Gazing in the Glance

Having gazed at the Sun unwavering,
braving the intensity and losing yourself
in its magnitude for longer stretches,

Something occurs which tastes of fearlessness,
most unassuming yet great in heat,
reminiscent of Moses, or of the Son of Man.

You burn through every personality encountered,
to the manifest Unmanifest,
catching a hint of Soul.

Rumi's catalyst was the Sun of Tabriz,
in the Glance which they shared
a Legacy was born.

Without an I, seeing occurs of itself,
where ego becomes a servant, Am is master:
this doesn't happen overnight or from reading a book.

But a most passionate desire for union helps,
as one-pointed as a breath between two lovers,
concentrating, refining, opening to grace.

The stature is majestic, the gait royal,
though you own much or nothing, no one owns you.
And while you walk the Earth, it turns in your orbit.

Bhakti Certainty

The Bhakti path circulates through
the spoken repetitions of devotion,
imbuing them with life and being nourished
itself in return. That is how it works.

I speak my bhakta heart into the Youniverse
and Multiverse, with verses of concentrated abandon
expressing gratitude toward the sovereignty of Love
sage and seasoned, sensing Harmony in conscious repetition
and feeling surrounded, enveloped in unspeakable Beauty.
Reflecting so, this is Remembrance by repetition.

All sounds of praise are welcome here,
all are active planks in the structure of this Temple
through which a breath passes, sounding and resounding
in far-reaching tones embracing the worlds.

These tones, rich and nuanced all, are in Sanskrit or in Hindi,
Arabic, in Gurmukhi and in Hebrew, in Latin, Aramaic, and English.
The tongues of these faiths were created to praise God,
in Whom we live and move and have our Being,
to celebrate the divine in every manifest body –
not for arrogant supremacism or subjugation
parading and asserting itself as "Religion" . . .
Cherishing this in silence, this is Remembrance on the breath.

When "unbelievers" are scorned, loathed, disabused
by one's pious, dry, colorless, sterile contempt
toward all "others" outside one's own little Club,
then are all of one's so-called "praises" and "pieties"
only poisoned and poisonous, these are their own hell-realm.
That bigotry, racism, misogyny, puerile aggression,
only speaks for itself, the ignorance of any ideology.

To keep free of this and its entrapments, walking amidst yet above
the demonic fray of constant forgetting and manipulating
through fear and anger, through domination and attrition –
to grasp the Bhakti path, to carry it in one's own manifest expression:
Holding the Planet in one's heart, this is Remembrance by Being.

Is It True The Sun Is Indifferent

Is it true what some say, the Sun doesn't care?
Does it withdraw when you reject it,
or is it somehow sensitive to being liked,
or believed-in, or even addressed?
Are you left in the cold, the dark, bereft,
on its account – or your sins? ...Hello?

Or doesn't the Sun rather give unwaveringly,
indifferent to fatuous flattery or flatulence and dissing,
indifferent to belief or doubt, worship or rejection,
indifferent to all, warming the Earth
and keeping us turning? Warming and giving light,
without which we couldn't stand on two feet,
spread our arms to thank it or flip it the bird.

The Sun gives of its presence because it is present,
indeed indifferent – but that, toward our indifference;
it tells us, “I'm just one of many, some far larger –
insignificant, sure - but for you I'm here, burning.
I didn't set this all in motion, does it matter: but
I'm here and burning: take it.“

So it is with love.
Like the sun we are where we are for a purpose,
there are those who truly need us to be right there.
It is not for us to underestimate our value,
but to become indifferent toward nagging doubts.
Two kinds of wrong thinking are known to us:
thinking much of yourself and your importance –
and thinking too little, judging, dissing.

Both are from want of self-reflection, and irresponsible.
Be where you are and honor this, fill it with your warmth,
give us your presence where you are, be that Sun – be it!
Indifferent and radiating, warming this Earth, waking joy.
As it is with love.

Beauty Judgeth Not

While we are out there judging beauty,
Beauty judgeth not.

What is that, in the pupil of your eye,
where light is filtered by the ego's I?
What is that, so conditioned sure
of what it sees, beholds as were
this so, as you apparently perceive –
and thus perceived, so you believe?

Seamless seeming to see without question,
the face before us, our reflection –
Look with the eye, look with the heart,
look with the soul – they're not apart:
Pupil soft on pupil focused:
view therein the hidden manifest.

Sovereign the Beauty of this beholder,
letting look, be seen, unfold here.
Fearless, lovingkindness unafraid,
undisgusted, seeing undismayed:
Beauty is in the Seeing – so what's Creation
but God's eye's light forming His intention?

While we are out there judging beauty,
Beauty judgeth not.

A Birthday Greeting, from Berlin to San Anselmo

An' if I do reach eight-score in Years

as is my Will, God will't e'en so,

on thy Breast I'll shed no less the Tears

for Love, which stay'th undiminish'd – know,

that if thou likewise give no Way to Time,

Sporana's flow unbroken through our very Limbs:

this very Lingam shall that very Mouth sublime

and that graced Yoni, still service with Light undimm'd.

