Roots of Silence

Seated on the summits of the universe
You listen to hear what i have'nt said yet.
Infinity invades - wakening the flowers ; roots and wings.
The dawn is at your doorsteps opening the garderns of the pathless land.
Silence; moves; lives; uplifts; deepening the depthless bottom within yourself;
A dove flies in the sky of an intractable silence.

Doorsteps of Silence

Something has happened; the leaves are dancing in the stillness.

The soul - mystic is sitting under the embellishments of his being;

An ancient river flows singing lullabies for the soul.

In between the Spells of Silence

Sense - curtains drawn down;
The Hara opened
Tribes of Gods and Demons precipitates;
Enters and watch;
A kite peacefully floating
gently in the centre of the universe.

Curis au Mont D'or (from the balcony)

Here - dances the river

Here; the river calls -- and you answer.
Here; you 'll find fluorescent filaments swirling down the tree of life -- while angels sleep beneath it.
Here; words don't exist in the normal sense but as a gargling brook rushing out of the veins of the soul
Here; the days are born , not from the rising sun but from the perfume of the silent mind.
Here; everything moves out of the stillness --the whole moves as one.
Here; dried leaves stirs in the storms.
Here; the dark eyelids of the night does not weep , but luminous particles explodes when teardrops from her eyes.
Here; Pain is a broom --with which you gather the fallen flowers from your consciousness.
Here you are alive; immortal, in good health; and creative ; for there's only -- the Instant.
Here; you cross the rivers of death daily; taking birth anew on both sides of the river.
Here; there's only the dancing of the soul in celebration.
Here; Buddhas laugh -- laughter is the sound of freedom.
Here; the sacred and the profane walks hand in hand.
Here ; love paints the unseen soulscapes.
Here; there are no painful proses , no bleeding poems -- except the whispers of life filling your cup --so you may drink from its abundance.

Dawn and the grass

Awaiting the dawn -- the silent grass
like a shy and willing country lass,
When a glimmer behind the mountains sprayed
To announce the dawn coming its way.
Slowly, slowly with even pace
Its presence upon the earth it makes
The overhanging fresh dewdrops
Hoping may one moment pause;
The secret coming from the eastern tops
A moment of great joy may cause;
But , nay not for a minuite or more
It makes no haste nor is slow;
As it comes it ought to go;
For the secret by the east it lays
which is the dawn that has come to stay.

A poem full of love while the gardern lay wet with flowers

A lantern in hand-- i open the doors
Nightflowers and lotuses are scenting the wind
The courtyard is wet with the rain
Red and yellow hibiscus sways in the gardern.
The bougainvilla creeps on the walls

Let this night pass and reveal to you
what spreads upon the skies of my heart
Be free to take; indulge then-- into its sacramental lights .
Much is the splendour of love .
The joy -river runs through the meadows of life
and everything surrenders to peace.
At such moments
I welcome you to touch my lips
I welcome you to explore a kiss
I welcome you to fill me in your body and soul .

Oil lamps burns by the windows
The mango grooves glissens in the moonlight
Jasmines fall
one by one besides the footsteps of the gardern.
Let your cinamon breath and dampened lips clothe my night with tenderness.

To You dear silence

Had i not looked twice into your eyes
i would'nt have sat to think why i did'nt speak to you at all
I could see how much we wished to speak to each other
But we did'nt speak at all -- no ; we did'nt speak at all.
Months have passed and i'm in the same cafe
i close my eyes and sip my tea --i can still see your face
Your beautiful hands holding a book of poems
While in the same instant how little you knew
How beautiful a poem you were too
i wonder ; where you are now graceful Stranger.

Self-Consciousness - Mantra.

I
Why should i not lay ripe and laden with fruits
and pleasure the palate of all those who eat from me.

Why should i not hide myself in the obscurity of the night -- straining eminence as a star.
Why should i not take my embryos in a pod and pride my blossoms in the wind
Perfuming the lungs that breathe me.
All this i shall -- but priveledge it for me to seek it from you.

II
Allow me to splendour your soul, let me hold between my fingers your pale cosmic features.
Let me throw your tethered terresterial image
And trim your spinous mind.
Let me detain you a while and wipe your weary face.
Placing in your palms-- no promises ;but gestures of simple grace.

III
Inject me into your veins, brace me to your hips.
Let us loiter togather to savour a twilight bliss.
Sitting a while; forgetful to all but its daily glory.

