - Daguerrotype of the poet at age 17, circa 1847 - likely the only authentic, extant likeness of the poet
    Image: Emily Dickinson – Amherst College – Daguerrotype of the poet at age 17, circa 1847 – likely the only authentic, extant likeness of the poet

    Emily Dickinson’s “Going to Heaven!”

    The speaker of “Going to Heaven!” muses on the certainty of heaven with equal measures of astonishment and earthly attachment, moving through three stanzas of tender, searching honesty.

    Introduction and Text of “Going to Heaven!”

    The speaker in Emily Dickinson’s “Going to Heaven!” addresses an unnamed listener, confessing her astonishment at heaven’s inevitability while simultaneously expressing a glad reluctance to leave the Earth behind.

    On the literal level, the poem is a musing on what the speaker does and does not know about dying and what follows. She knows heaven is coming; she does not know when or how, and that gap between certainty and comprehension is the poem’s central drama. 

    On my literary website, Linda’s Literary Home, I have argued that the concept of immortality was one of Dickinson’s deepest preoccupations throughout her creative life, a question she returned to with unfailing curiosity and spiritual seriousness.

    The poem moves stanza by stanza from bewilderment, to communal longing, to a final and deeply personal grief held alongside gladness. The speaker never resolves the tension between loving the Earth and accepting heaven; she simply holds both, honestly and without apology. That honesty is what gives the poem its enduring emotional power.

    Going to Heaven!

    I don’t know when –
    Pray do not ask me how!
    Indeed I’m too astonished
    To think of answering you!
    Going to Heaven!
    How dim it sounds!
    And yet it will be done
    As sure as flocks go home at night
    Unto the Shepherd’s arm!

    Perhaps you’re going too!
    Who knows?
    If you should get there first
    Save just a little space for me
    Close to the two I lost –
    The smallest “Robe” will fit me
    And just a bit of “Crown” –
    For you know we do not mind our dress
    When we are going home –

    I’m glad I don’t believe it
    For it would stop my breath –
    And I’d like to look a little more
    At such a curious Earth!
    I’m glad they did believe it
    Whom I have never found
    Since the mighty Autumn afternoon
    I left them in the ground.

    Commentary on “Going to Heaven!”

    The speaker’s musing enacts a spiritual journey moving from bewilderment through communal longing to grief and gladness held together in the same breath. Each stanza adds a new layer to the speaker’s understanding of what heaven means and what it will cost her.

    First Stanza: What I Do Not Know

    I don’t know when –
    Pray do not ask me how!
    Indeed I’m too astonished
    To think of answering you!
    Going to Heaven!
    How dim it sounds!
    And yet it will be done
    As sure as flocks go home at night
    Unto the Shepherd’s arm!

    The speaker opens by announcing plainly that she cannot answer her listener’s questions about when or how she will go to heaven, not because she doubts it, but because the fact of it leaves her too astonished to speak. 

    The exclamation “Going to Heaven!” is less a cry of joy than a gasp of disbelief that such a thing should be true. The speaker is not refusing to answer; she is genuinely overwhelmed.

    She then makes a striking admission: heaven “sounds” dim to her, meaning the word itself feels thin and inadequate against the magnitude of what it names. This insight spring from a characteristically Dickinsonian observation—the language of religion, worn smooth by repetition, fails to convey the actual force of the reality it describes. The speaker senses the reality is immense; she simply cannot yet grasp it.

    Yet the stanza closes in warmth and confidence, comparing the soul’s going to heaven to flocks returning to the shepherd’s arm at nightfall. Paramahansa Yogananda teaches, in his “On Understanding Death and Loss,” that death is not a catastrophe but a natural passage of the soul into greater freedom and divine awareness. 

    The speaker’s shepherd simile expresses exactly that understanding: going home is the soul’s most natural motion, as inevitable and as gentle as a lamb finding its shepherd at dusk.

    Second Stanza: You, too, maybe!

