i watch the exodus of the fall leaves from the trees; crispy red, yellow, orange & brown against the cerulean sky. some leaves simply let go & drift slowly to the ground among the other fallen leaves. ah, but some leaves are teased from the silent trees by the busy hands of the wind & whirled on a great journey, as if on a pilgrimage to holy Mount Kailash. they spin in spirals, almost describing arcane esoteric glyphs of power & vision; up, up into the sky & onward beyond my ken.
i ponder on those soaring leaves, taken up through no intention of their own to sail through the deep mystery into the light. they appear to be no different from the other leaves that simply fall softly to the earth & lie there unnoticed. who can say that wind-surfing half the world away to Kailash is any more auspicious than quietly yielding to ones destiny without fanfare, & nobly enduring? in the end, Shiva holds us all to his breast like lost children come home to be cherished at last. in the end, when it all folds up again, we return to our innocence.
need is honed by the whetted knives of appetite & truly, Shiva,
i hunger for You. gone are home & husband: only You remain to
feel my need & only You, my panacea, can satisfy it.
after the hard fall from grace comes humility. after the blessing
of divine presence comes also humility, for what on earth can
long endure? i am like an autumn butterfly floating in the wind
as if a bright & tattered fallen leaf spiraling in circles not
of my own choosing. i am being carried home, Shiva, on this long
journey of return to You, yet another weary old butterfly
coasting on worn ragged wings & deeply rooted instinct
as the days grow shorter & cooler & the nights fall even colder.
the crisp clear nights are overseen by orion & the pleiades,
who make their promises & work their spell upon my stuttering heart.
i am promised to You, Shiva, carried & cloistered by messengers
who are following Your firm command. my life is not my own. even
my need & appetite do not originate with me but come as
endowments, strange puzzles concealing Your calling card & messages
written in subtle sensory glyphs which You have taught me how to read.
they say, "wear it out, burn it up, let it go & seek Me everywhere
as we play hide & seek in this burning ground of purification
called daily life on planet earth. I will carry you home at the end."
"are we home yet, Shiva?" i ask Him like a child, again & again,
& we giggle & play tag in body after body one more time.
the time to look within that the pandemic provides
is a healing & integrative blessing, though strict.
i know enough now not to confuse the wrapping of
the gift with the real gift, which i receive gratefully.
Shiva, i see that the sanatana dharma came
to the west as theosophy & esotericism,
telling the holistic tale that bridges cultures & lifestyles.
we are more alike than different, preferring love
over violence, gentleness over cruelty.
we surge forward as a multitude toward the light.
we stray only to learn the true nature of our need.
we are ignited, blazing like a fire in winter,
as we return to You, who are called by many names.
You bring the sanatana dharma, ageless wisdom,
the effulgence of eternal truth in daily life.
the pandemic is the current opportunity
to go within, emerging into Your dear embrace
as we shed our ragged & broken crusty old skins
for the supple skin of a newborn child in this world
as we return to You, who are called by many names.
THIS HAPPENED 