IV
Regulate with me , i'll sublimate every trace of vindictive barbiturates from your dialects.
And afresh; i'll place syllables on your prickling tongue.
Perpetuating the aroma of your soul into scented thoughts.
Drain into me all your corrosive siliva, bile -- and draw from me redolence.

V
I'll help you find deliverance from what you want to be.
So you may in truth live to what you really are.
Slip away your bands briddled on your shoulders
And leave behind what you tug so hard in gasping breaths.
So collosial a column; obese-- inscribed of pejured goals and aims.
And in a moronic labour why do you fragment 'you' in your brain.

Growing moon trees in the sky.

Moonbranches spreads on the skin of the winter sky;
Clouds crossing the nocturnal universe;
The visible weaves knots with the invisible filaments of the heavens;
Slow stillness shifts -- on the highways of endless space;

How i'd have loved to follow your hands -- changing the sky into storms; and the storms into skies
While -- you lift words out of silence, to peel the face of the horizon;
Yet not a word is said.

Being in the "Now"

Long silences from the ashes of restlessness
looking at the unknown
The Soul -- a bamboo flute; pipes through the dark woods of ignorance;
Upon the spaces of life appears the dripping moonlight of wisdom.

Birth

Why do you O my stricken heart heave and pine with sorrow
What torments seizes your thoughts
as if - none are hopes for tommorow.

Your sails set staring trembling high - through a psychic storm
An anguished night drips through the nib of a poet's pen
waves from solitude adorned.

What winds have carried you -and from which distant land
You slide between an obscure form
becoming the lines of my poetry.

Thelema dreaming

A letter to Don quixote

Now that my eyes are plucked and transplanted into my soul.
Now that my veins; my energy ; my motions are rectified;
Now that i'm exorcised; i ; outcasted disciple of truth!!
I can see who it was i offered sacrifices in the name of goodness;
I can see who it was i killed in the name of community, country and creed;
I can see who it was i hated in the name of Patriotism, Morality, Truth and Beauty.
I know why there are orphans and who breeds them;
I know why there are charities and who gives them
I know there is justice and who avails them;
I know there is law and who enforces them;
I know there is poverty and who creates them;
I know there is progress...has'nt every country missiles;
I know there is peace because the super powers are not fighting;
(Iran; Iraq; political disasters in Tibet; Burma; Afganistan; Sri lanka; Africa don't come into it...Do they ?? )

Political blunders ( France selling armaments to Kaddafi's Libya )

I awaken to the principles of life which suffers through every perpetuating time;
I pick rags , tattered pieces of truth from its coffins and from its sepulchres;
I tread upon wet drops of blood, beneath crucifixes, railway tracks, of bodies chopped in hospital morgues;
I watch them do arithmetics as they prepare to rehearse the farce before the blind folded Seraph;
I smell the flesh scorching in crematoriums to please a Hitler's nostrils;
I read epitaths of a wronged civilization now shrouded by oblivion;
I see hollow sockets with their visionless stare still speaking of something they bore witness to;
I 'm in mute continual search for spectre of truth..
While each time i stumble upon a severed limb, a mutililated head, a half eaten corpse, a chewed bone, an unmasked grave, a crusader's sword burried beneath seaweeds......

In a shovelfull of Hiroshima and Nagasaki
Reflects within them the picture of my own submerged violence
I collect from these, piece by piece, of myself.

Souls of my soul

Would it be possible for you to hold me

Does thoughts arise from the restlessness of the night
Is it your heart speaking to mine or are they only clouds of passion in turmoil ?
What do you search in the skies of my life as you spread your wings and go by
I listen to all that you say; and would go with you to where you want...
for i'm no longer a face -- but a voice
I'm no longer a hand-- but a touch
i'm no longer what you dream of-- but a more abstract reality.

My finger contains miracles
my voice-- a chanting prayer
Would it be possible then to embrace me --unless you too become a prayer!

Yesterday ; i waited for you in the vallies
but today i'm on the mountains from where i watch the vallies
Yesterday my words were raw and passionate
while today they are ripe and sublime.

Yesterday --life was a rock upon which i sat for days and night
Today life is neither a rock nor a cloud: i stop and it stops with me; i move and it moves with me.