    Perhaps you’re going too!
    Who knows?
    If you should get there first
    Save just a little space for me
    Close to the two I lost –
    The smallest “Robe” will fit me
    And just a bit of “Crown” –
    For you know we do not mind our dress
    When we are going home –

    The speaker now turns to her listener with sudden warmth, wondering aloud whether that person, too, may be going to heaven. “Who knows?” she asks—a phrase of genuine spiritual humility, acknowledging that she cannot determine the soul’s schedule, her own or anyone else’s. The tone shifts from private astonishment to something communal and tender.

    She then makes her most touching request: that a small space be saved for her near “the two I lost.” The term “two” points to specific, beloved persons already departed, whose identity the speaker keeps private but whose absence she carries openly. 

    The capitalized “Robe” and “Crown” gently deflate the grandeur traditionally associated with heavenly reward; the speaker asks for the smallest of each, expressing a humility that is as genuine as it is quietly playful.

    The stanza closes by returning to the phrase “going home,” linking it directly to the shepherd simile of the first stanza and reinforcing the poem’s central conviction that death is not exile but return. 

    Paramahansa Yogananda’s  teachings explain that the soul is a perfect reflection of God’s consciousness and that its passage beyond the physical plane is a homecoming to its Eternal Source. 

    The speaker’s easy dismissal of heavenly dress—“we do not mind our dress / When we are going home”—reflects that same priority: the reunion matters infinitely more than the clothing.

    Third Stanza: Glad for not Believing

    I’m glad I don’t believe it
    For it would stop my breath –
    And I’d like to look a little more
    At such a curious Earth!
    I’m glad they did believe it
    Whom I have never found
    Since the mighty Autumn afternoon
    I left them in the ground.

    The speaker now delivers the poem’s most surprising statement: she is glad she does not yet fully believe in her going to heaven, because that belief, fully realized, would stop her breath and take her from “such a curious Earth.” 

    She is not denying heaven; she is confessing that she still loves the Earth too much to be entirely ready to leave it. On my literary website Linda’s Literary Home, I have discussed Dickinson’s deep attentiveness to the natural world alongside her spiritual curiosity as a parallel devotion, neither canceling out the other.

    The speaker then turns her gladness in a new direction: she is glad that “they did believe it”—those she has not seen since a mighty autumn afternoon when she left them in the ground. 

    That single phrase, “left them in the ground,” is the poem’s most direct and devastating moment, stripping away all metaphor to name the plain fact of burial. Their belief in heaven was their comfort in dying, and she honors it with a gladness that is inseparable from grief.

    Paramahansa Yogananda teaches that souls who have departed dwell in expanded freedom and love, and that the bonds of deep spiritual friendship are not broken by death but simply suspended until reunion. 

    The speaker closes the poem holding two kinds of gladness at once —gladness to remain a little longer on the curious Earth, and gladness that those she loved and buried believed in the heaven toward which she, too, is inexorably going.

  • Paramahansa Yogananda’s “My Krishna Is Blue”

    Image: Bhagavan Krishna Self-Realization Fellowship https://bookstore.yogananda-srf.org/product/bhagavan-krishna-altar-photo-color/
    Image: Bhagavan Krishna – Self-Realization Fellowship

    Paramahansa Yogananda’s “My Krishna Is Blue”

    Paramahansa Yogananda’s “My Krishna Is Blue” reveals the chanter’s yearning for union with Krishna consciousness. He is envisioning a state beyond ordinary awareness, where the soul rises to the highest level of divine realization—self-realization.

    Introduction and Text of “My Krishna Is Blue”

    Paramahansa Yogananda’s “My Krishna Is Blue” is a devotional chant consisting of three movements. Through chant repetition and simplicity, the chanter dramatizes his profound love for Krishna and his longing to dwell perpetually in the Divine Presence.

    The chant progresses from recognition to aspiration and finally to spiritual identification. The chanter first notices a correspondence between Krishna and the blue tamal tree, then expresses a desire to ascend to its highest branch, and finally longs to die where Krishna sat.

