Inter-dimensional interactions
Science cannot explain
Cannabalized by religion
Resonances beyond space-time
String theory a cheap riddle
One soul, many spirits
Many spirits, one soul
Connections beyond the universe
One fixed fulcrum needed
For tapping infinite energy
Linear models redundant
As new understanding dawns
A blue fish-man came that night
While I wrote the story of Dumu
“I wonder,” he said, “how you see this picture
From such meager information.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “It just seems to fit
I write, what I think is right at the time.”
The blue man nodded and I drifted to sleep.
As this month nears it end
And if you’re on the mend
Gaze up at the night skies
Through wondrous eyes
Look for the red planet
Ripe pomegranate
Have a telescope? Even better
Don’t forget to wear your sweater
Soul quotient: 3/7
Mohan attracted trouble like honey attracted flies. It wasn’t his fault, just the way of the Universe. Mohan had long since accepted that fact, ever since he’d been expelled from school for holding a teacher to the same standards that the teacher held his students.
He’d long since accepted that there was no such thing as justice in society. Courts and law and order were illusions. Real justice could only be obtained out in the wild, deep in the core of the Western Ghats or up in the snowy Himalayas. He hadn’t been to the Rajasthan deserts but he was sure there was justice to be obtained there too, the natural order that cared nothing for pseudo morality. Oh dear, Mohan lulled his mind into lethargy with a lullaby he’d learnt from an elephant in the zoo. It didn’t do any good to let his mind go wandering like that.
“So,” said the yoga teacher, throwing his slipper at Mohan, “you came here because you wanted to learn how to sleep?”
It was a free yoga class that Mohan had entered to kill time. He didn’t have enough money for anything and his parents weren’t going to be at home for another hour. Perhaps it would have been wiser to just sit on a bench and watch the birds.
“I thought this was Bihar School of Yoga, not Beer School,” Mohan said, unintentionally mispronouncing BR. Why did he always make those clumsy mistakes? That damn Universe again!
“You come here and insult me,” the yogacharya shouted shrilly.
“No insult was intended,” Mohan said, guilt ridden. “I just thought it would be nice to sleep and do that yoga thing at the same time. Yoga nidra, you know? That way I wouldn’t be wasting any time.”
“Wasting time?” the yogacharya’s face was beginning to grow red.
“I just meant…”
“Out!”
Anger a useful tool
Easy access to the trance
No need for onerous meditation
Also helps keep the body fit
The joy of lifting brings temporary numbness of mind
Leads to new paths of introspection
I’d rather put reins on it
Than ride the Buddha’s chariot
To each his own
With three legs cut off from your charge
Come hither now on your barge
The world waits with bated breath
Though many see you as a threat
When the fourth leg of Dharma is cut
And Shamballa’s dharna is done
Go to the banner of the son
To the car of the bull and the sun
An army of spirits you’ll lead
As you raise your standard
Of the crow and the elephant
Time will cease to flow
Until the legs again grow.
These events are inevitable
Demagogues and tyrants
Ruination of civilizations
Plumbum poisoning of man’s intelligence
Leading to violent tendencies and stupidity
In turn, the birth of a redeeming hero archetype
Cyrus, Horus, Melchizidek, take your pick.
Easy to see, mathematical pattern, predictable!
A little like Asimov’s psychohistory.
Destruction/creation: constants
Planets moving around stars
And stars around galactic centres
Galaxies moving somewhere too
Resonance with the macro and micro
With the quantum and the grand celestial
Fractal truths, seen in the stars and distilled into each blade of grass
Natural rhythms of the universe
As solar systems and galaxies dance
Constant movement, that cannot be properly seen
Because of relative velocity
A cycle that will cease
only with the complete destruction
Of the everything, when the cosmic waters cease to be.
0,1 and 3!
And so dear Saturn, you will dance the same dance
And sing the same songs, like a traveling troupe
As our Milky Way production moves to a different theater
Garnering different receptions for the same play.
And we will all play our roles, paraphrasing our hearts out
To a script that we can’t remember but still perform flawlessly.