Yesterday; i was a youth with eyes burning with love; with dreams cuddling my sleep; yearning for the one who never arrived.
Today i'm still young my soul burns by the flames of many suns;
In my hands the mornings take birth and in my kisses Springtime blossoms
Between yesterday and today so much has changed!

The sea has become soft and gentle;
The tree has deepened its roots
My immortality flourishes out of my daily mortality
My flesh rips -- emerging like a dawn through the dark interiors of the night......

my fingers contain miracles and my voice a chanting prayer
Would it be possible to hold me unless you become a prayer.

Can a stone be kissed and made into a GOD

O Refugee; disatisfied Soul.....

Can a stone be kissed for eons and eons ; and made into a God ?

Then ; why am i here amidst blind devotees ?

Does the ailment of my spirit bring me here?

Skeptics -- hope i'm not humilating you

What can i find in a stone temple?

Thousand millions of footprints erasing the old with the new ?

What can i find in here -- but the germs of the contagious mind; afflictions of the hopeful heart; conflicts; shreds.........all as a deposit to God??

For a credit??

Is man buying God a soul or selling his to God !!

Singing for Ethopia

I too have been crucified, martyred; died in innocent blood
I too have been aborted; orphaned;disclaimed and pushed into rubbish
I too have been exploited; disembled; ruined ; alienated
But this too ; i have had; Orpheus harp -- sounded by my fingers gentle strokes
I have had my share of being Atlas
I had Appollo's charoit at my disposal
But,
I have passed on -- as the wind from the mountains to the valleys of life
From the valleys of life to the sea of changes
The oak that i fell
the reed i carressed
The lakes where i died
Ethopia,
the one look in your eyes tell more than i've possibly tried.

Afriend of mine had send me a nice photo post card ; i thought it looked fine
However i changed the landscape inside a littlebit as i sketched it out
*.

SHIVA : Ganges of OM pouring down

During an hour of boredom: Bending images out of the mind

During a moment of boredom 1 : Nishagandhi also known as the "lotus of Brahma"; but for me its the most passionate of flowers i know of ; This " queen of the night" as she is also called blooms at night once a year .

The inner child asks

Who must you mourn for, my dear?
the angry red skies or the epileptic sea??
Why does your heart like a cat
lick this bowl full of sorrow..

Who gave these yokes
and told you that life was a fable...

Who tempted you to the fragile colorful wings of a butterfly
and did away with your birthrights ??

Who gave you this sceptre of a conquerer
with which you broom the marble floors....

I do not understand
I donot understand you at all !!
You-- who preached to me of freedom
Now kneel before the edifices of your own ego.

Another story of Jesus

Young girl-- in an old traditional village
Pregnent and unmarried
Society -- designs and systems
She sneaks where
The local Shaman( graduating from bribed medical colleges ) are earning their livelyhood
"Abortion in 2 hrs -- 200 rupees!"
As the needle pierced the womb
No one realised -- the unborn baby cried " Ama;

who are these who crucify me...
and for what reasons do i die "

while Periyar flows; i took my pencils and.......

Caring

I 'm under the trees while yellow leaves are still falling
Breathing the passion of life
All keeps passing
While Nature translates her words into these...

A tree is a poem, a package of peace
And to the vaults of the heavens -- a bird is a key

While dewdrops fall

While dewdrops are falling
Go
Thatch the roof of your soul; reinforce it with tiles of truth
Irrigate your heart, sow the seeds of virtue, fertilize it with education

Labour in the fields of your mind, build dams , harness electricity from it
Paint the skies of your life with love and laughter;

Ferment the grapes of sorrow into wine of wisdom

Strain music from your silence
And Scriptures, tao's, vedantas from your meditation.

While dewdrops falls.

Came looking for you

Where shall my heart lay down its load

I see laborours return home
I see office going young men and women return home
I see boatmen and birds return home

But -- i'm disquieted

Soft pale twilight
beneath the bamboogroves
I see shadows of lovers; their purple passion
I look here and there to hear your footfalls
Though it seem'd to have stirred ...but Where ??

The night is here, the sailing clouds and the amber moon
My heart lay rocking -- in a boat full of dreams...
While i wonder -- where can my heart lay down its load
If you cannot be here.

Indulge -- and know thyself

Souls of men born in news masks and material
Plundered by restless urges
Come seeking for the same as those before them.
To tolerate or revolt
into the concepts of their beings.

For a while they build -- for a while they break
With tormenting questions...

