Three garlands

Three garlands                                                                            
 
Each morning now I climb the Hill; offering
three strings of rose-scented prayers,
 
standing just northeast of Infinity
with a view of Your lying-down darshan;
 
lift my eyes to wonder at the vaulted structure
under which I pray –
 
the muscular, veined roof
of the cavern of my heart;
 
Your sun, also, rising over my shoulder,
my heart's walls turning translucent,
 
thinner and thinner like beaten gold
to one day burst and flood
 
the parched valley below.
Each morning I awaken in Maya,
 
climb this Hill, wherever I am,
garlands pressed to my chest,
 
delivering to the stone divan
of Your lying-down darshan,
 
three garlands – the rose-scented passages
of Your everyday, holy prayers.
 
O child of God, you dream of India.
The Samadhi's path begins at the doorsteps
      of your own heart's abode.

                           (from A Jewel in the Dust, 2011)

Gazing at the moonrise

Gazing at the moonrise                                                                                    
 
I should be sitting cross-legged by now,
like a high old monk, not a thought in the world
 
nor a question in mind, gazing at the moonrise
above the shadowed vale; blending in mutely
 
with God’s majesty and beauty.
Truly, what better way to spend my time?
 
Preferable to my polished routine down here,
my old song and dance, playing to the crowd;
 
my sweat and scuffle, trying to leave my mark upon the world –
like the spray-painted graffiti on those mountain stones.
 
But my legs won’t fold up like that anymore
or carry me up a mountainside, so I sit
 
in my darkened house to mingle if not quite merge
with the Mystery in a shuteye, heart to heart communion
 
upon the jagged edge of the mountain,
above the endless vales within;
 
my ancient Self rising with that distant moon,
receiving and reflecting His holy light.
 
O child of God, how peaceful is the pilgrim
whose Companion has taken him by the hand.

The way of God known as me

The way of God known as me                                                                         
 
There’s a path but no pilgrim.
Picture him as a soul or a self
 
and for lack of a better word, name him ‘me’.
A journey without a place to get to;
 
called a journey because nothing ever stands still.
Unique to every soul – the way of God known as me.
 
There has never been, never will be, any errors or delays.
Everything is merely the element of a scheduled destiny.
 
A journey without a sojourner –
the way of God known as me.
 
O child of God, your every word
binds you to the sticky web of duality.

To this day

To this day                                                                                            
 
The Master gave me bread
broken by His own hands;
 
dipped and stained in pungent wine.
The drunkenness faded, but to this day,
 
His bread nourishes my soul.
The sand and stone of my native soil
 
brings forth His greenery.
A makeshift shelter, a begging bowl;
 
tongue and throat to sing His praises --
for what more could I ask? 
 
This sobriety is subtly sweeter
than any intoxication I’ve ever known.
 
O child of God, sing to your Beloved
that you might lighten His face with a smile.

                           (from A Jewel in the Dust, 2011)