following Your guidance, Shiva, i continue to review my life story & the blinders placed there by memory & society, finally revealed & stripped of their power. You have ripped the bandage from the wound & healed it with Your touch. You healed it with Your touch, strongly resembling a surgical procedure, as the whole is freed from the iron grip of the presumptuous part. i need a new perspective now. it's time. the upheaval of the quaking earth i long considered firm beneath my feet has flung me out of my resting place & tossed me in the air. & that is how i learned to fly & look from there on high to see the patterns playing out in a vast expanse. i see the story scrolling by, the hidden now revealed--& this life makes sense, i can see it now. this life makes sense at last! this life makes sense at last as the hidden stands revealed, shaped by Your holy hands to prepare me for the part i play. all i've learned in the past must now be dropped, must be left behind, just like the empty chrysalis when the butterfly takes flight & forgets all that had come before as if it were a dream.
this dream so grips us that we do not see we are insubstantial wisps of smoke & bone, blurred reflections in a dusty mirror. ah, the beauty of the shifting colors, the subtle hint of light & shadow glimpsed beyond the swift moving montage of form! this dream of maya invokes the senses with the bright promise of fulfilled desire. here, rainbows are mystic stringed instruments in the hands of the heavenly devas. ah! the beauty of the shifting colors, swirling in that sweet varied melody! the dream glows before us enticingly, enchanting in this lengthy human sleep. yet i do awaken from the dream's spell resuming my firm stance, cleaving to You in sincere sadhana & devotion far beyond the dream's enticing allure, to blend my heart & mind with You, Shiva. again i persevere in Your service as i have vowed, & so i do remain. i will stand steadfast with You, dear Shiva, upon the skyclad heights of Mount Kailash.
i dwell in a realm of endless mirrors, i myself a dream, writing a poem about a woman who sees that the world is a dream & she now writes a poem about this event. and next, Lord Shiva wakes me up with a bang & a shake & a warm hearty laugh. He takes hold of me & opens my eyes -- & i am at home, at home, at home now in Lord Shiva's arms.
we are the people of flesh & smoke, children of the dream, shaping our hands into alphabets for those who cannot hear. we cannot hear! we are the people of blood & bone, gathering our food, protecting it with swords, hands & words, urged on by our desire. we are hungry! we are the people of mist & fog who rise & dissolve-- invisible-- as the sun drinks up the water of our lives. we are fleeting! we are the people who rise & fall, a luminous rain to soak the soil with blood & blessing, turning & returning. we rise & fall! we are smoke & mist, drifting in dream in this reverie, lovely maya, sweetly inviting, shadows urged to action. we are so dazed! our hands form the shape of the word "love". our hearts demand this. love gives itself, offers a place to stand even in this dream. although our blossoms fade, we are fragrant!