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Sunrise cherry blossom petals
swirl and dance at the compassionate,
adorable feet of the Goddess Kuan Yin

Smiling temples hang like lanterns
from dragon faced cliffs
drifting gently through
pastel terraced clouds

"Merciful Mother
how do we dare to
measure the immeasurable
or calibrate the infinite?
Mortal minds cannot
calculate what is
divinely incomprehensible."

Emerald eyes flash in the
mesmerizing, stormy mist
of Maya

Quan Yin's snow lily hands
wipe away our suffering
soothe our furrowed, fevered brows
Her words fall into pining hearts:

"The body is a temple
you are a projection of love.

Love the Earth, love the air
love the water, love the fire.

Love the part of self that is of the ethers."
A spray of sparrows
ascend from the seed splashed
garden floor
perching high in the delicate branches
of my heart
together we warble our
Ode to Spring

Spicy Concador lilies open
their fragrant parasols in
curly vernal tresses

Jasmine petals tucked between
the crease of her ample *****
wafts deliriously
making us all a wee bit tipsy

Sticky sap of love oozes
from secret orifices and
long slender tree limbs

Hibiscus donned in frilly
Easter bonnets and climbing
red swashbuckling Don Juans
dance around Her graceful ankles

The garden is suddenly
So alive
So very pregnant

Zeppelin shaped dragonflies
buzz softly past our upturned lips
Spring's milk and honey kisses
showers the earth blessing our
burgeoning Spirits
Morning dove light peeps
through satin, white window curtains
gently caressing my face
with long amber fingers of Aten

Eyelashes flutter, tiny black feathers
spread their wings
my eyes, twin suns rise
in splendor

I watch from an ancient throne
suddenly realizing:
I AM HERE

Shimmering peacock hues
ripple across the iridescent atmosphere
succulent flavors of a new day overwhelm
my palate as I gulp down each raw, fresh
insatiable experience
bursting forth in plumes of color,
scents and sensation

Yet in the midst of it all like a
clarion bell ringing from a Buddhist temple
Clearly I observe:
I AM HERE

My lover clasps me
to his burning breast
I feel warm breath in my ears
and a warm teardrop splashes
against my ruby cheek
"O sweet boy will you love me forever?"

Spring rains flow into Summer vacations
Winter snow buries Autumn petals
Unaffected My Soul calmly declares
I AM HERE

My breath is shallow
the bubbly stream of life
has dammed up
heavy black velvet drapes
slowly close over a starry landscape
you grip my cold, steel blue hands
and stare into my faraway eyes
your words fall on a distant shore
where roaring tiger waves
pull me out to sea

And although all appears lost and forgotten
Undiminished I remember:
I AM HERE
awknight Mar 2018
Running from the
chipped paint and
peeling wallpaper.
The exposure.
The naked vulnerability.
Chasing dreams
that scare me
only to find grounding
in fear.

The dripping faucet
was acid on my skin
in streams down my face.
A feeling of warmth
that burned.
Scarred.
A sudden change.
Please, not again.

The ceiling caves in —

I can never show anything
but the reflection of a life
that is broken.
No matter how the claws
shred me
from underneath my
own skin…

Trapped in escape.
who knows what this pile of **** is -- it just happens sometimes
WeFeelFine Mar 2018
Twenty-six Letters,
                   Are universal symbols,
             Of Not only beautiful love,
  All that is Good,
    But also Ugly hate,
                  All that is evil.
     Infinity Gratefully accepts their company.
       At the Emission of such power,
                 
One Is unable to do anything but tremble at
The Sacred,
                              
Power of a Word.
One can not say that it is not
Wonderfully moving to posses this
 Earthshaking ability to release
 Rattling emotions
                              
                With only the arrangement of some lines on a surface.
"May God forgive me, but the letters of the alphabet frighten me terribly. They are sly, shameless demons - and dangerous! You open the inkwell, release them; they run off - and how will you ever get control of them again!" - Nikos Kazantzakis
"Are you real?" Ravi whispered hoarsely.
Shyama the Mataji from the Yoga Shakti
ashram in Melbourne, smiled,
"As real as any of us," she replied.
Tenderly she tucked warm blankets around Ravi
as he slept on the cold, concrete, cement
steps of the Hindu temple.

Now it all seemed like a mirage to him, a fading dream.
Ravi anxiously waited for David's dark blue van.
Today he was finally leaving the austere environment
of the Buddhist Temple. New born vistas were
blossoming before his astonished eyes.

That morning he had broken the news to his mother.
"Mom I am coming home in a few days!"
His mother gasped with delight on the phone,
nearly swooning. She had just engaged in a
week long sadhana of intense prayers and
pujas in Bangalore pleading for the return of
their only son, Ravi, to their loving arms.