While - therein you; is sweet forming honey
Aroma so enticing; swelling in your pollens
So why stay so forgetful; so troubled ; so disquieted
Let the lustful ; wonderous; dripping drops tell you how eligible you are

The Saône ; near Trevoux.

let silence reside

The half - sleepless self , is a grain

The half - awaken self, is a bed of buds laden on the breast of Spring

Each day - is a night full of stars at its end

Each night - an oozing mouth of light at its end

Every word - a thought, curled out of silence

And each silence - a creative act.

Shiva as ardhanareshwar ( Anima /Animus)

Did this last year

Come seeking me, accross these shores of silence.

Amidst these shores of silence -- set your sails
Cross the mountains,
Walk to this path which blossoms at the corner of my mouth
Your naked feet - on fallen flowers
Your ankles - in their fragrance

Come sit closer
Fiery, deep , in abundance.
Let lips - soften lips
as the world goes by.

The Arrival

What do you write upon the blankness;
White pages of life staring at your eagerness;

Young Man, will you talk more than you live ?
Your ostensible desire to catch Truth in your fist
Through new motions, ideas and revolutions -- mean nothing to me.

Me ;your Soul : listening ; watching your torrents ; passion and haste.
I follow you through the desert, where you practice your austerities against the wind and the heat;
You spit your venoms in the sand.

I follow you through narrow path of thorns and flintstones
as you climb the highest mountains of solitude -- to understand yourself .

I watch you try and make another God,
A God -- of your solitude;
You pour tears on the earth, and cut your veins till the grounds are red
You wait patiently to witness the arrival of your God .
A God -- other than you!

An escape

Pen sketch -2006 : last year , a souvenir came invading my mind

while it began to get cold in France

A contemplative moment

Do you seperate yourself ; from the air; the voices of Men; of animals; of birds.....?

Do you not breath into your interiors, the perfume of the exterior; of plants, of the humidities; the heat...??

These sublimites mingling with your sublimities ?


Do you not fill in -- your heart and soul with these voices ??...

.....Of Men; becoming silence in your thoughts....
....Of animals; becoming your own cries and hungers....
....Of birds; becoming fossils of music echoing softly from your valley.
Like an abundant resource of rejoicement ....??

Do you not at leisure - bring forth out of your emptyness from all such as these -- a renewment?

To Richardo - the most original man i knew ( paid his price for being Zarathrustra)

i love a fable-maker, who provokes me a closer look at life;
i like his deliberations - mirageous and abstract;

His needle threading them tangible in an eclectic deed;

i love him as he weaves a valley to a mountain; a mountain to a patch of sky;
and between the embroidery of pebbles - he sets a trickling stream.

And , his fable - a paper boat ,rushing to find itself an ocean...
it begins - its splendid straying ; perhaps, sinking somewhere on the way

And one such paper boat - sank in the torrents of my thinking

A POINT OF VIEW

Renouncement doesnot mean - not to have !

it means - not to be possesed !

With little , to have much !!

With nothing, to contain everything!!

The quest of the Anchorite

Dewdrops on the amber leaves
saw dawn riding- on its wheels;
And heard was Death's quiet laughter
with the passing of the evening.


The Amber leaf had fallen!
Drawn by the vows - the Anchorite,
scanned at pain and sorrow,
like the fallen amber leaf - Death was his chapter, tommorow!

To questions set with such a force
he thought, and thought for answers
While he , in his questions - grew still and numb...
though, chirped the leaping sparrow.

Had he, heard the sparrow bird ,
or, the wind that blew in freedom;
He'd have stepped upon the hidden word,
that alone meant - enlightenment!!

The fallen leaf , he saw again ,
by fear ,unbothered; or by pain
and; shed of all his questions old
the whole mystery in a blink unrolled !!

An imaginary land - scape.

Pen sketched 2002 " a longing to see the rice - fields from my childood days."

Leela -Akshara

Dream-buds rising out of a moon !
Moon-buds rising out of a dream !


Principles, hanging in one single unity;
Unity, hanging in one single principle.

my self-sustaining Mantra - river ; Yet not a single Mantra i chant

Your words, i love all your words.......

They bring bliss to my streams of thought;

they bring coolness to the springs of my soul;

they resurect my branches with life ;juice;and moisture;

they build oasis for me in my deserts;

they fertile my wilderness with fruits and fragrance;

and , all my barreness are full of blossoms ;

they cover my dreams with flower-buds;

and, i wander naked and free in your love



Your words, don't give me sunshine but "suns"!

your words, laugh with wisdom..they're 're not the slave of your intelligence nor mine.

