‘Is this the end?’

Is this the end of all that we have been,

And all we did or dreamed,—

A name unremembered and a form undone,—

Is this the end?

A body rotting under a slab of stone

Or turned to ash in fire,

A mind dissolved, lost its forgotten thoughts,—

Is this the end?

Our little hours that were and are no more,

Our passions once so high

Being mocked by the still earth and calm sunshine,—

Is this the end?

Our yearnings for the human Godward climb

Passing to other hearts

Deceived, while smiles towards death and hell the world,—

Is this the end?

Fallen is the harp; shattered it lies and mute;

Is the unseen player dead?

Because the tree is felled where the bird sang,

Must the song too hush?

One in the mind who planned and willed and thought,

Worked to reshape earth’s fate,

One in the heart who loved and yearned and hoped

Does he too end?

The Immortal in the mortal is his Name;

An artist Godhead here

Ever remolds himself in diviner shapes,

Unwilling to cease

Till all is done for which the stars were made,

Till the heart discovers God

And the soul knows itself. And even then

There is no end.

—Sri Aurobindo

I was transported. Back to the shocking events that have taken place here, in our home and our haven. I was also transported out of myself, out of this context and this situation.

You, as performers, achieved what it is that I believe art DOES. You carried me and every audience member out of myself, out of ourselves. You showed us what is happening in the world and in our community and in ourselves. Words are not necessary. The language of movement, the power of sound, the creation of a story through image and expression.

I breathed with you and wept with you and your screams were mine. Your silence was mine, too. Your death upheld the part of myself that died a bitter suffocating death in the disappointment in our elders, our community, our home. And then we walked again, found our voice, found our feet.

You leap, show freedom, delicate, gentle, loud expression.

Today they may try to silence us. They may try to take our voice, try to stunt our outreach, to manipulate, threaten and bribe.

I know who I am. I know the home that I want to create for myself and for the youth that never ages. I know the life that I create.

Art is an extraordinary tool to comprehend this world. It is the healing, the strength, the eyes and the voice. It is the body that moves. I will go back again and relive this evening. Discover it anew. Be moved. Once again.

If you are in Auroville, I suggest you join me. There is power in the freedom of expression. Come. Witness. Be moved.