Into and Beyond the Light

today
i want to light
one little lamp
in the quiet
of my temple.

not for visitors
to come in
and take a peek
and marvel
at the darkness
and light,
to take them
to that same void
where I've been sucked in
many a time,

today
i want to light
one little lamp
just for myself,
not to feel safe,
or trump evil eyes,
or hope to save the world
with the light,

today
i want to light
one little lamp
just for myself.

i want to feel
the heat rise and engulf
my parched skin,
i want to feel
every wrinkle and scar
light up and burn,
i want to feel
the heat get to me
in the closeness,
i want to feel
the urge to get up
and walk away,
to do something,
anything,

and then
in that threshold
of one inflamed silence,
i want to feel the flame
flicker and grow
and die
in the stillness
of my temple

and feel the desire
to light it
and not light it
again.

today,
i want to light
one little lamp,
just for myself,
in the quiet
of my temple.

Listen

listen to me
not with your thoughts,
not with your words,
not with your feelers,
trying to make sense
of what you are
or who I am;
listen to me
with the silence
that swallows it all,
where you don't know
where you begin
or end;
listen to me,
lie still, in me.

Between Longing and Being

in the first brush
of orange on inky blue,
in the parted beak
of a koel setting a tune,
in the fading call
of crickets
lulled by the morning breeze,
in the cry of a heart
that wants to call
something it cannot own,
its own,
rests
the silent grave
and womb
between
longing
and being.

In the Near Distance

why do you torment me?
why do you tease me?
stalk me, chase me,
as I run away from your duress,
that's always too much to bear?
and then,
when I find myself
rooted
in the stoned silence
between hushes,
you catch me unawares,
your waters breaking
all over me,
taking me to a reverie,
and yet sometimes,
just leaving
my orphaned toes,
yearning for that one brush
of elusive closeness,
still taunting me,
drawing me,
into your heaving bosom
in the distance;

and I remember how
the moon makes waves
all the time,
being herself
in the near distance.

Becoming Me

and when I'm not full,
like that mellow fruit
on a pregnant tree, 
I let you in -
to fill me,
to become
you in me,
dying to what I really am -
a soul that's not up for sale,
the harvest of a love
that cannot be demanded
or plundered,
but only given,
in quiet patience,
as the tree holds her fruit
and her wholesome shade,
for those who care enough
to stop by and relish her bounty,
and sit under her radiant boughs
that speak incessantly
to the sun, the earth
and the dark heavens,
singing songs of love
flowing from the fullness
of a heart that hears
the stirrings of the universe,
and what it takes
to let you be you,
and to 'become me'.

Everything is Quiet Here

everything is quiet here,
the sun's gone somewhere
for a sleepover,
clouds linger for one last peek,
window-shopping at a world
too busy to be sold into,
the waters are restful,
singing their own lullaby
into the growing night,
the birds are back in their perches
communing over the mundanity
of yet another fulfilling day;

everything is quiet here,
the doorbell's fallen silent
straining its ears to listen
to the breath of all things
animate and inanimate,
the phone lies in a corner,
undisturbed by the desire
to belong somewhere
falling back into the emptiness,
tiny ants scurry along
the safe edges of a wall,
risking their busyness
to feel one another;

everything is quiet here,
where happening melts
into being,
where I am something
that simply lays still
with the hushed air,
not wanting to be anything more;
perhaps that's how we feel
when we die,
when we feel we're a part
of everything's that's here,
in the quiet greatness,
simplicity and totality
of this one precious moment.

Empty Boat

and I sat there
on the sun-soaked bench,
with sunbeams wrapped
around my smarting skin,
eyes adrift
upon lazy waves
cradling a little boat
moored to the wind;
nothing's amiss,
nothing's lost,
nothing to hold,
nothing to let go,
nothing to feel,
nothing to do,
just to be
an empty boat
upon the waves,
no sail, no rope
no oar, no home.

Desires and Dreams

and when the world
asked me all over again,
"what about your desires
and dreams?"
I smiled to myself
and looked into the stars
with a glint in my eyes:
"if you keep looking deeply
into the ones
that catch your eye,
you will know
that there is no need
to jump up
so you can touch them
or grab them;
you will know
if you wait long enough,
that they will be yours
some day, in some way;
and you will then see
how they came down
to be with you,
in your eyes,
in your heart,
right now."

Take Two

It takes two ends
of a thread
to make a knot.
It takes one end
to unravel it.

It takes two blades
of one scissor
to make a snip.
It takes one pair of
loving hands
to hug.

It takes two to make two.
It takes two to make one.
It takes one to make one.
So be.
You!

Solitude

a lone stone bench
by a gushing stream,
clumps of thorny bamboo
by slowly arching trees,
solitude rests
in herself -
not waiting
to be filled
by an emptiness
or a fullness,
a becoming
or a dying,
an ebbing
or a rising,
Solitude -
she simply is.

Waves

walking along the water's edge
where thoughts and emotions
crash as one wave
upon a silent shore,
where I learn the steps
of this timeless dance -
the coming
and the going,
the thrill of waiting
without waiting,
the emptiness
of a yearning -
a curtain drawn back,
slowly revealing
the hidden story
of a painful
parting of ways;
and in that moment
where time and space
stop for a rest
in your majestic form,
I feel you in me -
the last note
of a song I know
in my cells and sinews,
the messenger of silence,
the womb of a new beginning,
the ancient temple
where pilgrims like me
come to rest
on a tireless journey,
to hear a song
that we have forgotten
how to sing.