Your wisdom, is the breath of you soul blowing through the mouth of freedom;

It speaks what pleases , not my heart alone,

not my soul alone,

not my mind alone...but, all of it ,togather!!



My ears are sponteneous to your whispers because ...no words go wasted; no thoughts come unreflected;

no touch comes without tenderness;



The wells of happiness are full and overflowing ;

so much is love ! so much of love!!

a linear poem becoming circular .

Never more than today i have lived ....and, never more than today i have died §

There is a kiss , the lips express, when the heart rises to speak

More than the stars in the sky, are the words in my head §

And, in so many different ways i could tell you how much i love you .

Touch me then , as i touch you !!

Shravanabelagola,monk ,mystic

STANDING NAKED--II


The cosmos is a tantric canvas.
Emotions are like waterfalls, harmoniously pouring souvenirs....especially, as i realise that i have'nt put down everything about my feelings about this little village.
Sravanabelagola --Lost between coconut trees, the ricefields, cattle, dust, and lotus filled lakes .

The evening breeze is a broom sweeping Bahubali's environnements into a very profound silence,
every changing movement soaks into a "quiet aspect."

Sravanabelagola --- ever since i first set my foot up here i was overwhelm'd.

Here, i saw rocks in poetry and poetry in rocks .
Out of the rocks and sculptures ,an immortal spirit seems to soar constantly...like a long drifting aroma of" peaceful watchfulness".

Nikos kazantzakis says in his semi fictional biography " my life's benefactors have been journeys and dreams ... . . . ".

....this is exactly how i felt when i found myself in Sravanabelagola ;


The tulmultenous bus rides, the catnaps, the energy, the time short run,..... did'nt stop the adventure .
Something magical ,made all the rough side of travelling look almost sterile ; i pursued with enthousiasm ,my hasty visits to these sacred sites.

At Sravanabelagola, on the Chandragiri hills , 14 jain temples invites you ; the uninterupted silence is punctuated by a few chiming temple bells, mantras and children.
You could read the traces of the morning rituals inscribed on the freshly washed temple floor, chalk inscriptions, rice grains and flowers....left over by the worshippers of peace !!

Even if you 're in a hurry ,the majestic" tirtankas", carved in meditation are anything but vulgar rocks !!.

However ,if you watch them, you can witness their deeply absorbed selves shining through the dawnlit appertures of each temple.

For a moment you wonder who is" the rock" !!


On the other hill ,the Vindhyagiri ;
Stands , the most impressive rock i've ever seen ,the naked Bahubali...with his feet on earth,
and his head holds the heavens ,
or rather the heavens unfolds in his head.

Eyes gently closed, "doing nothing "else but watching!!
Eyes closed watching "the invisible" ;

this made me realise that ,to watch" the invisible "one must close the eyes and open the eyes of your heart,
And, besides the watching of "inner dawn" the rest seem'd to be immateriel .

The air arround is purified by prayers....(. prayers , another cosmic broom.)...and the heart gathers the sparks of light from some chilly night wherein you 've been treading.

Here , one does'nt seek illuminations, because illumination is everywhere .
Here your meals are made of spiritual landscapes ---" the watcher "and" the watched" are one ; the voyage leads you more and more inwards.

Sravanabelagola -- is a pretext to be spiritual!
You move away from dying words and delve into living feelings.
A divine finger performs a divine surgery on you.
You're not here to convert or to be converted; someone peaceful awakening with each dawn out of the rocks and you witness it!!

As i left Sravanabelagola , the immense statue remained silent, witnessing with closed eyes, tolerant, never asked your name nor culture, country, nor the list of your eruditions......... " Sit here, be here, and watch!! " " drop all your sterile gods -- dead they are, as your ideals" . "Here , there's place for only one -- the one "in you ", the only one worth watching!!
for when he awakes, the silence is full of miracles and births......
then, a word that escapes your lips will be a healing whisper of peace !!"

Your touch "heals" , because you 're healed!!.

No barrages,
no conflicts ,
no filters,
no ideals,
no parasiting emotions....
the profound currents of one single meditation washes them all away -- including , the loftly and the lowly!!!

Only the sponteneous remains.

