Attached to outcomes, ego opaques light,
radiance of our true Self, veiled by mind,
demons of darkness, shrouding heart’s delight,
thought tentacles gripping us in their bind.
As both tormentor and the tormented,
being both the subject and the object,
we inhaled fragrance of love, bliss scented,
causing boundless rapture to rise unchecked.
Waking up in the dream by slowing thought,
with ego exhumed, bliss beats soon resumed,
whence soul imbibed love and light as it ought,
whereupon at our core, heart lotus bloomed.
Thought cessation, path to heart’s elation ~
In time stretched peace, is our meditation
Like a bolt,
a sad news arrived -
sent by her delinquent son
who had deserted home.
Her mother was concerned,
nervous and afraid;
her fear couldn't be allayed.
Reasons refused,
but she herself found a way:
remembered the soothsayer she knew,
changed her clothes,
rushed to him -
fear lingering, weak and shaky,
her sight blurred,
seeing nothing but the way.
The soothsayer performed the prayer,
invoking the deity,
told of the spirit
dwelling in her son -
but there was still a way.
He prescribed a ritual
to ward off the spirit
next day at his home
without fail.
She took a long breath,
somewhat relaxed,
paid the sooithsayer his fee.
Now better,
she resumed her household chores.
Just before we sleep,
if we dare to leap,
in as meld with space,
we can see God’s face.
For vaporised Self,
life flows by itself,
aflame and aglow,
in staid stillness slow.
Dwelling in the pause,
Self becomes the cause,
as eternal light,
birthing bliss delight.
With ego exhumed,
earth life is resumed,
as was meant to be,
joyous and carefree.
That was an extraordinary Christmas eve for Santa to remember.
In colorful fancy wraps he packed all the gifts through the night,
loaded them on the sleigh until the dawn’s first sunlight shined,
when on snow-laid track the reindeer led by Rudolph charged.
After a while chilled breeze stopped flowing across Santa’s face,
warm winds blowing over palm trees and sands soon greeted him,
that turned in a twist of fate into a strong gust of steamy rainstorm.
He had gone off course, got stranded in Florida, found no way out.
Rudolph was confused, the reindeer stood still in the blinding rain,
but Santa had to move, he had gifts to give to the waiting children.
With magical flick of reins, he made the reindeer leap, the sleigh soar,
resumed his journey north to complete his job on white Christmas eve.
Crown, third eye and heart all collaborate,
invoking bliss mists that usher delight
and in time dissolved peace as nodes gyrate,
our once feeble form now spreads divine light.
In life’s pulse dual, our eye is single,
with desires in heart having been exhumed,
witnessing how bliss pheromones mingle,
as breath by breath, ignition is resumed.
As the light that lights all lights, one with God,
joyous at all times, in this lucid dream,
doing nothing save giving love our nod,
we illumine the night, like a moonbeam.
Anointed with bliss, our soul’s eye glistens ~
God speaks to us and childlike heart listens
A COIN IN THE FOUNTAIN
I saw it lay there, in the fountain
Among all the hopes and dreams
Humbled in such rich company
As a mere miserable copper coin
Not so much as that widow’s mite
But worn smooth with age and use
And despite a bright afternoon sun
No gleaming surfaces like the rest
Yet with a shine enough to reflect
A modest wish when it was tossed
That peaceful lives can be resumed
And all painful memories dispersed
We bought our Global Entry cards
In pre-pandemic days,
Believing they would ease our travel
In some helpful ways.
But Covid hit soon after
So those cards were never used,
Yet when our trips resumed
Our pre-check status was refused.
The US airlines never gave
An explanation why,
But we kept trying every time
We purchased seats to fly.
Today, though, on Air Canada,
An agent made a catch -
My boarding pass and entry card
Were not a perfect match.
It seems there are 9 digit codes
(2 sets!) on every card
And entering the wrong one
On a form was not that hard.
The problem solved, we got new passes
And were on our way,
With pre-check status never given
By the USA.
The playing had to be delayed,
(It happens, in a sport)
Though not because of rain, but bees
Around the tennis court.
It seemed a bee invasion
Caused some havoc in a match.
(There’s some video, which I’d say
Is a worthwhile clip to catch.)
With play suspended, someone called
A beekeeper, who came
And vacuumed up the hordes of bees
On which to lay the blame.
When, 90 minutes later,
Quarter-final play resumed,
The bees were gone (just captured,
But not dead, as I’d assumed).
The keeper said the swarm was small,
About 3,000 bees,
Yet quite enough to bring
Some tennis players to their knees.
Its delicate wings no longer wet, it stretched well,
And flew up high holding onlookers in its spell.