A Pantomime of Love

If only there was
a world
without words
and war -
a pantomime
of love,

where breath
fills fully
every movement
every touch
rising from
the void
within;

where
love and grace
transform
silence
every step
of the way;

where
yin and yang
rest
in the silent well,
yielding to
the enemy inside,

unwinding
the riddle
of life; and
living Tai Chi
every step
of the way.

Being Present

Being present is like being with a pot of milk on boil.
Your mind knows deeply what will happen if you don't keep watching it.....
That it will boil over, and you will have an even greater mess to clean up :)
And yet, it is the nature of the mind to wander as you are waiting and watching. It cannot rest. Until you rest. Because it is caught in a time warp.
But if you watch the pot with your heart, your whole being becoming the pot of milk on boil, you are present in the moment.....every moment.....from the time it is put on the stove, up to the time it rises up to boil over. And you don't have to do a thing.
You will know what to do and when to turn off the stove.....in that moment when it is needed.
And you can rest in the knowing that you will have no mess to clean up :)

Being

the tireless ocean
rests unto
the breathless sky,
green flags on brown
step daintily
with the dancing wind,
steadfast banks
quietly watch
the rushing river,
clouds of eiderdown
wander through
invisible paths;
a torn heart
slowly learns
the art
of resting
into
life.
Do nothing.
Being.
Here.
Is enough.

Shraddha

breathe
walk
talk
think
work
feel
live
with love.
with humility.
with reverence.
with faith.
with purpose.

like the little bird
who trusts
the swaying tree
enough,
to build its nest
just there,
time and again,
through rain and sun.

Shraddha -
being
an embodiment
of love.
life's purpose
is
love fulfilled,
through surrender.

Power

the sea is calm
after overnight rain,
black and white sunrise -
where are the colours
of joy and pain
to proclaim?

waves rise, to
get swallowed
by the ocean -
unruffled.

stardust
settles in and
courses through
intricate veins;

distant supernovas
blow their conch
in the silent spaces
between cells;

waves rise again;
only to lose
their colour
and power,
to the reign
within.

when I own
my power,
I can give it away
to rest
in the quiet strength
of having nothing to do.

Simplicity

A simple
white jasmine.
No frills.
No favour.
She leans out
to see

the restless sea
in the distance;
She feels
the burning longing
of the cracked earth;
She hears
her dying friend's wail
closing in on her;
And yet
she can do nothing.
Nothing.
Simplicity
lies in doing nothing.
Nothing
but being oneself.
A colourless rainbow.
An empty canvas.
A fragrance that lingers
in silent spaces of togetherness.
Presence
is enough.
Simply enough.

Everything is Waiting for Me

I watch the world go by
from the tiny crack in the wall -
the only space I have
to peep out,
to see the world
and the Light.

a tiny sliver
of green, just born -
trapped in the now,
this is where I belong;
stark grey walls
keep me company,

while I hold on
to myself -
who I am, and
who I can be,
if only I was born
somewhere in the wild,

I would grow
into a peepal tree -
dance with the sun,
soak in the rain,
talk to the wind,
even one last time,

before I crumble
to rest in the stillness
of a dew-drenched green.
Everything is waiting for me.

"Beingness"

Today
when I close my eyes,
there is no longing;
there is a simple "beingness".

Today
when I close my eyes,
I open my heart
to myself;
a tiny leaf free falling
to rest unto itself,
on the warm, moist earth.

Today
as I open my heart,
the gentle rain from my eyes
falls into the deep well of stillness,
the relentless waves of my breath
rise and fall as they give and take life;
the ripples on my tranquil heart
dance with abandon in the morning sun,
the quivering leaves in my throat
are caressed and stirred awake by the passing wind,
the lone baobab stands rooted in my gut -
a silent oasis in the empty desert sands,
the brewing storm of wild thoughts
explodes into the darkness of my mind.

Today
as I open my heart,
I see, I feel,
I touch, I hear;
everything is inside me,
when I simply "be".

Being Love

don't look for love
in rainbows or rain,
don't look for love
in places or people, in vain;
look for love within,
as you peel off layers of skin
grown over old wounds,
holding pain and light within;
break down those walls you've built,
brick by brick if you will,
for love needs no shelter,
love flows free, love is still;
look for love as you dig
deep into your own past,
use the earth that you till,
to build an altar for love -
a space where you can rest,
welcome others and yourself,
where you can celebrate free will
and always be your true self,
and when you're all done
digging and looking for love,
lay your naked self
on the soft, warm earth,
looking up at the stars
in the majestic night sky,
let the whispering winds
from the galaxies beyond
clothe your bare form,
let the eternal fire
from the primeval stars
keep you warm,
let the wild waters
from vagrant, icy comets
flow through your tiny veins,
and know that your human form
that crumbles to dust when you're gone,
is made up of the same cosmic dust
that gives form to the mighty stars,
the planets that square your moon,
and the black holes that swallow things up;
you are here to feel this in your every cell,
so rest gently and surely into existence,
open yourself to all of life and love,
and in that breaking open,
you will grow wings
to soar like a bird
into the infinite sky,
you will know love,
you will  BE love,
with nothing to fear or hide.