The old seagull in me never stops flying.
Flight becoming hunger ,Space becoming food.......Not flying into nostalgias of any sort -- none of those pool of honey.......to drink-- only to drown ??

Each day has its own nectar sufficient and nourishing.

Grey skies, swollen evenings of late autumn ,cold rain or soft morning sunshines...all fall tinyly into my soul, with their entrances and exits --- No hangovers for a soul who sees only their healing light ....... Here ! all cries of the heart ends, ....only the sweet equilibrium when the poetry of silence awakes.

The whole existance are eyes awaken to the eternity in the human heart...

And what comes to me does'nt come like a dawn, but like a season ---- like an entire Springtime,

The heart metamorphoses, into a flower upon a tree ,that has stayed naked too long...

or should i put this way....... a flower , in which the tree is not yet a seed ......Whatever that should be .......so much is still waiting for the endless to blossom out of each one of us !!!!

What does Thelema say???

Chamchaude.

CHAMCHAUDE (2082 m) seen from the the Grand Som( 2026m )

you have a plunging view on the Chartreuse monastry belonging to the order of St Bruno,
The order is so austere that there's hardly 9 monks left ,cloistered in here,
very rarely you see then crossing the silent zone for a walk.

My friends mock at me saying that these are mountains for cattles and sheep compared to the Himalayas in India,
I tell them" i come from India but know so little about it!! the Himalayas i've seen are in documentary and books"

But one day i shall go there to melt in the winds.

Going to the mountains.

Going to the mountains , is not always to go somewhere,watch beauty,or even to measure how fit you are..

It's not even to look for somekind of meaning to your emptyness......but, in a certain way you meet "yourself".

The mountains reveals " somekind of something" without measure....the spaces are not monotonous to watch; things are always happening in silence...a silence so similar to the temple which is in you.

I go to mountains because they don't talk , atleast not in the usual ways of what we consider as talking.......
With the mountains there is often a kind of dialogue , between the two silences; the mountains and mine...

And ,then the other kind of silences
the clouds ;the cloudy silence. The cattle grazing below; grazing silence,.......the sunlight pouring;sunlit silence......the grass growing;green silence,...... the mist moving ;silence in motion........sitting with the whole library of different kinds of silences the body drifts away under a cascade of wellbeing......
The cry of a bird,
or the cattle bells and the wind,or even the other climbers also being a part of this silence .

You are just standing before your inner streams.
This is Yoga.

Found it on the Virupaksha temple courtyard at Hampi, in India, the guide asked me to look at the center of the flower , he said that i'd find the stamens resembling the thousand hooded cobra giving shade to VISHNU......

a body poem -- a poem body

Moistened desire, ripe and full
Exquisite than any poem....

Swelling riverbeds , mounting oceans tides
a crack , a wound in the open skies
diffusing their aching notions.

Pursue, the delicious blending zones,
squeeze every drop of delight.

Know then,
if the kiss is right
the blissful bursts in sensuality.

Lips to lips and hips to hips
savouring each other's immensity

When i disappeared with the Buddha

She said to me .

Me too,undone,struck by love
here i'm with open wounds....

Like the river bends..... my whole world bends with you.

Only you , and you, such things could do......
be a river, a rain ,a storm, a flame , a rock, a flower, a feather , a thorn..

a mist insane, i subdue...a price i've paid
to keep my sanity....
while your Buddha walks silently with you.

a drop
fell from my left eye
the woman in me was crying

a drop fell from my right eye
the man in me was crying

i stretched my palms
a no where drop fell

God too was crying

The universe was healing

LISTENING TO THE DARKNESS

Day by day, sinking deep
more and more, in your love

It renews , it vigorates

My soul takes its daily sunrises and sunsets,
and my ears listens
to the darkness of your nights

STANDING NAKED -- I

I had gone to Sravanabelagola
( got to put a pebble in your mouth to pronounce it ),

not far from Chanarayapatna, in Karnataka,India.
This is a place to go, if you 're somewhere near Bangalore,

I climbed up before the sunrise ,the two rocky hills;
Chandragiri with 14 Jain temples, while Vindhyagiri with its magical silence.

The naked statue of "the white monk "as he has been called . Bahubali, Gometeshwar......are all his names !!

As you arrived in the little village,
You could see the head of the statue propping out in the horizon as though to welcome you, It 's supposed to have been carved almost a thousand years ago after a very moving story of a king who became a monk.