Round and around it danced over the eerie pond
All covered with water lilies but not beyond.
Elation, euphoria, joy and disbelief,
Emotions fell as it landed on fragrant leaf.
Up again, its gossamer wings attaining strength,
As once again it fluttered across the pond's length.
Hungry it spied a tasty bug, gorged on its feed,
Then instinct urged it to find its first mate to breed.
The feat accomplished, it resumed its fullest flight
Knowing full well it needed rest before twilight.
Survival of the fittest it had never learned.
Bird ate it up, that natural death it had earned.
Modesty antedates clothes and will be resumed when clothes are no more. (Mark Twain)
When Adam donned his fig leaf
Was a sense of decency assumed.
When sons of Adam
Again find it cute
To be comfortable
In their birthday suit
Will simple modesty be resumed.
Fair is a word tossed between us,
quick breaths across wet teeth—
a fleeting agreement that nothing ever is,
except for our burning complexions
beneath the relentless, arid graze of summer sun.
The skin engaged in a heated debate.
But that was a different fair, much like the weather
which, on that day, was not.
The air thickened between us, choking in the scorch,
on the brink of calling it quits.
Then, we reached for each other's hair,
pleaching the fair fringe into a single French plait,
holding the tension steady with every strand—
a silent pact of reconciliation.
Flyaways re-tamed, we resumed our journey,
a fair sojourn toward the next fiery skirmish.
Over orange peels on the dashboard,
amidst a shared coffee, we lost ourselves—
debating whose turn to sip, which turn we missed that day.
Driving faster past the fairground,
children's screams echoed, tossing fares paid
like quarters ablaze in pockets emptied,
desperate for escape onto the open road.
The tollbooth's metallic throat protested with clangs
as change cascaded into the plexiglass bank,
accepting the expense to propel us forward
along the road until the next stop,
on our fairway.
There was a venturous gent
Who travelled the earth’s extent
But at the North Pole
It took quite a toll
Deciphering their accent
It started when he heard elves
Discussing amongst themselves
Saying: ‘le’s make oys
For he girls and boys
And pu all his suff on shelves’
Then said: ‘beer wear warm bandannas
Visiing Monreal and Monana
Because we’re old
Is exra cold
So bring exra blankes for Sana’
Now this gent was truly confused
With the kind of language elves used
Yet he feared missing
So kept on listening
And flipped from anguished to amused
The elves resumed: ‘Is ime o sing
Followed by hiry bells o ring’
Well that sent the gent
Closer to the scent
Of the kind of slang they did sling
He then met the elves finally
With a hey, hello, and howdy
Then said the words right
Singing Silent Night
As: ‘Silen nigh’; with a silent T
Translation if wanted:
Let's make toys
For the girls and boys
And put all this stuff on shelves
Beter wear warm pajamas
Visiting Montreal and Montana
Because we're told
It's extra cold
So bring extra blankets for Santa
It's time to sing
Followed by thirty bells to ring.
Last time he checked the Gate remained locked. Verdant shadows reflect soft running steams falling into still pools. Rushing to hushed sounds abated in calm. Evergreen foliage radiant, vibrant, waiting.
Forlorn crosslegged perch resumed atop faded grass just outside, four steps distant, an already rusting landscape. No travelers left, yellowed path away, parched for nourishing spirit dew, solemnly abides.
Yearning soul, half scarred, half charred, singular nature revealed abruptly, scuttled unwittingly. Eternal truth circumcised nascent pair, to their despair. Vagrants now, celestial estate forfeit for .... one pomegranate?
endless fallen trail
darkness rails against light
man walked from
Eden
Between the clouds on a dull storm filled day.
I spied the moon, full view in hues of grey.
Bright crescent stays as peace resumed her sway.
This is not at all right. - To see you in daylight.
I’m seeing you so bright. - You’re clearly in plain sight.
Now that you are here sweet moon, stay a while.
The sun is absent, and you make me smile.
Your most silvery effect does beguile.
Spread your moonbeams today. - Now the sun is away.
In your light trees do sway. - Raindrops do dance and play.
Dear moon, are you lost, forgotten the way?
Do you wander to find your home in night?
Your presence here is strange, it's not your style.
You may waste all your moonbeams if you stay.
platter fell out of cupboard with a loud clatter
mrs mczatter nearly ceased her weird chatter
my uncle datter stopped eating his chocolate cake batter
grandma slatter asked me "what is the matter?"
Platter was metal, so it did not break or shatter
mrs mczatter resumed her incessant pratter
natter and tatter argued who had to pick up the platter
datter wished it had been porcelain "so we would have had a splatter."
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