To Vata





Now for the greatness of the chariot of Vata. Its roar goes crashing and

thundering. It moves touching the sky, and creating red sheens, or it

goes scattering the dust of the earth. Afterwards there rise the gusts

of Vata, they go towards him, like women to a feast. The god goes with

them on the same chariot, he, the king of the whole of this world. When

he moves on his paths along the sky, he rests not even a single day; the

friend of the waters, the first-born, the holy, where was he born,

whence did he spring? The breath of the gods, the germ of the world,

that god moves wherever he listeth; his roars indeed are heard, not his

form--let us offer sacrifice to that Vata!





To those who are good (to me), I am good; To Vata facebooktwittergoogle_plusredditpinterestlinkedinmail

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