It is said that he stood so still that, he lost the notion of time; large creepers grew arround covered his body ,and snakes made their homes .
(You can see that carved at the foot of the statue)

Well,
Those were the architect of God, "Spiritual sculpteurs" i'd say
atleast, that's the impression you'd get after having experienced the perfect stillness in a stone,
a rock full of peace;

As i looked at him i' d say that the sky was born out of its mind...... A rock in meditation!

A rock teaching you how to be still, how to drop the mind.

Later;
When i got down i went to visit the neighbourhood Nagguhalli temple, a beauty of its own;
daily religious ceremonies are stll maintained here ....
Then,
A temple priest asked me " you too have come to see the nudity ?" pointing to me with his chin and eyebrows in the directions of the graceful monolithe,
" Bahubali "the beautiful Jain edifice! stood 17 meters tall

I said "what nudity, i don't see any ??"

"Another crazy tourist," he said to himself...

"So you see no nudity??" he insisted,"you can see that he's got no clothes on??"

And i said " yes , ofcourse, he's got no clothes on....so what ,
if i could stand like him, just for a moment, denuded of all my conflicts.......that should be enough!"

After having climbed the steepy 664 rock carven steps, you're happy to catch your breath, under the peaceful gazing face of that" living stone."
Though i admit,as i passed under his huge stone penis, i hoped that the statue would'nt piddle on my head!!

§§§§

GAUTAMA - the BEGGER - Begging bowl or singing bowl ( song of the AUM° )

Eyes of kindness, just look at me ,
Heart of heaven, open tonight
I wait with my begging bowl in hand
Torn in body , broken in mind
Make me togather, in life and dreams
Tonight ,i hope, i'm redeemed
Even if they say i've come too late
To beg, before heaven's gate
I hope, my god will fill my bowl
When, all have waved me away with a howl.

FIRST REFUGE ( alone in the laybrinth of the consciousness )

Latent hands slap me , reprimanding me,
for crossing the thresholds and leaving graveyards, and abyses of my ancestors !!

Constellations blink their sleepless eyes;
Forfeited of my inheritances , where shall i go??

Itenerary winds lead me to the mazes of life,
Provisions , amenities are not provided.

Refuge and directions withheld.
Strangled by many hungers, illnourished
My plasma draws diet from my soul;

Metamorphosis;
My face peels in layers?
I tear out masks from my flesh.

I undo my limbs , unmould my memories;
I uncrown my personality, divest my character;

Upon the great mirror of life reflects my true self, with wings and without genders;

Achromatic; unrestrained; i stand
hallowed and handicrafted by electric threads.

Unburderned of the pile of skulls and ashes i carried on my back,
Relieved of adornments, ceremonies ,crosses, etherial acts, faith,
crusader scabbards, ego - inquisitions; political hurdles, blackmagic ,chairmanships , doctorates , other social divinites...

I realise the truth
of being only" a man".

Sensual buddhahood

Come with your hair,
unknotted and wet;
Let them melt down your shoulders.

After your evening bath
I shall unrobe your gown
and then kneel down to plunder and storm your nakedness
With soft kisses, magical ,deep ,blending into the mystical oneness.
This is one way of praying.

To get a rendez vous with God

Did you know that !!!
God must not be disturbed, He's still suffering from indigestions
from the food he consumed at Lucifer's table.

I'll send my petitions later through Peter again,
Maybe, i'll bribe him with an extra little prayer.

Prayer's are currencies to heaven !!

The stockmarkets of virtues are crashing down
Its time to invest!!

FREEDOM ----- III

Quiet and peaceful is my heart.....
No !! this i cannot say !

It's neither quiet nor peaceful.

there're 2 things i've ceased to know since you were gone
' joy' and 'existance'!

FREEDOM --- II

I walk
into your open embraces,
you, who
bid me near you smiling.


If you knew
who i am,
You'd spare me
a thousand embraces !!!


But,
you let me pass
And , Alas i must go......without telling you my name.

soul blisters

THE TEARS I'VE REALLY CRIED
HAVE NEVER COME OUT FROM MY EYES !

THEY 'VE BURNT LIKE ACID
IN THE TEST TUBE OF MY THOUGHTS.

BLISTERING, MY SOUL.

untitled

You 're probably right ; No , you 're right !
i shall lose my place in this world,
you say , my perspectives are inner perspectives.

