This is no cry from a distant heaven, no sermon from above. It is a call — earthy, immediate, intimate. A call that comes not from the tongue of scripture but from the breath of a wild Goddess who walks barefoot across burning ground, laughing like the wind that topples thrones. Come Along by Titiyo is the Devi as Svecchācārīṇī — She‑Who‑Moves‑By‑Her‑Own‑Will — whispering freedom with the scent of rebellion, love, and the remembrance of something primordial we were never truly without.
This is Bhairavī in Her sovereign play — Her fire turned inward, a ferocity that invites rather than incinerates. She does not burn; She draws. Not the roar of Kālī, but the bold beckoning of the yoginī who lives beyond fear. Her voice carries the taste of ash and salt, sweetness and sand — she is the thorn, the dance, the one who knows you are more than your chains and who dares you to follow.
Let us go — word by word, flame by flame — and listen.
[Intro]
Oh, come along with me
This is no mere invitation; it is upadeśa — direct instruction from the mouth of the inner Śakti. Like the whisper of the Guru in the silence between thoughts. It is tender, yes, but carries the authority of one who knows. “Come” — not to another place, but into your own soul. “Along” — into rhythm, companionship, and the pathless path of awakening.
[Verse 1]
Play with it while you have it
Dust settles, cities turn to sand
Trespassing, this is their land
Time flies, make a statement, take a stand
The first line is līlā — divine play. “Play with it” — your life, your body, your moment of choice. It is an echo of the Kaula teaching: life is not meant to be endured, but tasted. Not frivolously, but intensely.
“Dust settles, cities turn to sand” — impermanence is the only constant. All structure, power, empires — one day, just grit between the fingers.
“Trespassing, this is their land” — every step treads soil haunted by elemental spirits and forgotten lives — a realm the śāstra calls bhūta‑loka. Inwardly, those spirits are also the tangles of old vāsanā.
“Time flies, make a statement, take a stand” — Śakti urges clarity. No hiding in ambiguity. Choose. Act. Be seen. This is not passive spirituality; this is ṛta — harmony through courageous alignment.
[Chorus]
Come along now, come along with me
Come along now, come along and you'll see
What it's like to be free
Come along, come along with me
Come along now, come along and you'll see
What it's like to be free, yeah
Come along now, come along with me
And I'll ease your pain
Come along, come along with me
And let's seize this day
Come along, come along with me.
The chorus is not one sentence repeated; it is a multi‑key mantra, modulating through four archetypal notes of the Kaula scale:
Invitation (āhvāna) --> "Come along": Three successive calls crack open the inner ear. Repetition here functions like the triple utterance of OṂ—waking, dreaming, deep‑sleep—all rounded into turiya. Each time the phrase lands, another sheath of resistance falls away.
Revelation (darśana) --> "…and you'll see": Freedom is not promised as a future perk; it is an optic shift—seeing what has always been the case. Abhinavagupta glosses jñāna as “recognition (pratyabhijñā) of one’s own omnipresent light. [1] The Devi’s guarantee is exactly that flash of pratyabhijñā.
Compassion (karuṇā) --> "I'll ease your pain": Śakti here assumes the mantle of Mahākaruṇā Bhairavī. She does not anaesthetize suffering; she alchemizes it—turning duḥkha into rasa. Pain subsides because the subject who clutched it has melted in her embrace.
Time‑Drawing Power (Kālasaṃkarṣaṇī) -> "Let's seize this day": Kālasaṃkarṣaṇī Devi “draws every moment back into its source,” collapsing past and future into the lightning‑flash of the present. Seizing the day is not a frantic grab at opportunities; it is the visceral retraction of the whole time‑stream into aware presence. You are not racing the clock; you become the wellspring from which clocks arise.
Observe the chorus’ unfolding arc: invitation --> revelation --> compassion --> an empowered surge. That arc is the full circuit of a Kaulika practice session—call, vision, melting, surge. By the final repeat, the mantra is no longer sung to you. It is erupting from you, the way thunder finally realises it is the sky.
[Verse 2]
Stay out, stay clear but stay close
Friends, foes, God only knows
Let's be the thorn on the rose
Time flies, make a statement, strike a pose
Here the Devi turns paradoxical — the mood of Lalitā, playful mistress of ambivalence.
“Stay out, stay clear but stay close” — She warns and beckons at once. The mystery is not solved; it is entered.
“Friends, foes, God only knows” — dualities blur. On the Kaula path, the enemy and the beloved are often the same mirror.
“Let’s be the thorn on the rose” — She is not asking you to be soft and agreeable. She’s asking you to be real. The thorn protects the nectar; the yoginī is never merely ornamental.
“Strike a pose” — a mudrā, a conscious freeze‑frame that seals Śakti in flesh. Every gesture becomes utterance.
[Chorus] (spiral return)
Each return to the chorus is a deeper spiral inward. The same words now land differently — because you are different. That is how mantra works; that is how Tantra lives.
[Bridge]
Time flies, make a statement, take a stand…
Time flies, take your chance
Now the Goddess raises Her voice. This is vāc‑siddhi in action. “Time flies” — a truth we deny every day. “Make a statement” — the truth of your being is not for storage. It is for expression.
“Take your chance” — not when you’re ready. Now. The Devi never waits for the perfect moment — She is the moment.
[Chorus] (final ignition)
If you have listened with your soul, this last chorus is no longer an invitation from another. It is your own inner Śakti singing back to you.
[Outro]
Come along now, come along with me…
What it’s like to be free
Oh, come along with me
The mantra dissolves into quiet. The journey doesn’t end — it begins. She disappears at the forest’s edge, barefoot, laughing, glancing once over Her shoulder. Are you coming?
This song is a Mahāvidyā disguised as a groove — a gospel for those who never read śāstra yet feel awakening throb in the chest. She is not asking for belief. She is asking for your presence. For your dance.
To come along is not to follow, but to walk beside Her, in rhythm with the wild, sovereign current of your own being.
This is svecchācāra — the sacred path of moving by your innermost will, which is not separate from Hers.
This is not entertainment.
This is Śakti calling.
Will you go?
[1] Īśvarapratyabhijñā-vimarśinī, Āhnika 1:
pratīpam ātmābhimukhyena jñānaṃ — prakāśaḥ pratyabhijñā
“Knowledge (jñāna)—turned back toward the Self—is pure light: that is recognition (pratyabhijñā).”
No comments:
Post a Comment