    On the literal level, the chanter appears to be praising a tree associated with Krishna. On the mystical level, however, the imagery points beyond physical nature toward the soul’s desire to attain the exalted consciousness embodied by Krishna.

    My Krishna Is Blue

    My Krishna is blue;
    the tamal tree is blue.
    My Krishna is blue;
    The tamal tree is blue.
    So I do love thee, tamal tree!
    So I do love thee, my tamal tree!

    And when I die, O Mother!
    Do put me high
    On a branch of the tamal tree,
    On a branch of the tamal tree.

    Where Krishna sat, there I would die,
    Where Krishna sat, there I would die,
    On a branch of the tamal tree,
    On a branch of the tamal tree.

    Commentary on “My Krishna Is Blue”

    Paramahansa Yogananda’s “My Krishna Is Blue” reveals the soul’s devotion to the Divine Beloved. The chanter’s simple chant also expresses a profound spiritual aspiration toward God-union.

    First Movement:  “My Krishna is blue”

    My Krishna is blue;
    the tamal tree is blue.
    My Krishna is blue;
    The tamal tree is blue.
    So I do love thee, tamal tree!
    So I do love thee, my tamal tree!

    The chanter begins by establishing an identity between Krishna and the tamal tree. Both are described as blue, and that shared quality causes the chanter to regard the tree with affection and reverence.

    The repetition carries the force of devotional musing rather than ordinary description. The chanter seems to be dwelling lovingly upon a spiritual correspondence that links the visible object with the Divine Reality symbolized by Krishna.

    Because Krishna and the tamal tree share the same color, the tree becomes more than a botanical object. It functions as an emblem of Krishna consciousness and therefore deserves the chanter’s devotion.

    The declaration—“So I do love thee, tamal tree!”—reveals that the chanter’s love for the tree derives from its association with Krishna. The affection is not directed toward matter but toward the divine presence reflected through matter.

    The repeated address, “my tamal tree,” adds intimacy to the relationship. The chanter regards the tree as a sacred possession because it serves as a reminder of the beloved Lord.

    Paramahansa Yogananda frequently emphasizes perceiving God’s presence throughout creation. Paramahansa Yogananda explains that divine consciousness may be perceived behind all forms, and the chanter’s vision reflects that spiritual perception.

    On my literary website Linda’s Literary Home, I have discussed how poets often employ physical imagery to suggest metaphysical realities. The chanter similarly employs the visible tamal tree as a symbol pointing toward an invisible spiritual state.

    The stanza therefore moves beyond literal description. Through the repeated equation of Krishna and the blue tamal tree, the chanter transforms a natural image into a symbol of divine consciousness.

    Second Movement: “And when I die, O Mother!”

    And when I die, O Mother!
    Do put me high
    On a branch of the tamal tree,
    On a branch of the tamal tree.

    The second stanza shifts from recognition to aspiration. Having established the sacred significance of the tamal tree, the chanter now expresses a fervent desire regarding his own destiny.

    The address to “Mother” adds emotional intensity, referring to the Divine Mother. The invocation conveys humility and dependence before a higher power. At first glance, the request appears unusual. The chanter asks to be placed “high” upon a branch of the tamal tree rather than buried or laid to rest in some conventional manner.

    The word “high” becomes the stanza’s crucial term. The chanter does not merely seek proximity to the tree; he desires elevation within it.  Such elevation suggests ascent rather than location.  The imagery points toward a higher level of consciousness rather than a merely physical position.

    The branch functions as a metaphorical rather than literal destination.  To imagine a devotee sincerely wishing to have his body suspended in a tree would diminish the spiritual seriousness of the chant. Instead, the high branch symbolizes the summit of awareness. The chanter longs to rise to the highest attainable state of realization.

    Paramahansa Yogananda repeatedly teaches that human consciousness may ascend from body-awareness to soul-awareness through spiritual discipline. The chanter’s longing for the highest branch harmonizes with that teaching of spiritual ascent.

