In my breast’s fane enshrined,
My breath, too, is therein it,
A linga unconfined:
My senses, too, like incense
Rise, and like bright lamps shine,
There, too, my soul leaps ever
A dancing god divine.”
This, is my opinion, is one of the finest stanzas penned by Sivavakkiar. The drift of it is this:—You popular Hindus, you have your temples,—you have your flowers, and sacred ashes,—you have your phallus, or emblem of divine creative power,—you have also your incense and lamps, and you have your divine dancer, Siva. I, too, have my flowers and ashes, but they are of the mind! I, too, have my linga, but it is my breath or spirit. I, too, have my incense and lamps, but they are my five senses. And I, too, have my deity leaping in divine sport within me, but that is my soul. In a word, mine is the true spiritual worship.
“Here the sage speaks of his body as a metaphorical temple (using language similar to that employed in the New Testament, ‘Ye are the temples of the Holy Ghost’); then he likens his thoughts to flowers and ashes, which are used in the services of temples; lastly, he declares that his breath or spirit—which as a part of universal life has no bound or limit—is the true linga, creative, and a part of the creation, of his own being.”