Now and then, at long intervals of time, a being finds his way to this planet who is unquestionably a wanderer from another sphere; who brings with him to this sorrowful world some of the glory, the power, the radiance of the far distant region from which he came. He walks among men but he is not at home here. He is pilgrim, a stranger, he tarries but a night.
He shares the life of those around him, enters into their joys and sorrows, rejoices with them, mourns with them; but through it all, he never forgets who he is, whence he came, or what the purpose of his coming. He never forgets his divinity. He remembers that he is the great, the glorious, the majestic Self. He knows that he came from that ineffable, supernal region which has no need of the sun or moon, for it is illumined by the Light of lights. He knows that he WAS, long before the time when “all the sons of God sang together for joy”.
Such a one, I have seen, I have heard, I have revered. At his feet I have laid my soul’s devotion.
Such a being is beyond all comparison, for he transcends all ordinary standards and ideals. Others may be brilliant, his mind is luminous, for he had the power to put himself into immediate contact with the source of all knowledge. He is no longer limited to the slow processes to which ordinary human beings are confined. Others may be great, they are great only as compared with those in their own class. Others may be good, powerful, gifted, having more of goodness, more of power, more of genius than their fellow men. It is only a matter of comparison.
A saint is more holy, more pure, more single-minded than ordinary men. But with Swami Vivekananda, there could be no comparison. He was in a class by himself. He belonged to another order. He was not of this world. He was a radiant being who had descended from another, from a higher sphere for definite purpose. One might have known that he would not stay long.
Is it to be wondered at that nature itself rejoices renounces in such a birth, that the heavens open and angels sing paeans of praise?
Blessed is the country in which he was born, blessed are they who lived on this earth at the same time, and blessed, thrice blessed are the few who sat at his feet.
–Memoirs of Sister Christine.
As I typed this passage, I got goosebumps all over my body, my head and heart full of some strange sensation, my eyes welling up, I felt blessed to copy and type the Sister’s words and to declare to the world once again, there was one such star amidst us in India. I am blessed to be born in this country where such noble souls set foot on.