    On my literary website Linda’s Literary Home, I have often observed that poetry rarely states its deepest meanings directly.  Through symbol and suggestion, poets allow intuition to perceive realities that ordinary language cannot adequately express.  Thus the high branch becomes an image of supreme spiritual attainment.  The chanter prays not for physical elevation but for the soul’s ascent into divine consciousness.

    Third Movement: “Where Krishna sat, there I would die”

    Where Krishna sat, there I would die,
    Where Krishna sat, there I would die,
    On a branch of the tamal tree,
    On a branch of the tamal tree.

    The final stanza reveals the chanter’s ultimate desire. He wishes to die precisely where Krishna sat.  The statement deepens the symbolic significance of the branch. It is not merely high; it is the place occupied by Krishna.  If Krishna represents perfected divine consciousness, then the branch symbolizes the level of realization attained by that consciousness. The chanter longs to occupy the same spiritual station.

    The repeated line intensifies the devotional yearning. The chanter does not seek worldly rewards, intellectual accomplishment, or heavenly pleasures.  Instead, he desires complete identification with Krishna. The aspiration is one of union rather than admiration from a distance.

    The word “die” also carries spiritual significance. Mystical literature frequently employs death as a symbol for the dissolution of ego-consciousness.The chanter therefore longs for the extinction of the limited self in the very state inhabited by Krishna. Such a death would not signify annihilation but fulfillment.

    Paramahansa Yogananda teaches that the soul’s highest goal is realization of its unity with Spirit. The chanter’s desire to die where Krishna sat reflects precisely such a yearning for God-union.  The repeated return to the tamal tree completes the chant’s symbolic design. What began as a blue tree associated with Krishna culminates as a metaphor for the highest spiritual center.

    The chant’s simplicity is permeated with remarkable depth. Through the image of a blue tamal tree and its highest branch, the chanter dramatizes the soul’s longing to rise into Krishna consciousness and experience the liberating realization of divine union.

  • Emily Dickinson’s “There’s a certain Slant of light”

    Image: Emily Dickinson - Amherst College - Daguerrotype of the poet at age 17, circa 1847 - likely the only authentic, extant likeness of the poet
    Image: Emily Dickinson – Amherst College – Daguerrotype of the poet at age 17, circa 1847 – likely the only authentic, extant likeness of the poet

    Emily Dickinson’s “There’s a certain Slant of light”

    Dickinson closely observed and investigated her surroundings; she also keenly examined her own feelings then dramatized those feelings in poems.  In “There’s a certain Slant of light,” her speaker is infusing melancholy into her perception of light streaming through a window on a winter afternoon.

    Introduction with Text of “There’s a certain Slant of light”

    Emily Dickinson developed the habit of closely observing as she investigated her surroundings.  The poet then keenly examined and mused upon her own feelings, finally dramatizing those feelings in poems.

    The poet created this speaker in “There’s a certain Slant of light” to reveal a mood of slight melancholy as she muses on a shaft of light streaming in through her window on a winter afternoon.  

    That streaming light through the window seems to tip and tilt, that is, “slant,” in a way that causes the speaker to undergo that sense of melancholy, which is no ordinary gloom but brings with it a spiritual aspect. 

    The speaker creates a little drama based on her intense feeling of spiritual intuition which has been motivated by a simple “Slant of light” streaming in through the window on a cold, winter afternoon.

    There’s a certain Slant of light

    There’s a certain Slant of light,
    Winter Afternoons –
    That oppresses, like the Heft
    Of Cathedral Tunes –

    Heavenly Hurt, it gives us –
    We can find no scar,
    But internal difference,
    Where the Meanings, are –

    None may teach it – Any –
    ‘Tis the Seal Despair –
    An imperial affliction
    Sent us of the air –

    When it comes, the Landscape listens –
    Shadows – hold their breath –
    When it goes, ’tis like the Distance
    On the look of Death –

    Reading of “There’s a certain Slant of light” 

    Commentary on “There’s a certain Slant of light”

    A simple viewing of a shaft of light streaming into the room on a winter day engenders in this speaker a melancholy prompting this little drama.  The spiritual experience thus is rendered in paradox—the ultimate literary device for communicating the ineffable.

