Can you imagine a beloved, your beloved,
can you relate to that?
Madly in love with this beloved,
you sing and you sing and you breathe
and you sing some more, on every tone
you're in the presence of this beloved,
and your beloved is with you, never leaving you.
This beloved is unborn and undying,
imparting health and wholeness, lots of
nonsentimental evelasting love.
Whatever the circumstances -- you might get placed
in solitary confinement for being politically incorrect,
and make that your temple.
If you were gagged and bound you'd hum
the beloved's song; if they drugged you
or put you under, your beloved would sing to you.
Were I to make a list of all the variations of my song
to this beloved, I'm afraid it would be long.
And long is the slow melody
of the great Shiva homage, offering refuge,
imparting expansion of crown and heart and matter,
and much earth as well in a highly etheric manner --
making the entire space palpably sacred.
That is how I'd received it first over forty years ago,
hardly anyone sings it like that now.
Yet it's still all there, and I'm still in love.
This is my religion, sealed in faith.
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