Oh Swami Muktananda Paramahansa that bliss of liberation you attained
by Guru Nityananda's grace emancipation in this very life you had gained.
You were a representative of the lineage of poet-saints that had gone before
showing how easy it was, by chanting the name of God, to meditate for sure.

You stressed the importance of repeating the mantra 'Om Namah Shivaya'
and that if done with love would bear fruit regardless of who was the sayer.
There was so much energy about you that one could feel, like an ever present force,
the supreme blessing of Guru Nityananda was with you always being its very source.

You were a living embodiment of chitishakti or divine power-knowledge-bliss
and most of all those who came before you could also easily experience this.
It appeared at times you were unapproachable if one was by your presence overawed
and that you were on the constant lookout for any sincere aspirant who was not bored.

You also emphasized and revealed the true nature of the guru-disciple relationship
stating in plain modern words what was expected of one like in an apprenticeship.
Many secrets of the inner path you divulged and laid bare in all your writings and talks
saying the receiving of Guru's grace was what made a difference on the path one walks.

A book called 'The Play of Consciousness' explained some of the inner experiences you had
your spiritual autobiography for the world at large making many inspired and extremely glad.
To many it meant that someone was still around living these days who had been through it all
and was available to instruct and guide others on the path to the goal he'd been to well before.

You were a living True Saint, Sadguru or Perfect Master to many it seemed
and showed the way or path of the Siddhas being the one which you deemed.
Living at a place called Ganeshpuri in India nearly fifty miles from Bombay
many came from all parts of the world to see you and in your ashram stay.

In the abode you named 'Shree Gurudev Ashram' in that land of yoga where people came
many found what they were after becoming your devotees to whom you gave a new name.
There was a strict daily discipline of chanting certain scriptures, work, study and meditation
and also the occassional all night chanting of the name of God which was a holy dedication.

The atmosphere in that place was so pervaded by the energy radiating from your being
almost as if one were living in another world and could not help what they were seeing.
The whole place resembled that of a temple palace attracting people from far and wide
who came to experience what with your grace you said was to be found but only inside.

You opened up a whole new ancient path of spiritual experience leading gradually to the goal
that people from all walks of life could participate in and regain the lost treasures of their soul.
By one-pointed devotion, self-effort, obedience, meditation and the blessings of Guru's grace
anyone could practice Yoga easily without much struggle and attain that inner peaceful place.

There were many new centres that opened by enthusiastic devotees in far away lands;
with the money, sweat and labour of all those who selflessly gave by their willing hands.
And it didn't really matter at what distance or place this centre was situated from you,
although not physically present your spirit, being all pervasive, was subtly there for you.

You also visited many of the countries where your devotees lived both in the east and west
giving darshan to all those old and new followers of the Siddha path you said was the best.
Initiating many people by either a look, word, thought, touch or even by your physical presence;
and all who received of your grace getting a real buzz, were invited to tell others of its essence.

It was mostly at a certain two day program, held every one or two months, called an "Intensive"
anyone could partake of the Siddha Yoga Initiation offered, at a price, which wasn't expensive.
This was also designed to enhance and recharge those who were already practising meditation
involving chanting, meditation and talk sessions including a lunchtime meal and brief relaxation.

One had to participate fully, from about nine to five, over the two days, usually on a weekend
to get the full benefit of what the program had to offer and experience Guru's grace descend.
This was really the main date on the calendar for all those into meditation that were not to miss
if they had nothing better to do and wanted to get a lift in their 'sadhana' and acquire some bliss.

It remotely seemed to be a bit of a fund raising venture with all the money seen changing hands
but to those who couldn't afford it, must of been painful missing out, one somehow understands.
There was also the question, which crossed one's mind, as to what was being bought and sold?
- a meditative experience the result of Nityanandaji's grace through Swami Muktananda's hold!

Although no one was ever heard to complain about not getting their share of what was being given
and with the attitude of 'the more you put into something the more you'll get back' one was driven.
It also depended a lot on how much in tune you were and what prior preparation had been made;
how sincere you were in your effort also what devotion and faith at the feet of the Guru one laid.

There were no restrictions, it appeared, to either old or young, male or female to begin meditation,
all could profit and benefit in one way or another in the process and practice of Self contemplation.
One had to have an open mind and heart to receive and partake surely of the Grace that was there;
that power of the True Living Master, which was so all pervading, being available for any to share.

Sadgurunath Maharaj Ki Jai
_________________

A tiny spec of time...
for me, an eternity.

As my soul travels from this encasement,
into the dimension of where our dreams collide...

Fluttering feverishly,
these tattered wings of mine,
never lacking the luster of the silver that dusted your heart.

My light,
becomes global,
an atmospheric phenomenon,
intangible,
as I tangle the woven web,
spreading beams to capture what was once,
only mine.