    First Stanza:  The Oppression of Tilting Light

    There’s a certain Slant of light,
    Winter Afternoons –
    That oppresses, like the Heft
    Of Cathedral Tunes –

    The speaker begins the drama by asserting that on certain winter afternoons the light shining in through her window comes in at a “certain Slant” and that tilting light “oppresses” her in the way the heavy tones of sacred chants might do. Although light is weightless, to the speaker in this particular mood, it seems heavy enough to oppress her into melancholy.

    A paradox results from the speaker finding the “light” to be as heavy as church music.  Music experienced in church is meant to uplift, not weigh one down.  If something that is meant to uplift does the opposite, then one has to explore the reasons for such oppression.  Why would music that ordinarily produces a spiritual upliftment become an instrument of oppression—that is, something that is heavy?

    Second Stanza:  The Human Craving for Meaning

    Heavenly Hurt, it gives us –
    We can find no scar,
    But internal difference,
    Where the Meanings, are –

    The deeply inspiring sound of “Cathedral Tunes” brings the speaker to a place of “Heavenly Hurt.”  Again, she paradoxically describes her experience:  Heaven is a spiritual place where there is no hurt, no pain, no distress, no oppression—only bliss. 

    The speaker confirms as much as she avers that this “hurt” never results in a “scar.”  And it also leaves no physical mark such as scar because this melancholy is inside of the speaker; it is her soul that has engaged with this music, this light, that has caused this spiritual experience.

    The speaker employs the term, “Meaning”—all human beings on all levels of awareness crave meaning in their lives, and the speaker has become aware of the meaning of an inner life that is more important than the corporeal.  True meaning come from the soul not from the body that changes and dies, nor from the mind that knows nothing but change.

    Third Stanza:  Soul Meaning

    None may teach it – Any –
    ‘Tis the Seal Despair –
    An imperial affliction
    Sent us of the air –

    The speaker then affirms that one cannot be taught this kind of soul meaning. The mystical state of the desire for meaning comes on one unbidden, as casually as taking a breath. “Despair” of the material world often leads one to ask the question, is this all there is to life?

    But the individual becomes a seeker after she begins to entertain such questions.  Divine cravings may be prompted by any outward experience such as light tilting in through a window, but those cravings for spiritual reality can be satisfied only through soul-union, which is Divine Awareness.  The melancholy of spiritual desire is a first step to that Ultimate Awareness.

    Fourth Stanza:  The Nature of Reality

    When it comes, the Landscape listens –
    Shadows – hold their breath –
    When it goes, ’tis like the Distance
    On the look of Death – 

    After the strong spiritual desire for meaning, that is, comprehending the nature of Reality approaches the sensibility of the individual, that individual wished to cease the flux of all phenomena in order to listen—”be still and know that I am God” (KJV, Psalm 46:10).

    This speaker creates her drama by asserting that “Shadows  – hold their breath.”  Shadows holding their breath suggests a depth of quietness that is nearly unfathomable.  A miraculous awareness engulfs the speaker.

    The speaker has discovered that this “heavenly hurt,” this spiritual melancholy, transforms itself into the light of understanding.  Death loses its grip and meaning after such a level of awareness is achieved, no longer grasping the heart and mind of the individual.  

    After death has become merely a distant force, the spiritual aspirant sees more clearly all other forces that operate in her sphere.  The speaker has thus reached that inner Goal.  Death is beaten and given its place to Awareness. 

    The Science and Symbolism of Light

    That a simple “Slant of light” should engender a deep mystic state of awareness in this speaker is quite apt.  Regarding the nature of light, in his spiritual classic, Autobiography of a Yogi [1], Paramahansa Yogananda has explained that the material universe is composed of light.  Many modern discoveries have revealed to humanity that the cosmos is composed of various expressions of one power—light—guided by Divine Intelligence.

