To the baby, mother is a woman.
To the soul, mother is meditation.
To the adult, lover is man or woman.
To the mystic, lover is meditation.
Meditation is in all, never ceasing.
Suckle from that mother, love that lover, and all wants are satisfied.
Like thirst ever quenched by an infinite freshwater sea.
The body must be fed,
The soul must immerse in meditation,
Where all doing stops,
All thinking ceases,
Only being is.