Gathering her speed through my dreams,
as eyes close she breeches again and again,
the barriers of my subconscious never there,
she has always roamed freely.

My pacing brings her forth,
she becomes the fight in me.

She, who animates my character through ancient calls from deep,
I, named to reach beyond time,
I conjure my own awakening,
she gives my voice a power of conviction,
my roar is a contagious whisper.

Illiterate alliterations
Of Farcical fascinations.

I fancy myself a wordplayer
if not a word-sayer
Though the paper gets far more love than the air

***** what's nearest the toaster oven.
Vile Bile, Jim, by at least 3 miles.

I took the tapeworm from yesterday's sandwich
Gave it to the secretary, who continues to *****
She's a labrador
I'm a matador

You'd be surprised how much bulls ****.

I'm an open book with the tendency to get mistook and overlooked now more than ever cause the binding and the cover are extraordinarily ordinary
The frail, mousey lead character labeled fragilé and plagued with insecurity lacks any measurable or substantial substance, no originality, even the unremarkably troubled back story is unapologetically void of creativity
Absolutely zero structure to the flimsy plot lines leaving the majority unfinished and frustratingly empty, holes in the Swiss cheese history are aplenty, no matter the number it's always one too many, never held any water to begin with but regardless they surface constantly, scattered with no purpose throughout condemned property
The gaps in the sketchy timeline and the untimely flashbacks make it extremely difficult to follow, subsequently leaving the reader feeling uneasy, maybe even queasy
Couple that with the fact that the blood, sweat and tears that poor from me onto every page render every letter a blurry mystery
Ink rapidly bleeding beyond any point of legibility so I scurry into obscurity like the first bit of graffiti to hit the walls of a lost city
Or unlit cave dwelling residency that sheltered the beginnings of humanity, I don't say that metaphorically, this is all factually documented as actually happenin' to me
Completely being brushed over, over and over, leaves little to no room for closure, how could it be there is no retail value either even though I'm the soul owner of the one and only lonely copy
I must confess that honestly it's in rough shape visually, no secrecy, anyone and everyone can easily see, so it's insincerely looked over briefly with contempt and downgraded accordingly but unfairly
While momentarily left in dormancy to see if the monetary value to society rises any or will it be one to continually trend downwardly, accepting mortality
At this point breathing is just a formality, I know tomorrows not a guarantee so I scribble away feverishly, going at it tirelessly, throwing words around recklessly
Pointless? Quite possibly. Meaningless? Most definitely. Worthless? Well, how could it not be? I'd quickly place a bet on all three being casually mentioned in the book review, or what some of you might call my obituary
It could be and seems most likely to me to be revealed that it belongs in it's own category or at the very least a separate offshoot subcategory
OR, or, it could be disrespectfully decided to never even ever let it be represented digitally or physically in any online or city library across the entirety of this comically hypersensitive and ridiculously touchy country
They be watching over me shoulder every day as I dot every i perfectly and diligently cross every t, proofreading religiously so they take me seriously and can't use it against me
It's limited edition but surely nothin' special, hopefully still worthy of somethin', but here in reality it's realistically nothin' more than knockoff Gucci or black market Versace
Sounds fishy, I know, but what else could it possibly be when I have the answer key, it's literally my story, I not only wrote but lived every word you see and it still doesn't even hold any significance or importance to me
Every chapter awkwardly forced upon me, it'll clearly end horribly but I'm no visionary, not even close actually, would never catch me even trying or claiming to be
I just precisely record the facts on the spot as they happened to me no matter how bizarrely scary some happen to be, it's important to me that you see what I see
See, you'll see the cruelty in the issue that taunts me as it haunts me. The hot seat question then becomes can you possibly understand the conundrum that is me or even slightly comprehend my cursed duality?
A comedy turned tragedy then unfortunately forced to take the back seat immediately as people barbaricly laugh mockingly at said tragedy, the jokes on me apparently and I've never found it to be very funny
Notice that it both plagues my future and tarnished my history and I'm presently left with presumably only a falsely and improperly placed memory of happy
Remembered as nothing but the worst of me, my eulogy will most certainly read like a roast minus any dose of comedy
If you choose to take this journey and walk the path along side me you're more than likely to come to the same conclusion as me that the powers to be are stingy with the good karma while the bad energy is unnaturally loaded on all *****-nilly in spite of me with little concern for safety
OSHA be ****** apparently, all it takes is the thought of me being a presence in the vicinity of you and your family to make you question both your safety and my sanity at any given moment, occasionally I'll switch it up randomly to avoid the monotony
A painfully pitiful joke that seemingly seems to be getting worse optically, a ****** B movie parody of Steven Kings Misery, all pain, no joy, no money, I mean no interest, I mean no possibility of a remedy
A mocumentary if you will, but the pain is real still and it's going steady, a run on sentence dragged out endlessly through a raging sea of emotionally charged assault and self battery that continually thrash relentlessly all around me
The weight of my world has always been too heavy since all the way back in my infancy, flip to the first couple pages to jog your memory if need be, then take and make a mental note that today I'm pushing 40