Soon, David and Ravi scooted down the
road waving goodby to the Monk and fellow
Buddhist practitioners. Ravi breathed a deep
sigh of relief. Everything was going so smoothly.
Later in the day I met David and Ravi for lunch.
Ravi had a slightly dazed appearance on his face.
So much had transpired in the past year. It was
as if he had been reborn. Each baby step he took,
God was there urging him on, catching him if he
seemed unsteady or unsure, infusing him with
fortitude, strength and great love.

I asked Ravi if he planned to say
goodbye to Shyama, the Mataji at the ashram.
Since time was pressed he decided to say farewell
in a phone call.

We wrapped up our lunch, David had errands to run,
so I took Ravi in my car. On our way home
we stopped at Walgreens to get some
chocolates for his Mom. We noticed a
woman pulling out of the parking lot.
"Oh My God!" Ravi exclaimed,
"That's Shyama!" We dashed over to her car.
"Ravi's leaving!" I gushed. Shyama Ma
got out of her car, gently embracing Ravi
and blessing him. We chatted briefly, then Shyama left.

Ravi and I stood there gawking at each other
in bedazzled ecstasy.
We both could feel the Divine Hand of God
showering us with His astounding leelas.

We resumed our errands and made our
way back to my house. Rama, our
inquisitive cat greeted Ravi rubbing his
furry little head against his feet.
Ravi relaxed, settling down on the wine
red couch in our front room. We flicked on
the TV. Ravi stammered like an innocent child,
"I haven't watched television in years!" He looked
at me with a befuddled grin, "I still can't believe
this is all real."

The weekend flew by and soon Ravi
was standing at the Check-In counter of
the airport preparing to fly home to
Bangalore, India.
"Ravi," I said softly, "this morning I had
a dream with Sathya Sai Baba."

"Oh really?" Ravi said excitedly,
"Please tell me about it."
I related the dream to Ravi:
I was sitting at a table, I believe my husband
and another man was on my right.
Swami was seated across from me.
He had such a beatific, radiant countenance.
I gazed at our glorious Sai, love surging
through my heart.

An attendant came over and poured juice
into two glasses. I said,
"Please give this to that man first. The attendant
moved the two drinks over.
Swami looked at me with a very
happy expression on His holy face.

As I finished describing the dream,
I said to Ravi, "I think Swami was
letting us know He is pleased with the
service rendered to you."
What a wonderful blessing.

Ravi shoved a package of Pizza flavored
crackers into his Carry-on bag.
David and I watched as Ravi trekked
through the security line of the airport,
his eyes glistened with thankful tears.

We both snapped pictures with our
cell phones of our sweet friend and
blew kisses which he eagerly caught,
a pristine beginning, a magnificent ethereal
bridal bouquet glowing on the rose pink
threshold of an extraordinary new day.
Arlene Corwin Mar 2018
I write everyday. This daily practice leads more and more to ignoring the past. Here is a poem - as newsworthy as ever, from one of my books published 2012 called Our Times, Our Culture which I happened to be going through this evening:
It's page 162 of a 302 page book; was written in 1996.
meekah Feb 2018
there is something sacred
about the way i touch my face
or my arms
or my stomach
or my thighs
or any part of myself
that has at some point
felt foreign
and i want to live in the fearlessness
of learning to accept the gentleness
of my touch
because there is beauty
and holiness
in knowing that i’m enough
thymos Feb 2018
if you look into the essence of things
for long enough, the truth will manifest
that despite what the universe is telling you,
you don't really need that Big Mac, at best

a deep desire's unsatisfaction
is its only real redeeming feature
for its completion is its death, and worse,
your loan will not cover your expenses.

but the sacred only enters when life
is lived beyond need, and all of future
is a faded dream, with life completely

emptied of engineering, and the eye
in excess consumes the sun to suture
itself to night, so to see things frivolously.
Kris Fireheart Feb 2018
We are children of the Rainbow.
Sacred blessings from the Sky .
To make our homes in The valleys,
They hoped that we would become
Wise.

We were chosen by the Moonlight.
To give our hearts to the Sun,
A sacred duty sworn to no one.
We'll be whole when it is done.

We are marching through a darkness,
In silent search of holy light.
Some have strength and some are hopeless...
I pray they all survive the night.

Morning sun on my horizon,
Show me to thy golden throne.
Fill the Sky with stars and diamonds,
And send a ship to take me home...
This is a bit of a weird one,  I'll admit. I wrote this one morning while watching a sunrise with friends on psychedelics.  Can you guys see anything here?
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