Cup of Sachitananda

The cosmos has hid
divine herbs in our dreams
and one day upon
the west river we

shall all awake
to see truth, to live
in the light, and

in those blue flames
of the dawn, hope
will no longer be necessary

and faith will seem immature
for supramental identity
will be self-evident

alone, spring’s floods will
drip the bliss of worlds
and the grace will overwhelm
any circumstance of fate
by the ocean of poetry

in the forests of prophecy
on the beaches of mysticism
the Tao will reveal herself

to our mind like a sponge
of all the secrets of the
universe and synchronicity

spellbound for consciousness
as a boat drifts to the sun
creation and the great observer

will meet, and we will forever
be left speechless with the awe
of laughter empty of anxiety
and understanding mingling

with a pure love for all things.

A Gift of God

Mother of my Angels
Master and spouse of my
Soul’s bread and water

Come to me, in simple purity
All that I am is yours
My possessions mean nothing
To me, my ownership is not
Something I value, I seek

The universal frenzy of thy bliss
And peace beyond the goodwill
Or ill will of men, their politics

I tire of their customs of ignorance
Let my cavalry be a spiritual vocabulary
The last touch of prayer before
The world changes, as I change
Along with the world, as is

My divine inheritance of this world
Of poverty, these heart-broken people
Their sadness is my sadness, but

My compassion, will it ever reach
Its perfect age? Will I ever know
The fulfillment of my empathy?
Or shall I be as a secret friend to life
Who gave to life only secret signs

And hidden signals? Who will know
My face that lived for the Will of God
The faith of each one’s true experience?

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Daybreak at Postmodern

In the suburb of the absolute
I’m born a baby of silence
With the shrieks of the birds of creation

In my soul, I belong to burnt-out afternoons
Of love in being on a yellow star
In some green obscurity of history
I thought beyond portraits
Of will and admired the beauty

Of the known and unknown worlds
Nothing was alien, everyone
Was familiar, strangers like friends

In the bed of music I awoke
To time, and the immaculate extensions
Of how energy converses
Like sex or a transparency of union
With experience, identification became

A sort of mantra of immortal speech
I imagined how it was to be
Everything I saw, people, objects

Celestial events, I became more
Than a cell, greater than a self
I wanted to know what it was like
To live in a living temple
Of the bundle of all worlds

The ultimate expression of collective
Consciousness, wrapped in some cosmic radiance
I knew I would outlive cities, alphabets

And wander in forests, and visit stars
I would cease living in shadow
And remember lineage, descendant divinity
The instantaneous future that is
Everything, the identification
With all that has or will ever evolve.

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redeemer divinity sweet

Let your soul stand cool and composed before a million universes.
~ Walt Whitman

divinity is not a language
of the mind, but a gift
that resides in the heart

from the Universe to all
and a new music there
and a serene vision that excels
an undying faith that

loves inner beauty easily
and observes time’s children
with a kind of equality

divinity is not a skill
that can be used, or hoarded
it’s in the fields, and the air
its sphere is the light

that bathes all the stars
its atoms mix the purest joy
with all existence, behind the pain

an essential delight of experience
that no creatures can hide for long
of splendid origin, and new light
in hands of god, in kisses from the Earth

divinity leaves a trace and it says:
‘you’re saved, you called me,
you made me, body, life and soul’

KINGDOM OF ANGELS

i

Barefoot as an unremembered dream
I’ve felt a calling before Time
Well before the pull of necessity
Delicate as childlike fantasies
I felt a spiritual mission as bright
As other unmet worlds, fast friendship

ii

With ideas, impressions, faces, angels?
A hunger too subtle to explain
Outside of Sanskrit terminology
I’ve heard lullabies too surreal to conjure

iii

A jazz of Goddesses outside my limits
Beside a neighbor’s house, that represented
Everyone, the fading illusion of you and me
I’ve felt on my skin, a prophecy of the deepest blue

iv

The skyline of stars over my head
Quartz waves of Heaven’s fragrance
The honeyed embrace of a galactic telepathy.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/The-city-turns-Orange-67780269

After Quakers

I speak of love that comes to mind
A perfect care of community
An Eastern Ballad on the west coast
Of dreams and the New World
I don’t care what happens to my body

It’s my ideals come to life
That matters to me most
The small actions of my friends
And the creativity art of my work
When I die, there will be no ashes

Only the spirit of chance visiting
Satchitananda, surrender and most important
Lovers that cross the new centuries
Of mysticism pressed into new eyes
Where harbors the light of Roses of God

That require no dogma in order to bloom
Nephews of the future, intimate with
The trust of years of happy meditation
Sunlit faces of a supramental optimism.

Photography Credits: http://astridle.deviantart.com/art/Complicity-376210786