What do you know?
Now you are inside the mystery looking out,
and I am on the outside?
Alice stepped through the looking glass
through to the other side.
It was inside her own house.
I look at the mirror on the wall
I see only my Self.
Is there a way in?
Where is the point of entry
that time and tide deny to those of us
Within or without?
We are the ants working ceaselessly
the drone of the bees,
the fragile bones of a bird in flight.
We are a part of all those things and they a part of us
We don’t remember. So we suffer.
The sum combination of all that we see
all the unknown galaxies expanding eternally amount to a
mere speck of dust floating in the air of Gods dream.
Neither this nor this.
What a relief!
You have thrown off the interruption of this life.
I roam from east to west across the universal sky
searching for a point of entry.
This physical body is my only baggage
but it is too much,
it bars my entry at every door I knock.
I am beyond this society of pity and patience,
it bows me over.
I feel like the Ancient Mariner at a wedding feast.
Then I was turning your picture this way and that
in the candlelight, for a moment you
The monsoon thunders down
the streets are rivers and the river
is a highway.
God is taking snapshots of us from heaven,
the light is blinding!
Ganga ji hungers and rumbles
the valley sweats in the torpor of her sighs.
Your ashes in one swift swirl became the hungering mother.
She took you home.
The jeweled green fields
have turned with the harvest
to a warm blanket of brown.
Who is it that bears the fruit of such labours?
The farmer or the rice itself
or the worm in the ground?
The small life in the soil,
the rain that falls
or is it the Lover?
One small grain of rice
yet even this cannot be separated
from the eternal round of existence.
Today in the mountains,
drunk from sharing the same air as God
speech returned to me momentarily,
This is why birds sing!
There was nothing but God dreaming us into existence.
A river of infinite life, rushing endlessly
tumbling down to the world below.
I trod carefully lest my footfalls awake The Dreamer.
Sleep on Beloved.
How I longed to turned and catch sight of Him!
The pregnant Indian sun gives birth
to me cycling alone in the early morning jungle
where Krishna has coloured the birds from his paint box.
I am weeping and laughing
Life is a circle a beautiful mysterious orb
of magic and delusion.
The clues are everywhere!
If all this beauty and wonder is as nothing,
What then is God?
I was jealous of you, Lover.
Jealous that you went to God
but here He shows me again and again, He is everywhere.
Everywhere is Him.
I am thinking about Gods hand
and how he guides us always.
He deigns to notice
our own insignificant selves.
He’s dreaming us up!
Is this what you noticed about God?
Or was it his sense of humour?
If I think of the word courage
I know it is a word for the heart.
My heart is a lion sleeping in the long grass.
One day I will wake up and believe in the future
That will take courage.
At the moment it feels like the utmost arrogance to make plans.
But I suppose that eating toast in the morning is an act of faith
that your body will need the fuel until lunchtime.
Like buying a ticket and assuming you’ll get there.