There’s more than one method to meet the divine
The road to salvation is not a straight line
Skeptics, recall
Worship no god at all
While the foolish insist that there’s no god but mine

Latch on to life if your ardor is able
Every last option remains on the table
The one became real
With the turn of a wheel
And someday will come when the truth becomes fable

Enraptured in
a fevered spasm,

Captured in the
mind's phantasm,

Swimming through
the ectoplasm,

Pouring from the
roaring chasm,

Hidden in the
soul's recess

A subtle, gentle,
warm caress

So jubilant, it  
doth redress,

The hindrances which
so suppress,

The progress of the
spirit's wellness,

Showing things which
words can't tell us,

Giving gifts, which
none can sell us,

Do you
hear the
bell that's
ringing?
                  
ringing
              from a
                           distant
                                        shore?

It resonates from
mammoth spheres,

In orbit, shedding
countless years,

Through aeons of
causality,

And boundless
temporality

We see how worlds
arise and cease,

We see how yearning
lays the fleece,

The wool over the eyes,
deceiving, cool

Dispassion's peace
relieving, our

Great webs
of pain and sorrow,

Darkening,
to light the morrow

For as all things
must come apart,

So suffering's,
great work of art,

is merely but
a transience,

receding slowly
in the dark.

The current of life always flowing
The river remains, the water keeps going
Escapes from your hand
Turning rocks into sand
Its secret is something worth knowing

Am I dead, or am I alive,
Do I exist, or am I a dream,
Inside someone’s head for just a while

Where do I go, where do I flee,
I do not know, I do not feel

No answers given, only questions,
And through the unbearable longing this pain tortures

From whom are you wanderer?
The road on which you unravel,
Basking,
and on the brim of infinity
the body becomes nest for neighboring
critters
Ineffable, microscopic, macroscopic
And in the (in) between
on the peak of no where the whole widens,
the well wanes a wish deeper,
All the while
diamonds crest beneath aim
Gold, my galore...
of whom, are you

As my breath is the one, prana,
And the life's pulse, pala,
Reaching angelic source, Sura,
So is this mind, manas,
A flowering unfoldment,
Unendingly reaching
The Eye that would it see,
Unbeckoning unto Thee.

As well, this Bodhi, a temple,
Of the four and fifth, nur,
So entered by Atma,
A Ray of Thy Sun, thus being
Winged and as such with wind,
Flying only in Dharma's dance,
Is returning to, Brahma, You.
There yet, by Thy Grace, go i.