American consciousness." Thus, it is doubtful that this type of poetry would have much popular appeal of a widespread nature. The images of the ghazal were a particularized expression of a general truth, and while they still hold power in the cultures in which they appeared, the West has not this content.
One can only conclude that due to the universality of the urge to self-transcendence embodied in this concept of "three dimensional thought," and the inevitability of the tendency of the psyche toward Unity, some form of symbolism on various levels of meaning will again develop. It will have to. In the meantime, one can experiment and observe, and criticize the arts in terms of the depth of their appeal, and the ways in which their appeal is designed and accepted on both the horizontal and vertical axes.
SOJOURN OF A BEGGAR (continued from page 9)
from the "Song of the New Life," "Your beggarly life shall be the envy of kings of the world."
The taxi pulled up to its destination as our guide quickly stepped out into an open but crowded area, ready to show us what he had brought us to see. It was a huge general market place, spread over many acres under a vast building or network of buildings. This was a kind of distribution center for the produce, the fruits and vegetables grown all over India. It was an overpowering impression of sight and smell and sound. The sound and the smell were mysteriously one and inseparable. It was the odor of fermentation saturating the air and that sharp shrill sound of the venders' shrieks the like of which one hears only in India. You hear it in the railroad stations. But here in the huge market hundreds of such voices were ringing out all around us as our guide briskly led us amongst the labyrinthian stalls. Jal was able to move with remarkable swiftness through the confusion so that it was not easy for me and my companions to keep up with him. For this guide had learned long ago to keep up with the great stride of His Master, who had been the swiftest man alive.
We went up this way and down that way through crowded aisles until we were virtually lost but for our guide, now quite a bit ahead of us. He did not look back once to see if we were keeping up with him. My mind was saying, "What is this? What is happening? Why are we here?"
We passed under a large circular opening in the roof, which I took to be the very center of the market place. There, for a moment, was the blue sky over our heads, and then we were back amidst the stalls and the shrill venders. We moved on, and suddenly we were out of the compound and into a more open area.
I turned to look from where we had come, and lifting my gaze over the roof line I saw the most dazzling sight — an architectural wonder. I saw what appeared to be the towering heights of some great cathedral, but it became clear to me that it was the crowning superstructure of this incredible market. There it was, glittering and gleaming in the last slanting rays of the afternoon sun.
Yes, Baba had done as Jal said He would: He held up the sun, so that we could come down into all of this topped off with that golden cathedral sight.
Jal had shown us something without saying a word. He showed me in the flash of a moment that the temple of God is to be found almost anywhere, not just on a hilltop. Here in this most worldly of places was Baba. This teeming market place was as much God's house as was that painted doll-house of a Shiva temple back on the hill. I will always think of that golden-spired market place as a Temple of Shiva. Surely Baba had walked here amidst the noise and confusion and the smells.