This poem has been
waiting for weeks
O help me Lord
will it ever be complete?
or adequately convey
what I truly want to say
as a kind of snapshot
of my life’s experience
or a particular perception?
This poem has been
waiting for weeks
O help me Lord
will it ever be complete?
or adequately convey
what I truly want to say
as a kind of snapshot
of my life’s experience
or a particular perception?
O the insecurities of
humans, what to speak
of the wondering writer
asking that if you could
be behind my eyes for a day
would compassion or distain
intensely awaken in you
moving you to love
or shun me forever
seeing the heartflow of
my writings either valuable
or worse then the straw?
To the topic at hand
after the snow storms
the artic wind
comes roaring in
the fallin’ ruslin’ leaves
bowing swaying trees
sound like ocean waves
forcefully magnified.
The lights flicker
bringing remembrance
of yesterday’s blackout
where we shoved snow
into pots to melt
for bathing and drinking
causing appreciation
for things we take for granted
our dependence is absolute.
As I dress in a dhoti
in the early dark morning
adorning tilak in 12 places
preparing for Temple services
I fill large pots
for drinking just in case—
going outside to
start the car
artic winds greet me
with my bare chest
I notice the temperature
has dropped considerably.
Waking the Temple Deities
the offering made
I perform Mangal arotik
a service I have done
thousands of times
over many, many years
while guru prayers sung
I pray to give my heart
still a joyful meditation
a prayer of glorification.
Thinking of my gurus
the great previous teachers
along with the Panca-tattva
before the altar pictures
I bow my head to each
their saintly example
beckoning me to Sadhana
to endeavor for Prema:
“O fallen soul, aspiring bhakta
offer your service w/heart
while hearing, chanting, & writing
for Guru and Radha-Krishna
give up your reluctance
and lethargy by realizing
your life can become perfect
from blessings from above
through service to devotees
and Gaura Nityananda”.
Returning home bathed
from service and now
in the morning light
the roaring wind abated
returning to chilly stillness
demonstrating life cycles
of breathing in, and out
bringing snow, then thaw
bitter cold, sweltering heat
going forward, coming back
taking birth, then dying again
the circle game repeatedly.
When O when will my soul
awaken being through
with desires and drama
to attain shelter and service
of my dear friends and
well-wishers, my beloved
Lords, Radha-Krishna?
