Fly to You

I could fly to you right now
On wings of broken promises
Yet somehow continue to walk
This solitary white path
Bone stripped of flesh
Shrouded as a wraith
Like the flustered dove
Of a soul’s departing
Spellbound pristine naked
Coming before God
To claim this mount and ride
From here to the heavenly
Spheres of the Moon
Leaping into chasms of longing
With blind optimism
And the blood-orange
Dawning awareness
Of a consciously embodied life
Smelting the burning illusion
Of a penitential separation
With the flood of orgasmic waters
To drink from the cup of knowing.

(c) 2012

Don't Worry ~ Be Happy

I believe that our true happiness is one of the leading indicators of doing “God’s Will”. Which is not to say the “happiness” of being blindly led by selfish, transitory desires (which almost certainly leads to un-happiness). Rather, that contented state of being, which comes from no striving. That is where I find myself most attuned with my own god-presence, my own god-purpose. When I am in that flow things click, even my mistakes become teachers. But this takes practice and deep contemplation at times; contemplation to still the mind enough to find that place of true happiness within and practice with acknowledging but quieting all the other transitory voices.

This thought came about from a discussion on Facebook about morality and the image of God watching over us. First of all, I do not believe in a judgmental god. I do, however, believe in the concept of karma which I believe is a sub-conscious judgment of myself brought about to teach me lessons which ultimately bring me closer to G-O-D. I can also needlessly drive around the block 20 times until eventually I pull into the driveway of my home. It all leads back home, back to me, back to god. The side trips and meanderings are just part of the play, all part of the lessons we learn. And, if God isn’t enjoying the show then I must be doing something outside of His Will / my true purpose / my happiness.

Hmmm...

Poem for Saturday

Dreamy cerulean mists
Awash in moonlight
Between the veils
Between the sheets
Cock pierces the milky dawn
A secret group of two
Building foundations upon chaos
Ripped from syntax of parallax
Voracious visions of me
Consuming you
With mandala eyes
Concealing …
… Revealing …
Healing …
Tying you up
Letting you down
Kinky kismet daring
To sip and sup
These rosy hips
Unsanctimonious vessel
Sacred waters
Left hand of intuition
Take away pain of suffering
Concupiscence and lechery
Taken aback by your affrontary
Sweet mystery
Dark desire
Carbon dating
Ordinary time

An ember glows ‘neath layers of ash
Whispering, “Never is a very long time….”

Saturday, 14 January 2012

(c) 2012

A Ritual To Read To Each Other ~ William Stafford

If you don't know the kind of person I am
and I don't know the kind of person you are
a pattern that others made may prevail in the world
and following the wrong god home we may miss our star.

For there is many a small betrayal in the mind,
a shrug that lets the fragile sequence break
sending with shouts the horrible errors of childhood
storming out to play through the broken dyke.

And as elephants parade holding each elephant's tail,
but if one wanders the circus won't find the park,
I call it cruel and maybe the root of all cruelty
to know what occurs but not recognize the fact.

And so I appeal to a voice, to something shadowy,
a remote important region in all who talk:
though we could fool each other, we should consider--
lest the parade of our mutual life get lost in the dark.

For it is important that awake people be awake,
or a breaking line may discourage them back to sleep;
the signals we give--yes or no, or maybe--
should be clear: the darkness around us is deep.

(image: Dark lovers by sifudragonfly)

Dear One

In March of 2000 I received completely unexpected a large bright orange envelope in the mail (both the name and address have since changed so hold your hate mail) via Air Mail par avon Royal Mail with an exotic colorful stamp postmarked Reading Mail.

The mind filled with anticipation and wonder. Who would send me such a card from the UK?

No return address.

Upon opening the envelope I found a card of quality stock paper with the message "Why Meditate" from Swami Sivananda. Attached to the card was a red and gold enamel lapel pin with the Sanskrit symbol for "Om". My first thought was "What a nice little treat, I must have lent my name to a nice mailing list".

It wasn't until I turned the card over that I realised the cosmic and spiritual significance of the gift. It was sent from "The Office of George Harrison" rubber stamped in purple ink.

It was only three months after he'd survived the tragic knife attack in his home. I stood in stunned disbelief in my post office, trying the catch my breath amidst the tears beginning to flow.

It was the culmination of a years long one-sided correspondence with a man who was more than a BeaTle to me, more than a musician. It affirmed for me that at least one of my silly letters reached him and made some kind of impression for him to include me in such a kind gesture. I have since heard of one other ardent fan who also received one of these cards.

Sadly, I swiftly lost the Om pin. After wearing it on my person like a sacred talisman one day it disappeared. I cried over its loss, cursed my own carelessness and then decided someone must have needed it more than I.

George Harrison was my first concert in 1974. I was 12. I had to beg my mother and wear her down to let me go.

The clipping I saved from the Rolling Stone concert review article. (Note the Babaji badge on George's shirt.)

But even more significant than that is the gift of bringing me to my guru, Paramahansa Yogananda, which first occurred during the reading of the liner notes of George's song Dear One which George dedicated to Yogananda. And this prompted me to look more deeply into Yogananda's teachings. I read the Autobiography of a Yogi. And soon after my feet were firmly entrenched on this path.

~ Om Guru ~

" The cave you fear to enter holds the treasure you seek. " ~ Joseph Campbell