Before the First Word
I bow to the blue-hued mystery, whose glance stirs galaxies and settles storms.
To the dancer in the dust of Vrindavan, whose every step is the rhythm of creation.
To the one who hides in the heart, yet fills the heavens.
I bow to the lover who lifts mountains with laughter, To the friend who walks barefoot beside sorrow, To the thief of butter, and of hearts.
I bow to the lotus-eyed witness, untouched by time yet present in every moment. To the destroyer of pride, the protector of innocence, the master of surrender. To the whisper between breaths, and the fire beneath stillness.
I bow to the eternal child, whose joy plays in every sunrise. To the king without a crown, whose kingdom is love. To the charioteer of dharma, and the still voice within.
I bow to the one who is near yet beyond, Seen through love, found in stillness, The ever-becoming and the never-changing.
I bow to the flute-bearer, whose silence speaks deeper than a thousand scriptures. I bow to the mischief of a child and the stillness of the infinite. I bow to the knower, the known, and the knowing.
I bow to the formless, the formed, and the giver of all forms. I bow to the eternal truth, the sacred word, and the wisdom beyond words. I bow to the source of all, the sustainer of all, and the end of all.
I bow to precious son of Devaki!
I bow to Govinda, Hari, Madhava, names that rise like incense from the soul.