A Sinner at Thy Door

I too await Thy pleasure a sinner at Thy door! Thou hast opened the Floodgates of Love and Light on us unhappy mortals. A single compassionate look from Thy God-intoxicated eyes has power to lift us out of the mortal coil and free our soul from the Chains of mind and matter that binds us to this Earth to soar unhindered, out of all Time and space, in all limitless regions of boundless Joy –  where matter ends and Love reigns supreme.

In Thy Holy presence we feel we’re One with God and like Dr Broadshe of Lousiville, America, our hearts speak out in Ecstasy,

Buddha is here and is all Nirvana!

With Thee God seems to be near at hand and we feel His living presence. Away from Thee all is dark, we feel like lost Souls blundering through pathless shadows.

Blessed are the pure in heart for their heart is Thy abode. They are with Thee always and Thou with them, for them there is no separation. But still they pine of Thy physical presence,  for one look at heavenly face that sheds Divine Radiance over all – Saints and sinners alike. Thy all-embracing Grace transcends and man-made barriers and distinctions of caste, creed, colour and race, reaching the innermost recesses of the Soul.

Cut away from our Eternal Source of Everlasting Life and joy we glower in dust hapless objects of Thy pity that has moved Thy Divine Compassion to take the mortal form of man and descend on this region of darkness and death.

Thou art the Pole of God-Light, outwardly a man amongst men Thou art something else besides – and Godman come to free us from the bonds of flesh and lead us back to God. Thy message of hope and cheer resounds through the four corners of this earth,

There is hope for everybody … What a man has done a man can do … Of course with proper help and guidance.

And in the words of Christ Thou sayeth to all without reservation,

Knock and the door shall be opened unto you.

I too stand at Thy door, a hardened sinner beyond all hope of redemption spread out before me I see the passing caravan of fleeting images, a long unending procession of shadowy objects fill my ye and distracted by the changing scene I forget to knock at Thy door …

H.C. Chadda