Frithjof Schuon Archive

My father was a violinist; he traveledTo Norway and Russia, and he taught meMany things; and there was many a songThat would not leave my mindAnd wove itself into the veil of my soul.For the wise spirit loves the auraThat points the way to the blissful land of Beauty.

My parents wanted me to be a painter;But I read poets and wished to be like them,And lived until my twelfth summerIn romanticism’s somber melody.Then came India, early enough; the poetStill had his say, but never in the foreground;Then he kept silent for many years.In...

In life, something must happen,Otherwise we could not call time life;But there is God; and all that ever wasIs nothing, if we know it not in God.In God-remembrance everything is near us,The inward just as the outward. And so alreadyOn earth, God willing, we are remote...

O mighty Time — let us see the Good,And let what is not good vanish in the wind.For thou bringest everything — certainly death,And the judgement, and finally God.But think not that thou art divine — be silent.Thou hast power only because the Most High wills it.