That which I am, if I am finite, is a part of the Infinite,     And since all parts of the Infinite are the body of the Infinite,         therefore I am the Infinite.   I am the Infinite. Everything I do is the Infinite. The Infinite is me. There is no separation between us. I am the Infinite.   The barrier that separates me from attaining wisdom is a real barrier,     But I cross it in an instant         when the Infinite has blown away the smoke.   I seek truth,     but in what?     If I want truth that is utterly reliable,     then only the Infinite can supply.     I, a finite thing, am different every moment,     and satisfying ideas shift and swirl.     But what is still here, amidst the chaos?     Even when I am gone, what remains?     The Infinite.   My past habits constrain, dreams echo in new circumstances; so I experience repetition. But let me remember my true identity, and I experience freedom from karma. The repetition ends. Then I find circumstances are what they are, instead of vehicles to relive the past.   Death no longer signifies loss or change;     I grieve no more, because the Infinite is real to me. Illness or the strains of poverty become sweet, though it seems insane to think so.     Even the slander of fools becomes sweet,         though I wish they could taste this sweetness,         and not the bitterness of cyclical existence.   One needs no longer to reach for heavens, or be demoralised by the hells of human society. But living moment by moment, always seeing the Infinite in everything.     The burden of human suffering lifts,         and one can function as Nature permits.