Translation by Dr. Sant Singh Khalsa
When you've tasted the sweetness of the One, even your words start to enjoy it — like a tongue that has tasted something delicious. Your mind and your body are gently pulled in, charmed, without any force. And then, easily and naturally, you find your Beloved — and melt into a deep, calm peace.
This is where the composition arrives at its destination, and the word that rings four times is sahaj — effortless, natural equilibrium. After all the warnings against the manmukh's straining cleverness, here is the opposite: everything happens sehjay, easily. You don't seize the Beloved; you're "enticed," charmed, drawn — and you find what you were looking for almost by accident, the way sleep comes when you stop trying to fall asleep.
The taste image — ras, essence or juice — tells you this is direct experience, not theory. You can describe honey forever, but one taste settles the question. When the tongue is raatee (dyed, soaked) in that taste, even speech becomes part of the delight. Body and mind follow the tongue. The whole self gets quietly, happily captured.
And notice: sahaj cannot be manufactured. You can't decide "I will now feel effortless peace" and make it happen — the deciding itself is effort. Sahaj wells up through grace, on its own, once you've stopped fighting and started soaking. This stanza is the felt experience that the earlier stanzas were pointing toward: the dye has fully set, and what it feels like from inside is a deep, easy, unforced peace.
Can you remember a time something good happened the moment you stopped straining for it?
Translation by Dr. Sant Singh Khalsa·How we use AI