    Paramahansa Yogananda has also explained that only differing rates of vibration account for the differing forms that exist throughout the cosmos:

    Modern science has shown that everything in the universe is composed of energy (light), and that the apparent differentiation between solids, liquids, gases, sound, and light is merely a difference in their vibratory rates.

    Also in his autobiography, Paramahansa Yogananda has explained in detail the nature of light, comparing it to other “waves”:

    Among the trillion mysteries of the cosmos, the most phenomenal is light. Unlike sound waves, whose transmission requires air or other material media, light waves pass freely through the vacuum of interstellar space. Even the hypothetical ether, held as the interplanetary medium of light in the undulatory theory, may be discarded on the Einsteinian grounds that the geometrical properties of space render unnecessary a theory of ether. Under either hypothesis, light remains the most subtle, the freest from material dependence, of any natural manifestation.

    The individual who has achieved the realization that “the essence of creation is light” is thus capable of operating the law of miracles.  The term miracle simply applies to any phenomenon whose operation science [2] has yet to discover.  

    What the soul knows through intuition will always be running miles and years ahead of what physical science [3] knows because physical science can explore and examine only the created cosmos not the Creator of that cosmos.  The soul, however, being a spark of the Creator, knows all that the Creator knows—either in fact or in potential.

    Emily Dickinson’s employment of light in this poem thus results from her deep intuitive awareness that light is the building substance of the cosmos.  Therefore, “light” becomes a symbol for that intuition that would continue to guide the poet as she continued to create her  mystical, metaphysical, metaphorical “garden” of poetry.

    Sources

    [1]  Paramahansa Yogananda.  Autobiography of a Yogi.  Self-Realization Fellowship.  Accessed June 3, 2026.
    [2]  Ard Louis.  “Miracles and Science: The Long Shadow of David Hume.”  The BioLogos Foundation.  March 12, 2018.
    [3]  Lisa Zyga.  “Quantum Mysticism: Gone but Not Forgotten.” Phys.org.  June 8, 2009.

  • Emily Dickinson’s “The Soul should always stand ajar” 

    Image: Emily Dickinson - Amherst College - Daguerrotype of the poet at age 17, circa 1847 - likely the only authentic, extant likeness of the poet
    Image: Emily Dickinson – Amherst College – Daguerrotype of the poet at age 17, circa 1847 – likely the only authentic, extant likeness of the poet

    Emily Dickinson’s “The Soul should always stand ajar” 

    Emily Dickinson’s “The Soul should always stand ajar” reveals the speaker’s profound insight regarding spiritual readiness. The poem highlights the necessity of remaining receptive to divine visitations.

    Introduction and Text of “The Soul should always stand ajar”

    The speaker explores the delicate relationship between human consciousness and the divine presence. Spiritual alertness requires continuous vulnerability and an open heart. This focus informs this brief but deep metaphysical lyric.

    The poem consists of two quatrain stanzas that function as a single movement. Dickinson has created here a speaker, utilizes her characteristic short lines and unconventional capitalization to emphasize inner vigilance. This structure mirrors the soul’s quiet anticipation.

    On my literary website Linda’s Literary Home, I have discussed many of the aspects that the speakers in Dickinsonian poetry capture in fleeting moments of cosmic awareness.  The speaker creates a drama of inner hospitality.  It encourages readers to prepare for divine communion.

    The Soul should always stand ajar

    The Soul should always stand ajar
    That if the Heaven inquire
    He will not be obliged to wait
    Or shy of troubling Her

    Depart, before the Host have slid
    The Bolt unto the Door –
    To search for the accomplished Guest,
    Her Visitor, no more –

    Commentary on “The Soul should always stand ajar”

    The poem examines the necessity of keeping the consciousness open to celestial encounters. The speaker is guarding against spiritual inertia.

    First Stanza: The Soul’s Expression

    The Soul should always stand ajar
    That if the Heaven inquire
    He will not be obliged to wait
    Or shy of troubling Her

    The speaker commands the inner being to maintain a state of perpetual openness. Using the architectural metaphor of a door left slightly open, readiness is prioritized. The soul must never bar its entrance.

