Kismet

XXV

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

still breathing?

Within or without?

XXVI

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

And yet

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!

XXVII

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

almost moved!

Everything dissolves!

XXVIII

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.

XXIX

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.

XXX

Today in the mountains,

drunk from sharing the same air as God

speech returned to me momentarily,

Ram Ram!

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!

XXXI

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

for joy

and sorrow.

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?

Imagine that!

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.

XXII

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?

XXIII

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.