******* that's a long time to knowingly be held in captivity,  I've already been through it and the recap still surprisingly hits me hard with a backing of PTSD

Your cross is just a fashion accessory, my cross drags in the dirt behind me and wasn't set properly, shoulders barely able support it and I couldn't transfer the load any
So I grab a penny for each eye, yet another money based payment ritual for the ferry man to finish the last chapter the best he can with mixed in commentary from the peanut gallery that'll ultimately reveal my true identity and destiny hidden in the smoke screen of my twisted personality
The one predicted by the aforementioned conflicting and confusing history, though obviously if you've been following closely at all you've seen the rate of my fall and calculated it's trajectory down to the nth degree
It has always been and will continue to be aimed directly at the fiery lake for all eternity, not much different than where I reside currently so really I'm in no hurry if its more or less going to be the same scenery
I guess if you want to be a **** about it you could probably make the argument that my life played out accordingly, regardless, I'm getting what's owed to me cause I bucked conformity and normality, spit in the face of misplaced authority
Whoa is me? Yeah no, whoa is you buddy, you should worry because the last page doesn't mean end of story necessarily, I'll live on in your thoughts as something far more scary
See, I wouldn't be able hurt you or even touch you physically but I'll guarantee to use my literacy platform to completely destroy your psyche like what was so savagely and aggressively done to me, looking back that's all I see
I've sighted every atrocity three pages from the back glossary if you ever have the need to fact check me, again, feel free but know that my story board is messy, I'm not use to entertaining company
The facts get a little bit more hazy every day and where slapped together haphazardly with no rhyme or reason to what I have too say, not a thread of continuity, and you can go on and forget about decency, that word isn't even in my dictionary
I want to take this opportunity to openly welcome anybody that can hear me to read my diary, I've made it easy and removed the lock and key, humor me and start with my autobiography
Get to know your enemy, you'll find what to use against me personally but also what I'll do to wipe you from my minds eye permanently before you grace the pages of my memory
Take this as a priority mail special delivery type promise inside a threat spread widely through a reputable distribution company
And now, since having the rare opportunity to slowly but fully get to know me just a wee better, you must know then that to doubt me is stupid risky, just facts here, no theory of relativity
May I suggest you completely drop expectations and turn each page carefully, it's not for the faint of heart obviously, don't approach this carelessly or it could consume you entirely, but that's not my responsibility
Erie from the start, so it'd be smart to get ready, it's about to get heavy, prepare yourself mentally, this is the type of gory, all guts no glory underdog revenge ****** mystery story that wouldn't even make late night cable tv
Though it'd truly be funny to slap a PG rating on the first copy just to watch them fully lose their **** and collectively scramble to get said copy pulled indefinitely
Anyway, no movie adaptation in the works, no straight to DVD release party and that's all fine by me, I ain't even angry about it really, okay, maybe I am a little grumpy but that comes with the contemporary territory
Read it, don't read it, buy it legitimately or steal a copy, it's all the same to me, everything you need to know, and some **** you wish you didn't, is right here in the typography
From living righteously to becoming a bully to getting lost in my own hypocrisy, it's all laid out lazily for every single truth seeker and neigh sayer to see
There's nothing left to say anyway so pretty please, once free from the pages, can you finally, quietly but quickly, leave and just let me be me? I'd appreciate it emencly

Alrighty, let's begin shall we.

-Chapter one-

      Our story both begins and ends in the same fashion in that neither needed to happen and the fact that they both did changed nothin', a breath of life wasted on a nobody with nothin' left to offer but what's left of the shattered dignity and pride, otherwise emptiness resides and we'll be taking a look back through pain filled eyes, recounting the rise and fall, the crippling journey and what ultimately triggered this poor man's untimely demise...

©2022

A kiss goodbye


Death is creeping, while I am sleeping.
My final year, my final tear, my final verse, there is no more.
Death is here, I am full of fear.
I have no money to pay Death’s toll, for,
I am a mere mortal mind,
Who is lost in space and lost in time.
All I possess is an endless black sigh;
A half-hearted plea for a love-life without the lie.


Fix me once more, or permanently close the door,
For I am not yet ready to venture forth, into that long goodnight;
But forward I will march into the doom,
If I have to meet another version of the truth.
With all my might, I continue.
Let me pay what they say is due.
The work is not yet finished,
So before I am diminished,
And banished from this spherical giant we wander upon;
Let me see one more sun, let me raise a son,
Let me say all my final goodbyes,
Before all is said and done.


To any truth-sayer, please say “Have a nice day.”
I need the sentiment, more than the reality,
So at least before I meet my maker today,
I can say I broke the mold,
With every intention that lived inside of me.


(C)2018 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.