    Divine grace arrives unexpectedly, requiring immediate hospitality from the seeker. The speaker personifies “Heaven” as an inquiring visitor who seeks entry into human consciousness. Receptivity must be instantaneous and completely unhesitating.

    If the door of consciousness is closed, the divine visitor might easily bypass the individual. Paramahansa Yogananda explains that divine realization requires an active, unceasing inner invitation. Receptivity demands consistent spiritual attunement.

    God does not force entry into an unresponsive or distracted mind. The speaker notes that Heaven might feel “shy of troubling” an unready host. Spiritual passivity creates a barrier to grace.

    On my literary website Linda’s Literary Home, I have discussed the speaker’s preoccupation with the border between the human and divine. The open door represents that threshold. It demands constant, attentive safeguarding.

    This welcoming attitude reflects a deep inner yearning for higher truth. The speaker positions the soul as a waiting servant. Universal consciousness requires an empty, waiting vessel to fill.

    Through quiet musing, the seeker recognizes that divine moments are easily missed. The speaker emphasizes that Heaven will not wait indefinitely for a response. Immediate availability is the supreme virtue.

    The door must remain unlatched despite the distractions of earthly life. The speaker frames this openness as a continuous state of being. True spiritual life demands total, uninterrupted vulnerability.

    Second Stanza: Soul Etiquette

    Depart, before the Host have slid
    The Bolt unto the Door –
    To search for the accomplished Guest,
    Her Visitor, no more –

    The speaker outlines the tragic consequence of a locked inner door. If the human host slides the heavy bolt, the divine visitor departs permanently. Neglect seals the spiritual separation.

    The opportunity for divine communion can be lost through self-absorption. The speaker portrays a single, definitive action of closing the entryway. A bolted door signals a rejection of higher realms.

    Paramahansa Yogananda explains that the subtle voice of the Divine is easily drowned out by worldly noise. Quiet inner readiness preserves the sacred connection. Persistent devotion keeps the channel open.

    Once the visitor departs, he will search for that soul “no more.” The speaker delivers a stern warning about the finality of missed grace. Opportunities for awakening are precious and fleeting.

    The “accomplished Guest” represents the highest realization entering the temple of the body. The speaker uses courtly etiquette to describe this sublime visitation. The soul must respect the divine timing.

    On my literary website Linda’s Literary Home, I have discussed Dickinson’s speakers regarding the value they place on the sudden intrusion of the Infinite. Sliding the bolt represents a failure of trust. Isolation results from spiritual fear.

    Through deep musing on these lines, the reader confronts the urgency of spiritual cultivation. The speaker insists that the host must remain vigilant. Delay brings absolute, lingering spiritual poverty.

    The ultimate tragedy is the permanent withdrawal of the celestial presence. The speaker concludes with an unsettling image of eternal abandonment. Receptivity remains the single defense against darkness.

  • Emily Dickinson’s “The Soul’s distinct connection”

    Image: Emily Dickinson - Amherst College - Daguerrotype of the poet at age 17, circa 1847 - likely the only authentic, extant likeness of the poet
    Image: Emily Dickinson – Amherst College – Daguerrotype of the poet at age 17, circa 1847 – likely the only authentic, extant likeness of the poet

    Emily Dickinson’s “The Soul’s distinct connection”

    The speaker in Emily Dickinson’s “The Soul’s distinct connection” reveals that immortality is suddenly disclosed through shock and danger experiences.

    Introduction and Text of “The Soul’s distinct connection”

    The speaker presents “The Soul’s distinct connection” as a compressed American-Innovative lyric exploring spiritual perception. Its short lines and slant rimes create a sudden movement from idea to visionary image. The speaker suggests immortality is not gradual knowledge but a flash of direct awareness.

    The speaker frames immortality as something revealed through sudden crisis rather than gradual understanding. The structure anticipates a metaphysical shock that disrupts ordinary perception.

