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The Madman, "Yes, three days, three centuries, three aeons. Strange they would always weigh and measure. It is always a sundial and a pair of scales."

Saturday, January 30, 2016

(161)

all these words
this mess of riddles
all the hours of practice, all the lessons learned
the rigour of penance, the sins of the flesh

all this i take and give it up into the sacrificial fire
around which this universe is a mere altar

the fire which nurtures with energy every direction, every particle
which cloaks the totality of earth and sky

that fire which has consumed every fiber of my being
and in whose healing embrace my soul rests in eternal peace


inn saare shabdon ko
paheliyon ke janjaal ko
jitna bhi abhyaas kiya, jitne bhi paath padhe

tapasya ke punya ko, shareer ke paap ko
in sab ko uss agni mein jhonk rha hoon

jiske liye ye bhrahmaand havan ka kund bana hai
jo har disha, har kan ko oorja se seech rahi hai
jiski aanch mein ghire hue hain dharti aur aakash
jiski pyaasi lapton mein mera rome-rome bhasm hua h
aur jisme jal ke meri aatma ko shanti mili hai

(160)


    This is the journey of the nameless through himself,
    The unraveling of his secret,
    The picking of particles that make up his being,
    Diving into perpetual becoming,
    Fabricated by stimulant fear,
    The primal push.

    The first stage,
    Undifferentiated nullness,
    Too scared to be.

    From the first vibrations,
    The second stage was stirred,
    Birth of the first elements,
    Scared to stone,
    Too afraid to breathe.

    In the third heave,
    Those particles dared to breathe,
    But stunned by impulse,
    Immediately shut their eyes
    And died.

    Subsequent stages
    Saw the gradual purging of fear
    And the thrill of prolonged awakening,
    The transformation of will into fate,
    Creation of this,
    From photons to faces,
    From cell to seed.
    The gentle knitting of consciousness
    That could conceive history,
    Remember the source it was to fill,
    Hear the nameless calling it.
    And fulfill the purpose of this becoming,
    The becoming of the being
    That chooses to be to not to be.

Saturday, January 23, 2016

(159)

Some shadows dance naked
In the raging rain of lust

Some lie smiling secret smiles,
Their carelessness sprawled across golden clouds

Matters magical
Fill minds of some with mystery and stars

Thumping their precious pride with thunder,
Some put their shallow strength on display

Move beyond this game of light and dark
And see all shadows vanishing like fallen chess pieces,
See substance dissolving
In the baffling motionlessness of unity
And rest



Sunday, January 3, 2016

(158)

Reason freezes
As I breathe in Death’s desolation.
I’m standing at the end of the future,
All of the past shrouded in the present.
The universes shatter into a gazillion pieces of Nothing,
Undifferentiated and free.
For the first time, Wholeness finds enough space to present itself.
All progressions and regressions condense into Singularity.

The Source,
Unclogged, finally breathes again its still-breath
And smiles with satisfaction,
Undisturbed, unchanged.

Another unbound eternity comes to Completion.
And a new one begins.

Another run of time’s tortured tick.

The Old-Master finds form again,
His spirit dances
As his heart hums his old song again.
His shadows fly,
Coloring all quarters with splashes of density.
His mad hair spread like black fire,
Messenger serpents
That slither to all corners of the new born emptiness
Planting seeds of the Soul wherever they burrow.
His flesh dissolves and fertilizes Ether with enriching lifeness.
His blood gushes, filling up rivers that flood galaxies.
His mind is lost,
Ecstatic,
Filling the cosmos with wonders is its only fixation.
Thus he swirls,
Going round and round and round…
Spirals become Nature,
Dizziness becomes Consciousness,
Exertion becomes Suffering,
Rhythm becomes Syntax.
He comes alive in everything
And Everything happens once again
Just like it always has.

Existence is but an expression,
The artist, a madman with a recurring dream.