bathed in the cool light of the moon,
my sweet puppyhead and me,

sit.

under the full soft light, 
her ray’s illuminating the yard,
the woods.

footsteps crunch drying leaves,
fox, deer or foe?

waning canopy,
boughs lighter each day.

fall, majestic, peaceful
dying for another year.

plants and creatures, 
taking refuge in the deep dark void
of mother earth,
of mother nature.

squirreling away tidbits for a late winter snack,
coats blooming, thickening.

such delight, 
each night,
sitting outside,
my puppyhead and me.

quiet and solitary,
no humans 
annoying me.

silent and still
only nocturnal creatures
meandering about.

what magic,
what sacredness.
what mystical delight.
never apart,
only the ONE.

such silly confusion,
thinking a person,
separate and small,
quaking with fear.

the big deep dark mystery
laughing and jovial,
always here,
here for us all.

open your eyes, 
feel your nature,
always here,
never apart.

fearing death
fearing life,
what a silly way to live this
life!

the moment you were born,
you began dying,
what a relief,
knowing the score!

relaxing into the madness,
laughing at it all,
pure and free,
forever more, 
and not……

being,
not being,
eons of reflection,
sages and rishis
revealing the truth,
it can’t be done for you,
only you can become 
that which you are….
that which you always were.

my sweet love, my sweet life,
my puppyhead and me,
sitting here in Fall.
~~~

well, im back
guess i couldnt be held back too long, anyways-
and then

man why the heck am i doing all this?
all of this poetry and this stuff?
and i palpably feel the block too-

feel the feeling that wont allow me
just permit me
to say what i want to

instead of these fancy hininks and
CONCEPTS
to just separate me from a veneer;

always,
always in the
rage and its not even me.

yes
opening to
deep darkness - the holy kind; now-

every day is earth day.
poetry is not a nautch girl of the mind
and it deadens me

to see all the potential here that is
used to just stimulate the paltry faint
prostituting of the Divine Soul of the Poetry.

Im sure some of us know of Hinduism?
yes?
so we must know of Rishis too, may be.

Rishis are the sages,
above those of the Pantheons of the gods goddesses too,
in fact, yes, the holy ones fear rishis.

why am i bringing this up?
rishis have a synonym- listen up y'all,
all of you poets- this is about you-

rishis are called KAVIS
seers
diviners

those who have a acute sense
a sense for what the rest of man dont.
poetry is a magickal act,

that the pen is mightier than the sword
is no excuse not to wield both
with skill and the intent to ****.

Poetry relegated to a nautch girl of the mind,
poets are poets because
NIHILIO HUMANIS ALIENUM

and yes this does seem as sermonising,
perhaps. perhaps,
but perhaps this is in truth a request-

we need poets now more than ever.
what is the role of the rishi?
THE RISHIS CREATE BELIEF SYSTEMS

all religions, listen up y'all - this concerns you-
all religions are a porduct of a  poet,
and the poet who uses skillful means to break through the OBVIOUS and LAZY work;

such as - o muni is another word for
kavi for rishi-
sakyamuni or Buddha? yep,

a poet.
anyways-
ahh with that rant out lets break it down.

i truly desire only to be seen
by my family and my old circle of friends
to truly be seen by you, now- and just be said

hey man, i see what you've been doing
i see how much of yourself youve given
and keep giving

and i know youre actually doing this for me,
and seriously man, who are you?
who cares THIS much to help someone not themselves?

who chooses to voluntarily sacrifice themselves and go crazy
so that we know that theres a whole and consummate
PROBLEM with the way things are now.

mostly man, youre not alone
i love you and i respect what you're doing
and I WILL thank you

not in words,
but rather,
rather by following the trail

the trail of following
the ever ECSTATIC call of my own soul
and yes, i WILL TELL you in words

that i have YOU to thank for
all of this.
sigh, yes, that is all i really wanted to hear.

and be hugged a lot more, consensually;
and joined in my party-making;
that is how i live my life

i need some company
with all this DIVINE MADNESS
ive got spilling left right and all eight other

directions too.
just a few Horizon Anarchists,
high on integrity, on discipline

and especially
on TRANS-THEFUCK-GRESSING
and that we simply, o simply, o o o simply-

Drop Out
Tune In
Drop In.

and why?
because it is only dead myths that cause
cancer in our bloodstreams.

and why?
for through poetry we literally create
universes and realities, and the framework for religions.

and why?
because we must own the power we've been
blessed with and repay the way we got it.

and why?
because the earth
is in desperate need for peace and love.

and why?
because this new republic according to plato
will have no need for poets philosophers and fools and thus they rule with their tyranny.

and why?
because we must not leave the unbroke. threads
left behind by our flaming ancestors die out.

and why?
because we wake up every day, count every breath
and rebirth magic into the very culture that chooses to **** us.

and why?
because we
REAL COOL.

On Your prayer white Altar
I offer my throbbing ruby heart
kneeling amidst the lotus flower snows
Ascetic Himalayan mountain cliffs
Ancient Rishis
gaze sagaciously,
chanting Hari Om
we breathe in the rarified incense
of Prema
climbing altitudes
dizzying heights
quartz crystal stars,
sphatik rosaries
at our feet
only Hari exists
and this love
that illumines
the face of creation
Hari Om Dearest God
across the dazzling abyss
in Your arms we dance
numberless candles
inflorescent, incandescent
beyond
the Northern lights



http://www.sairapture.com/hari-om.html

I watched the Swami quoting Heidegger and Zizek so admiringly.
Heidegger, who only just quoted the Swami's own ancient masters. How serene he delivered a blow to all of so-called western philosophy - even going back to the Greeks. Not a hint of anger anywhere on his dispassionate face. This is what I see as Divine. This is God living through some other flesh. What else could hold such horrific truths and smile at the damning lies? What else could pluck all of history, a dying flower, from one vase and hold it next to a living, green being of infinite beauty and call them both good?