    The Soul’s distinct connection”

    The Soul’s distinct connection
    With immortality
    Is best disclosed by Danger
    Or quick Calamity –

    As Lightning on a Landscape
    Exhibits Sheets of Place –
    Not yet suspected – but for Flash –
    And Click – and Suddenness.

    Commentary on “The Soul’s distinct connection”

    The speaker frames immortality as something revealed through sudden crisis rather than gradual understanding. The structure anticipates a metaphysical shock that disrupts ordinary perception.  Her vision aligns with Paramahansa Yogananda’s teaching that immortality is perceived through sudden inner awakening beyond ordinary awareness.

    First Stanza: The Soul and Immortality

    The Soul’s distinct connection
    With immortality
    Is best disclosed by Danger
    Or quick Calamity –

    In the first stanza, the speaker defines a direct relationship between the soul and immortality, presenting the connection as inherent rather than acquired, embedded within the very structure of consciousness itself. This connection is not continuously visible in ordinary perception, but it becomes evident when danger or sudden calamity interrupts the expected flow of life and thought. 

    Paramahansa Yogananda explains that the soul perceives immortality most clearly when the mind is startled into higher awareness beyond sensory routine, allowing intuitive consciousness to rise above temporal limitation enabling perception of immortality as immediate experience rather than abstract belief grounded in time-bound reasoning.

    In the phrase “Danger / Or quick Calamity,” the speaker emphasizes the disruptive force required to awaken spiritual perception, suggesting that only extreme interruption can break habitual mental patterns. 

    On my literary website Linda’s Literary Home, I have discussed the fact that Dickinson often uses shock imagery to reveal hidden spiritual states, where disruption becomes a gateway to deeper awareness of the soul. 

    Here the speaker suggests that spiritual awareness emerges when normal continuity is broken, forcing consciousness into a heightened state of perception that resembles awakening from illusion aligning consciousness with a sudden intuitive shift beyond habitual cognition.

    Second Stanza: Soul Suddenness

    As Lightning on a Landscape
    Exhibits Sheets of Place –
    Not yet suspected – but for Flash –
    And Click – and Suddenness.

    In the second stanza, the speaker uses lightning as the central image to describe how spiritual perception suddenly reveals the hidden structure of reality, revealing perception as a sudden cognitive rupture rather than a gradual interpretive process unfolding in time. 

    This revelation is not gradual but instantaneous, exposing “Sheets of Place” across the landscape of experience implying hidden dimensionality within ordinary perception itself. 

    Paramahansa Yogananda explains that divine insight often arrives like a flash of lightning, dissolving mental obscurity and awakening superconscious awareness where consciousness transcends linear reasoning and enters intuitive cognition.

    The speaker suggests that reality is composed of layers that are normally invisible, only becoming apparent when perception is abruptly illuminated suggesting that ordinary awareness conceals deeper structures until disrupted by sudden insight. 

    On my literary website Linda’s Literary Home, I have noted that Dickinson compresses vast metaphysical ideas into brief, electric imagery that mimics sudden spiritual awakening where brevity intensifies metaphysical meaning through concentrated symbolic expression that emphasizes non-linear cognition characteristic of mystical experience. 

    This structure mirrors mystical experience, where understanding arrives all at once rather than through linear reasoning reinforcing the immediacy of perception as a sudden cognitive awakening beyond temporal sequence, dissolving fragmentation into unified awareness that transcends sensory division aligning sensory faculties into a single integrated perception of truth.

    The imagery of flash and click emphasizes immediacy, suggesting a sudden recognition of truth that cannot be delayed or extended over time emphasizing that spiritual understanding arrives as a decisive moment rather than gradual accumulation. 

    Paramahansa Yogananda explains that when consciousness rises above sensory limitation, truth is perceived as a single unified moment of clarity marking transformation from illusion to awakened recognition within consciousness. 

    The speaker frames this experience as both visual and auditory, merging perception into one unified spiritual event where poetic compression mirrors expanded metaphysical insight through condensed language.