movements in space marked by time
is the stage where’s birthed a rhyme
and wherein dream forms shape shift
which heart tends to sieve and sift
desire mirrors aversion
becoming our perversion
but turning inward our glance
makes erect our soul’s stooped stance
when light chose to crystallise
it began to weigh and size
yet cessation holds the key
to be in this instant free
when there be no ownership
no doer then does worship
whence consciousness as pure light
is awash in bliss delight
we’re the light we sought to seek
so plugging energy leak
ego dies and we reclaim
flame of bliss that has no name
Becoming one with the universal pulse,
that coruscant hue endued vibrancy benign,
I eschew lethal inhibition toxic,
inhaling meteoric shards of,
effervescent mood boost capsules,
whilst power plugging brain dead cells,
into trancelike transmitters of prana,
unleashing channels stymied by a jinx,
healer, harbinger heroic of invisible field,
whose silver winged prowess pivotal
God-search let us jump start
plugging energy leak
melding head with heart
know we are he who we seek
We dropped mind to search for God
by plugging energy leak
and when in time our heart thawed
we discovered we are he who we seek.
Much time was wasted pursuing narrow goals,
birthing attachments we were loathe to let go,
so life after life we kept changing our roles,
always in bondage to our wayward ego,
amidst shape shifting illusions it controls,
till the day we chose to make speed of thought slow,
instrumentalised like a limb so to speak,
thereby easily plugging energy leak.
Looking back we see that we were always free
but since we knew not that we are living light,
deluded by desires, bound to our mind tree,
contracted by fears, we knew not bliss delight
till the day we got head and heart to agree
and in the void of silence garnered clear sight,
whence as the vaporised self, as the bliss flame,
doing nothing at all, we fulfilled our aim.
The man in the elevator wore trousers like a skirt,
topped by a foul-smelling creased crimson shirt
that stank like rotten onion, the scent failing to drift.
I stood by his side, through the crowd I couldn’t shift,
I held my breath as long as I could, felt I would faint.
So, plugging my nose while I tested my self-restraint
I heard him say rather loudly, “it’s a new perfume”.
I thought it’s his silly invention to make people fume.
When the lift stopped running out at the ordeal’s end
I told him “nice perfume, gift a bottle to you girlfriend”.
Self-existent consciousness, substratum of existence
May, if you will, be taken to be God’s heart beat
Thus between objects there is no distance
Core of our being is always bliss replete
Which we search and strive for yet know not
Lost in thought spirals, we feel not magnetic heat
Sensing we’re spirit not form, here to be self-taught
In time stretched silence, ego cravings recede
We then pulsate as bliss free from thought
Plugging energy leak, we no longer bleed ~
Treading gently on earth, living simply as of need
to relive this place
the perfection of summer
absolute blue skies
crickets cheering bel cantos
spark birds plugging for lawn grubs
remain in warm suns
obedient girasols
leave darkness behind
How may the seer be seen,
in a mirror without sheen ~
thoughts we birth being the veil,
the brew we drink, though it’s stale?
Thoughts operate in space-time,
desire, the ladder we climb,
which we need to vaporise,
if Self we would realise.
The thought of God is not God.
Love dawns only when we nod,
not thinking but becoming,
flame of bliss in heart humming.
Silence therefore holds the key,
the way our Self we may see,
as awareness self-aware,
having nothing to declare.
Ego death is what we seek,
that plugging energy leak,
heart porous, empty and thawed,
we stand naked before God.
Everything gone, Self remains,
beyond space-time, free from chains
and when we see, then we’ll know,
light of our Self’s bright white glow.
deep within the woman in me
a coiled divine energy
sleeping waiting ready
a spiritual connection
embraces Bhairavi
goddess of Kundalini
meditation clears the path
half awake dormant
healing soothing
plugging into a universal source
through chanting mantras
through breath itself
mental peace aligns
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Submitted on June 27, 2025 for contest KUNDALINI sponosred by UNSEEKING SEEKER - RANKED 4TH
plugging energy leak
we see we’re strong not weak
the ‘we’ we allude to
is bliss that does renew
pervading every cell
in this body-mind shell
so as God’s magnetism
in this organic prism
as bliss beats take the lead
fears and desires recede
thus we become the flame
here now in life’s end game
the guru resides just below the crown
conjoined so to speak, He is one with God
He guides our path plugging energy leak
cajoling our heart to give love a nod
we are the universe, all is within
knowing we are That, we cannot be this
with this recognition we breathe slowly
invoking grace that form be filled with bliss
Both caged in form and yet at all times free,
nothing can be more wonderful than that,
playing cricket where we both bowl and bat,
breezing through earth life, blissful and carefree,
since we got our head and heart to agree,
that though we’re where our attention is at,
we never forget the critical fact,
we’re bound only when tied to our mind’s tree.
Life’s nothing but a game of hide and seek,
wherein light of our soul is veiled by thought,
erased no sooner we choose to be still,
that thus plugging needless energy leak,
in time stretched silence, we become self-taught,
peering at heaven, from heart’s window sill.
Knowing by becoming, what’s there to say,
about the way love’s appeal makes us feel,
the komorebi dance of a sun ray,
frolicking in the void with zest and zeal,
yet choosing before God in heart to kneel?
The staff of power within magnetised
with Holy Spirit, truth thus realised,
simply upon plugging energy leak,
as living light in this form crystallised,
we see we’re he we had set out to seek.
The reasons why ink’s sometimes bled
do not always have to be said,
but here is the gist:
this helps climb the list
of grinders, some live and some dead.
Some feel that last line’s in poor taste,
would likely prefer it erased.
But it’s really quite stellar
for a crusty old feller
whose childhood ’twas spent eating paste.
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