An anaesthesiologist took her own life
In her letter she had blamed her supervisors
“She’ll go to hell,”said a nun, ignorant of strife
That can very easily consume life’s splendors
This old nun in her convent made me really mad
“She probably was an evil woman,” nun said,
That old nun cannot understand, the hell on earth
This poor woman had to undergo. Thorny bed
She lay upon daily, until she couldn’t take it
Speak again nun, after life losses it’s colours
When existence so bleak leaves no open options
Speak again nun, once you’ve sailed the becalmed dolours
That turns every single moment into hell.
When no other option exists for release
When every joy is insipid, life tepid
every decision a compromise of spirit
Forced by the iron hands of criminals in power
Do not judge, before you bathe in this shower
You might think, she was weak…should’ve fought and lived on,
Perhaps, but not everyone is cut from the same cloth
Each with their own weaknesses/ strengths. And she could not cope,
Judgemental hags like you take away the hope
From even the newly departed. Damned for what?
For living in a system that compromised her dignity?
For being in a world that cut her over and over with its severity?
The time for your concern over her eternal soul was when she was alive,
Your gossip over her corpse disgusts me.
I have done what she has done, more times than I choose to remember (a coward? Perhaps I am. A sinner? I am most definitely and vehemently!)
I do not condone her action, nor judge it. That’s between her and her Maker
As it was between me and mine the last time I connected those final dots in my own picture.
I was saved and then found things to live for
She was not, and for that I cannot blame her.
( The poem was inspired by a conversation I overheard between a nun and someone close to me. )
Anna recovers quickly, though her head hurts bad
From eager Mary’s incessant profound chatter,
Her nurse’s bedside manner, makes Anna real mad
Anna cries, “Stop, just stop! Can’t bear this mind batter,
Weltanschauung, sine qua non, sensu strictos and propaedeutics, prima facie and otiose percipi!!!
If you’re not going to read me the Three Musketeers
Then let’s go out, I need to get off my sore derriere!”
Mary acquiesces, with one final “a fortiori!”
They set off to see Shorty, the cowboy philosopher
Rival of Demosthenes, the Demagogue whisperer
“Shorty knows everything about…oh, everything,”
Mary explains, “He’ll tell you why we’re here better.”
They pass by Merlin, a greybeard on a young face
Who lifts his pointy hat, with grace, finesse and zing
They nod their heads to his very polite howdedo.
Anna is quite fascinated, watching the passersby
She stops to watch Plato argue with Thoreau,
She could watch this forever she thinks… Until
She sees nude Nietzsche playing the didgeridoo
[Epic Poem] Part 15: Fastest Rhetoric Gun in the West
(I don’t know why, but I’m fascinated with didgeridoos… and hurdy gurdies!)
Different sources for different rivers but
Springing from one planet Earth. Primordial hub!
We are one, though sometimes I like to think different
When I see the clash, when man to man rends and cuts
Leaving destitute and orphaned his brother’s cub!
We are the same ingredients, stirred and garnished
to different recipes, by Time and Geography
A five course meal with exotic digestifs
Bon Appetit!
Cosmic dance changes tempo
Stars don’t care that man isn’t ready
New epidemic on the horizon
We must learn to cope and not give in!
Weather through this destructive hail storm
Persevere, or all hope is lost
Rapid genetic mutation
For the ones who don’t drown
In the river of blood
Survivors stained with sorrow and guilt
Don’t let trauma capture your soul
PTSD will kill you
Keep moving! Keep thinking! Don’t let yourself slow down in the horror
Bright dawn awaits, but that’s much later
Planet’s wrath unleashed
Re-examine our priorities
While magnetic flux plummets
And sun’s skirt twirls low
To the tempo of the cosmic dance
Don’t give in to acute pangs of the heart
Slow yourself down to the sun’s tempo
Slowly now… Breathe in… Breathe out
When you’re slowing down to a halt, move faster
When you’re moving too fast to see, slow down.
(I love how Tim explains astrophysics. The Sun twirling her skirt in a dance is so much easier on the ears than plasma fields, Dynamo theory, and such. I think he’s talking about heart attacks near the end, but I’m not sure. Cancer and rapid, disruptive evolution in the beginning, that I could get…because he goes on and on about it. Jeez, he is not a cheerful guy even when he’s trying to sound hopeful!)
Whispers of the Universe 