At The Table of God The incense spires in their upward rise Into the heavens bordering earth's skies Are buffeted and blown by the faintest breeze, And our ascension may be likened to these Wisps of fragrance burned as offering To One known only by an inner seeing. Few are they who tread the sunlit way Unconstrained by karma and the grey Inheritance of death, the body's pain, Unfulfilled desires and the strain Of sorrow running through our earthly songs, The debt we owe for our compounded wrongs, And human longings beautiful and sweet Still tie us down and rapidly deplete The spirit's aspirations, but the Grace Still keeps

Death^s Antithesis.htm Death's Antithesis The polished perfection of the chrysalis Etched in gold or silver artistry, A house of mystery and hidden bliss Transforms the worm into the butterfly. So too this body beautiful and flawed Encapsulates the soul of things to be, For one who works unseen and is the Lord Of all creation sculpts our destiny. Unfelt by us he works unrecognised And slowly to a few his face unveils, For centuries the avatar despised By man who in his littleness fails To see the light that burns within his breast And must be born and die a thousand ways In endless lives to labour on oppressed And suffer the blows of fate that ma

High Sierras In the high plateaus down to the sun-drenched plains The mighty Colorado rushing wild Surged swiftly on towards its ancient home. Caught in its currents like a gleeful child, Carried on waves of joy to unknown banks Where pebbles glowed like a monarch's rubied crown, My simple life complete, unstrained by thought Unscarred by doubt that clouds the mind's unknown, Or a thousandfold desires yet unfilled. I was at peace and all experience Awaited me in the rapturous beats of time As I played at will in the rivers of innocence. Through skies that whispered of a harmony Not yet on earth but waiting to descend. My soul rose up through

For Mary Helen Hero-Child In the midnight, at the noon Wonderment at body's ruin, Escaping of the final breath Into the nether land of death. Love deepened as the days grew worse Facing silently the curse Of cells mutating wantonly And all my soul cried out for thee. O gentle spirit gone to rest I hold within the broken breast An image fashioned through the years, A hero-child beloved of seers, An arrow flaming through the skies Unwavering towards Paradise. Remember us left here alone Who labour still to find the One.

Jyotipriya and the Spirit^s Drought.htm Jyotipriya and the Spirit's Drought Can the music that was born in me return Or is it lost because the heart has failed? Can still the psychic fire fiercely burn That all the winds of sorrow have assailed? Jyotipriya spoke of her ordeal, A desert dryness rushing on the soul With never a drop of moisture come to heal Her parched and painful days like embers of coal Aflame and nothing to heal the spirit's thirst. I have stood upon those white-hot sands Stung by grief and by my sorrow cursed, A frail and wounded heart in powerless hands. The spirit's dehydration I have known When all the life-force in me spent by t

And Light Shall Prevail And so she lay there, beautiful and bright And dying slowly before my stricken eyes. I could not see the accompanying light, Or through my tears the soul's necessities Accepting the calm deliverance of death. Yet others saw what love in me denied, The wasting of the flesh, the laboured breath; I only knew the passing of the bride. "This cancer is a special thing", my friend, Musing on her days she said to me, "I have seen a transformation near the end God refound and immortality". And this I know,

Invisible God Invisible God Who hides thyself In beggar and king Sinner and seer, Dressed in rags Or royal robes, Pariah and saint Savant and sage, Beaten beast Immovable rock Ephemeral, Outlasting time Untamed and meek, Loud and brash Singer and song, The silent One, The Infinite Atomic vast Who sleeps in stone Awakes in leaf Flower and tree, Lights the suns Kindles the stars And grows in man. O Beautiful Impure outcast Servant and Lord I bow to Thee.

Reflections I live alone hermetic in my heart While life as ever swings from tree to leaf. Hydrangeas are in bloom remembering The frozen months when I was deep in grief. They suffered – five degrees killed clematis, The climbing fern survived, though barely, as I And sends its twining tendrils to the sky. The heat of northern Georgia starts anew As heavy rains bring blossoming of life. Even in winter the heat of India Is more than our summer's breathless days. One must work. The yoga of the body Conscious we or not is in the cells. Perhaps this cancer is a code that spells In symbol signs the end of pain and death, The million

Awash in Light I saw visions and I knew eternity, The hidden worlds I glimpsed and in my sleep Escaped the body's laws and flew to Him Above the reach of earth, above our skies. I met the unknown leaders of our lives, Greater than the saints these yogi kings And watched my heart and saw my breast aflame In a rapture-moment silent by Her feet. These occult spaces yield no more their joys And hidden is the face that

His Name Was Parichand His name was Parichand, The Ashram gardener. So many came to him Eager to work with flowers. Parichand was a Jain, An extraordinary face. He spoke of Mother to all Imparting love and grace. But about those seekers who came, He had them pull weeds! An interesting way To test sincerity. An Australian girl once said Her way to calm the mind Was to bend and pull weeds, And a famous writer wrote