Banging the Drum of OneSkinned Shiva

[Guest guest]

I am spirit-jihad, the glory, the gory,

ghosts gone to light, the might, the frail,

the moonlit spell broken, spilled water fetched,

the clatter the clang the bang, the pail's frailty,

free-flowered in Chiyo-No and Chang-o,

the least, the most, the roasting bones of martyrs,

murderers, chicken for dinner.

 

I am grief brought and left, bereft of grotto'd cures,the madmen in

madhomes, their sleep, their keep,

the loansharks, the quarks and quivering quail at dawn;

the hark of the lark's last cry, and why Ramana died.

All this and more, less, Am I.Rapture'd Bliss unfolding from the

gloom,decoding every inch of anxiety, sobriety, drunkeness and

drifting stiffs in the river.

 

I am Rumi's daughter'd slaughterhouse floor drenched in life-blood and

dream-streams of death.I am this home, America, the US of A,

flash-blasted and Heart-blown, hate-stoned, stunned by the

unrecognizable horizon of fire in the sky.

 

I am what moves and motivates Hippocrates,'Save Lives' of Suchness,

staunching wounds, wounding, the wound;Subtlety of Ego, banished Sita

sipping Light,Delighted Dharma delivered in the Tao of doubt in Rama…

Tremble of Life's throat's dying breath, crimson-slick

Manjusri’s blade, hades made from mindsets set in time-tombs; I am

Soul soars forth, Phoenix dream-smeared in freedom-ghee,

holding hope, Heart-gashed with the heart's ash,

burnt in bhava-lava awe, burnt

in jnana-chapati Wa, drawn from time's kiln.

I am paintless in the perhaps of collapsing worlds,

stormcloud shouts of Sunyata-Naga's neti of now,

I am a flower without water, without sunlight, without.

I am a vale, a village of mothers, of fathers, samskara-sunk in

despair, the hot flush of Kali's

blush on cheeks streaked with tears.

Cholera, cancer, car crashes, kidney failure, criminal Acts,flooding,

mudslides, tornados, poison, hurricanes,

drought, civil war and fire... it is the Pyre of As It Is,

and it is As-If its leapt upon,

by I, this Shiva-personified pawn of Shakti,

locked in Bhakta, knocked-up by God.

I am the quickened heartbeat beating quicker,

the sweaty fear of failure, and the fresh rush of that;

I am the moon's crescent-shape on the fingernails

of the girl's soft hand, the hand holding hope, and like waterdrops

near the roaring waterfalls in the forest of the mind,

everything is timed to appear

and to awaken in the trembling moment

of ThisMystery made manifest

in the moistness of memory, the memory of waking

from Shiva's Dream of Shakti Kundalini ...

the Great Cleanser of mind.

 

 

 

LoveAlways,

 

Mazie

[Guest guest]

That's beautiful Mazie.

 

--- Mazie Lane <sraddha54 wrote:

 

 

I am spirit-jihad, the glory, the gory,

ghosts gone to light, the might, the frail,

the moonlit spell broken, spilled water fetched,

the clatter the clang the bang, the pail's frailty,

free-flowered in Chiyo-No and Chang-o,

the least, the most, the roasting bones of martyrs,

murderers, chicken for dinner.

 

 

I am grief brought and left, bereft of grotto'd cures,

the madmen in madhomes, their sleep, their keep,

the loansharks, the quarks and quivering quail at

dawn;

the hark of the lark's last cry, and why Ramana died.

All this and more, less, Am I.

Rapture'd Bliss unfolding from the gloom,

decoding every inch of anxiety,

sobriety, drunkeness and drifting stiffs in the river.

 

I am Rumi's daughter'd slaughterhouse floor

drenched in life-blood and dream-streams of death.

I am this home, America, the US of A,

flash-blasted and Heart-blown, hate-stoned,

stunned by the unrecognizable horizon of fire in the

sky.

 

I am what moves and motivates Hippocrates,

'Save Lives' of Suchness, staunching wounds,

wounding, the wound;

Subtlety of Ego, banished Sita sipping Light,

Delighted Dharma delivered in the Tao of doubt in

Rama…

 

Tremble of Life's throat's dying breath, crimson-slick

 

Manjusri’s blade, hades made from mindsets set in

time-tombs;

I am Soul soars forth, Phoenix dream-smeared in

freedom-ghee,

holding hope, Heart-gashed with the heart's ash,

burnt in bhava-lava awe, burnt

in jnana-chapati Wa, drawn from time's kiln.

 

I am paintless in the perhaps of collapsing worlds,

stormcloud shouts of Sunyata-Naga's neti of now,

I am a flower without water, without sunlight,

without.

I am a vale, a village of mothers, of fathers,

samskara-sunk in despair, the hot flush of Kali's

blush on cheeks streaked with tears.

 

Cholera, cancer, car crashes, kidney failure, criminal

Acts,

flooding, mudslides, tornados, poison, hurricanes,

drought, civil war

and fire... it is the Pyre of As It Is,

and it is As-If its leapt upon,

by I, this Shiva-personified pawn of Shakti,

locked in Bhakta, knocked-up by God.

 

I am the quickened heartbeat beating quicker,

the sweaty fear of failure, and the fresh rush of

that;

I am the moon's crescent-shape on the fingernails

of the girl's soft hand,

the hand holding hope, and like waterdrops

near the roaring waterfalls in the forest of the mind,

 

everything is timed to appear

and to awaken in the trembling moment

of ThisMystery made manifest

in the moistness of memory, the memory of waking

from Shiva's Dream of Shakti Kundalini ...

the Great Cleanser of mind.

 

 

 

LoveAlways,

 

Mazie