Thy Birthday sacred in my Heart's Rememb'ring,

with Vigor's own Wisdom shall many more yet be;

e'er green, the Sap in this Tree for Lovemaking

shall e'er firm and whole indeed be spared for thee.

No Time's Ravage, no Years laid waste, but rather:

increaseth ever new this Love conscious, Tina-Benson . . .

to timeless' bathe with you, and cover you in Lather

by Light of countless Birthday-Candles, fulfill this Passion!

Krishna's Boon

ODE TO LAKSHMI (REDDY) RADHE - 26 Jan 93

I have seen Maha-Lakshmi
in the soft brown form of a young woman.
Her dark generous eyes hold a wild glowing beauty,
sparkling with moist effervescence,
catching the glint of her dangling earrings
and diamond-studded gold chain which graces her neck.
Straight and even and white the teeth which line
the coyly benevolent, gracious smile;
Her lovely face is the picture of India's womanhood.
Long and elegant her fingers, slight and nimble her body.

I encountered her for a brief hour.
Could this be that Lakshmi of ecstatic wealth to whom I've sung,
holder of the keys to fulfillment in all the three worlds,
the lotus-bearing spouse of Rudra
(Lord Shiva's own spontaneously liberating persona)?

And from this dear woman there pierced my heart
yet one other heady image, that of
my Lord Krishna's eternally beloved Radha.
As we spoke, her richly Indian accent striking my ears
(so long unused to receiving its timbre)
as I bent to hear her soft tones,
I recognized indeed the Gopi Radha --
and that radiant energy of the Gopinath,
that sweet laughter of Gopal,
that dance of Govinda's flute, Narayana's joy,
responded from my heart.
The world calls this petite and charming woman, Lakshmi (Reddy),
knowing nothing of the name.
I call her by Radhe, knowing both intimately.

How fitting, to meet her at the end of my Army service!
For it was Lord Krishna whose words to Arjuna at Kurukshetra
prompted me to enlist, now seven years hence.
Seven richly blessed years, since which day
I have in-joyed Krishna's boon -
and whose Ras Lila still charges and delights
my atmosphere - when it pleases him.
When last I'd departed Ft. Dix at the close of a seven-week cycle,
I'd found on a bookshelf the life-story of his famous
Bhakti servant in America.
Now leaving Ft. Dix at the close of a seven year cycle,
I have met Krishna's beloved.
That joy and delight are ever with me,
and no earthly power can ever steal it.

Lakshmi Radhe! May God go with you all ways,
and may His light ever shine within your heart
even as you shine within mine.

THE CAT WOMAN JOSIE of the Durango Quanset Huts, '81

(sort of a rambling story, every bit of it true;

intended after Em'ly Dickenson, who never rambled – but I do)

As I approached my ex-wife's hut

(For separate we were)

I chanced to meet the cat woman

– No, she hadn't any fur.

Her hair disheveled, nose drawn out –

She looked the "gypsy hag" –

I knew the children taunted her

And neighbors' tongues would wag.

A paranoic case this one –

'Twas obvious to see

She smelled – lived 'mongst a dozen cats –

And rambled, quite lonely.

So I befriended her that day,

We took her out to eat.

And later on inside the hut

I had her stay for tea.

The two of us and no one else –

(The kids were off at school –

The little one was with her mum.)

She spokeof ghostly ghouls

Who spied upon her day and night,

Left her with naught to think –

'Mid curses thrown from kitchenware,

From oven, stove and sink.

They're cursed! She wailed and rambled on

In circular degrees,

Of untrue cousins, brothers, friends –

Of voices and decrees.

A schizo! Was all I could think,

A hopeless one at that –

What could my Space provide in words

To Josie and her cats?

From her the name of Jesus! and Lord!

Kept coming up anon,

So I responded right away

The second she slowed down.

Look Josie – when the demons shout

And you are but their game –

Don't let them prey – resort to prayer

And loudly praise the Name!

She got it for a second there –

Her glimpse a moment clear –

And then she cranked right up again

– She really couldn't hear.

So to her hut I walked with her –

'Twas locked, she kept no key.

I helped her through the side window –

'Twas her reasoning, you see.

I went back to the front doorstep

To check what'd caught my eye:

A mud-bespattered Bible there –

Full open it did lie!

No further did I need to look,

I knew what it would say:

I lifted it and let the phrase

Choose me in its own way.

And there confirmed by Psalmist's hand,

It said, "When trouble's near

And trembling sets upon my bones,

My mind beset wtih fear,

I call upon teh Lord's dear Name

And once again am cheered."

I laughed aside and shook my head –

The irony was clear:

We all crawl though our side windows

Shaking our butts in the air –

When simply on our doorstep sits

The answer, opened there.