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The morning, milky white,
was dripping from sky to earth,
like desert sands, it extends
beyond my mind.
White flows like benediction
of the cosmos, I tell myself,
is it real or the illusion mind creates?
I swim to the depths,
an emerald cave, so familiar
in many lives, comes to sight,
I take the sword kept there
from its sheath, and dive up
cut the chain of illusion with it.
The white blood of silence
gush and spread everywhere,
I gaze at  the face of truth
hidden by golden leaves*
till the moment before.
*"Leaves of gold cover the face of truth. Please remove Oh! ultimate, for me to see the truth of Dharma"
(15th mantra of Ishavasya Upanishad)
 Dec 2012 Christos Rigakos
mads
Light me up,

and i'll feed these

         corrupt lungs

            with a dead flame.
When she came back to return
the light she took from him without his consent,
(she thought that's what she did)
with the foot falls of a cat,
he  found she has changed,
beyond his imagination,
had become a beacon of light  herself,
her  darkness fully erased,
so luminant as a morning star,
she too was astonished by the magic of light,
the light she  took away from him wasn't a theft,
it was replenished at once,
* when wholeness is taken from wholeness, wholeness remains.
*Light is limitless when it decides to spread.
*"That(ultimate) is infinite, this is (individual)is infinite,
when infinite comes out of  infinite, infinite remains"
Isa Upanishad
Under the open sky's benevolent eyes,
when everyone in the caravan
was in deep slumber,
                                   his  lonely heart was on fire,
when he felt, someone touching his forehead.
The past he could tell, was catching up with him,
a venerable monk,  a divine presence
with his white, long flowing beard
stood leaning on his long, strong, staff
peering at his face, those eyes, the light of grace,
"Make peace with your past,
make the bats hanging upside down, vanish,
with deep repentance, cleanse your turgid soul,
its in your hands, then see what happens"
rang the Guru's words in his ears.

He rocked all his dark loves to sleep and bid
good bye for ever to his weeping wounds,
Eyes raised skywards, he sought forgiveness
to everyone he did wrong, in silence.
He heard the guru's words repeatedly booming in the wind
"Repent, it would absolve you for ever"
He meditated, till his cloak from black to white transformed.

At the day break, he woke up to a new life,
the ground, was deserted, silence reigned, expectently
No trace of any caravan, did they vanish in to thin air?
The rhythmic pounding of the staff, of the monk,
was it just an illusion of mind, a visitor
at moments of darkness and doubt, bringing light?

To some questions, we don't really expect answers,
the very questions are the answers we look for.

The valley was full of flowers,  and sky
was crowded with robust white clouds, portentous!

**As he was walking down the rocky path,
a woman looked at his face and asked:
"Monk, where did you come from?
aren't you the one they told, would come, no doubt!"
He smiled.Understood.
in winter haste
          shorts fall to dusty floor --
   sunny goosebumps
So quickly I would drop everything,
Be swept away to sea,
Live in deep darkness,
Sleep with no dreams,
Eat nothing for years,
Breathe only one breath an hour,
Lay filthy and forgotten,
Say goodbye to all that I know,
Never sing a song again,
Never read another book,
Never write another poem,

Just to keep you.
Just to be lost with you.
Just to live with you.
Just to sleep beside you.
Just to feed you.
Just to breathe you.
Just to be for you.
Just to say hello everyday, to you.
Just to sing for you.
Just to read to you.
Just show all these poems to you.

Because I ******* love you.
if knowledge is the end that each must seek
through all the tangled forest of the text
it is no wonder that we are so vexed
on the occasion of a sharp critique
delivered in plain words only the meek
affect to listen though they are perplexed
since they have no real sense of what comes next
and no desire to let their hurt minds speak
while up above the hunter is alert
to every nuance of the changing breeze
eager to know what comes in scent or sight
since that one thing may help or may yet hurt
but either way must fall before it flees
and be dragged out into the open light
I am waiting for a nice girl to cheat me,
noble enemy to beat me,
the sharpest spines of the cactus to hurt me,
and a starlit night to gobble  me up perfectly
leaving nothing  of me behind.
The girl he met in the casino said,
she was in a spiritual quest;
"This is not exactly the place for that,
but i try to make the best of every situation"
How can one blame Edward Munch,
for the euphoria of horror
he created by the painting "The scream",
Who doesn't like to get horrified, at the appropriate times?
"I sensed a scream passing through the nature" said Edward Munch on the inspiration, that resulted in the painting  on one evening.But the horror he depicted was strangely euphoric!!
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