the first spark sparks

in the wastes of Shabsheer
his bread and water, that of niter
where he would spend nights here
worked as dawn neared

his flame soon to burn a million
harshness and saltpeter
his nickname was 'Paidarion'
his future more bitter

ⲇⲉⲁⲑ took a paid lover
and soon, mother and father
no home, no lamp for his feet

as the Egyptian sun began to blister
under the shade of one's beard
he sought an elder

"watch- for you are awake
you are seeing
you are knowing

watch- the baker as he bakes
the thieves fleeing
and the farmer sowing

"starve- we'll eat later
now we ponder
the hunger of  the beggar

the next we pass one
dont let him wonder
invite him to share our supper

"know to rise above
and to go under
to pass through-
and asunder

for He weaves
our lives together
we hold each other

in the pattern of our souls

He weaves us together
that we may hold one another
from the cradle to the casket

humanity woven well
holds on to much more
like a good basket

Here's to those who suffer voluntarily,
who rise above the mean and merely momentary
pleasure that we feel sitting on a couch,
eating Cheetos, watching reruns of "The Brady Bunch";

those who exercise, walk fast (raising weights
with their arms in rhythm to their feet),
jog, or actually even run --
as long as there's no clear goal in mind,
no Olympic medal, no short-skirted cheerleaders
proffering kisses;

residents of Blakely, Georgia, and Moosejaw, Saskatchewan,
who steadfastly resist removal to California
and similar climes, knowing intuitively
that delight in perfect weather is born in sub-zero winters,
in summer's humid swelter;

those who do without air-conditioning,
using the money for a violin
or books or trips to the local swimming pool;

those who fast, mortify the flesh, --
or at least skip breakfast occasionally,
refusing to indulge every ****** whim,
letting them ripen, at least now and then,
into actual, robust hunger;

monks in solemn Kentucky silence,
some, I suppose, are misanthropes, here I speak of those
with a normal affection for chat and hubbub
who restrict themselves to a reverent silence,
speech being used only in extremity;

blood donors.

A dozen fellows draped in threadbare tread densely,

Profligating goons in obsidian gowns
gathered under rainbow
moonshine shaking bronze hands,
howling and ******,   in the shambles of the moon,  
rap'n and nod'n to the notes of midnight.
The mellow marines mourned over malice,
lionizing over lost ones,
many howled venerated, exalted in wonder
in  favor of their thrilling grace, and delight,
and brilliance, and might!
but some neighboring sticklers,
    behaved haughty and in disdain,  
of the crowdy Cavaliers bellowing echoes
signaling out
                 to the seers of the sea,
singing to the wands overwatching the wedding,
and ravens listened,
   roving like noble patrolsmen.

Traveleres and trainees at sea
   humble and bright
niave, and frieghtened
in traverse,
           volatile and toiling,
           tireless,
Lunatics, (laughing, laughing, laughhing,)
Rumaging through rain,
fireciely,
rallying and rableroused,
through towering halls of mohogony,
     hefty and wholesome were their hearts
though, beast of the woodsy edifice
were foul and benumb
scowling with contempt,
haste to devide and devised to hindrance.

Hence the heroes heed
   to the valleys of rose, and violet,
and strawberry fields of forever,
 seeking Saint Nicholas,
in the bustling Byzantium,
      in the murky shadows of doubt.

The paradox of eros mixed with the half-smiling
severe practice of self-discipline of avoiding all forms of indulgence...

Tandava, like the corner of the triangle is undoing the center
Rather burn it all and begin anew then save the system manifesting through this

relationship of : Form and Action
Announcing the difference between desire and duty

Kama and Dharmma,
based in Samsara,
ascension through action-based
relinquished like Karma

But Is he really an Ascetic….  
Why then does Siva enter the forest naked with a ***** *****?

Is he really an ******…..
Why then did Siva set fire to kama, indigo weapon, third eye flame?

or was it the other gods that sent him to blame...

Without problems, the contradictory roles seen as whole
in the face of the Holy howling storms, rudra, indra seen in forms

Meditative, bubbling passion sitting still

sacred Dharmma and unattached passion
relates to his skin blue, from that one time
he drank the demon poison to keep his kin coo’

Gangadhara the river was born of your thoughts
running steadily like the state of the freedom

you tantricly embody

Chanting 'round fire, I find your ascetic attire.
Swallow me in your divine robes of love.
Burn away what is lost and all is found.

Sun of Knowledge bring Life to stone.
This world is magic and your very own.
Lost along the tiring brick roads,
I retire back home. Solid, within my deep forest throne.