Dear friend, i'm not here
to market anything
What i have
can neither be bought nor be sold.
But, if you' can have it, nothing more you'll need of this world,
It becomes your nourishment and purpose

becoming the sky

Have you ever sat to watch yourself become the sky??
Have you ever held to your bossoms the spirit of the universe??

Have you ever felt such a pain,
how can i explain to you..... of such a pain
i 've made
something so intense!!

....The intense is felt and not translated !!
Not this one.

Does that exist??

Sometimes sitting in togatherness
on a seashore
cows,sand, trees,and the wind describes to me
a state beyond meditation...
( if that exists ?? )

Shhhhhhhhh soooooohummmmmmmm

Have'nt you observed.......
Silence is such a remarkable thing, when it falls in the right place,and the right moment,
Another silence alive,
all so different!!

BE YOUR OWN BUDDHA FOR THE DAY

Keep the breath going not just in and out!
from nadi to nadi.
Keep the breath going in and out,
let the cells burst out the joys of "sohum"
let the soul sail where the winds have never taken you before
And be your own Buddha for the day!

To be here with the sacred

Another beautiful day knocks at your door...
who knows who might come in, especially, if it's the door of your soul that opens....
How to look in there, and see the river of purety flowing??
How to look in there, and taste those things beyond all understanding??
How to be here, where our realities have no significances??
Here, all fears melts,everything drops, the sweetness of nothingness takes you to where Buddhas have walked....the unpreoccupied mind generates no thoughts as there's no more quests, not even for ideals..
Atlast, the sun can rise and settle, illuminating your inner world of deep silence, there is no need to sit under a pipal tree to attain nirvana, no need to bother the openings of any thousand petaled lotuses.

Who can describe the undescribable??
Who can take you to your own Gangotri??
The idea itself of attaining something leaves the traces of some kind of struggle; and struggle takes you to more struggles..especially ,with living and dying, saving somebody, being kind etc...
Well Rajan,the idea of "submission"in hinduism is finally a door , a very beautiful invitation,....but ,who comes to hear the mantras of Brahma, even if it's Brahma own invitation !!
Very often, you 'll see" why" he quietly sits under a tree smiling...something affectionate is going on...and even ,Yama cannot interfere,...This is Bhakti that is not to be disturbed!!!

So many temples we have visited, so many imprints of human quests we have read...while ,our own quest invites us, and the journey comes calling, but very few are Buddhas to get up and go ,without looking backwards!!
And this path, is not to the mountains; but, to the very silence, where the real Buddha Gaya awaits for each one of us!!

Perhaps, Lao tzu says" to travel to the furthest one must not move" " to go to the highest one must fly without wings"

Any way,
Hope you're taking care of yourself......leaving the mind unbothered and sipping in your silence the mantras of Bhrama!!!

Well dear friend, thankyou again for your being there, and letting me know that we have been travelling togather in this path where no feet can take us...yet,there you are joyfully, offering brotherhood and friendship each day,

and to this i bow as though to the sacred.

Just now!

Enjoy the happiness in the sky,
in the darkness,
in the rushing veins of the earth.

Happiness is
constantly travelling
from the eyes of God to the eyes of man
But where are the eyes of God??
so that you may look into his.

The earth is wet

The earth is wet, the first rains have fallen
the smell of dust hangs in the air
the wind is strong and hard
the trees, torn folliages,and traces
and in these moments i do not understand
who's happy and who's sad?
All i know , the earth is wet, and the first rains have fallen!

The parched pond bottoms are half full
The lotus roots are streching beneath the soil
And i donot understand
who's sleeping ,and who's awake,
who's speaking, and who's silent,
All i know is the earth is red, and the first rains have fallen!

And in the land of my Beloved
it's Springtime
Flower adorn'd vallies and twittering songs,
Love is singing a song for her,
But , my heart is here with the rain,
All i know is, i'm in pain,
For the earth is wet, the first rains have fallen!

Freedom --- I

They are going to hang me tommorow
Namibia, do you hear
the fruit which you long to eat
soon shall blossom here

There's no time for grief and sorrow
Namibia do you hear
the treading of her footsteps
Is inaudible, but she's here!!

A poem

Must i speak another word
to describe what i see
And chop the wings of a flying bird
to satisfy this urge in me

Shall i not
weave from thought
to captive make of beauty
So let her fly
my metaphors die
than stagnate in my poetry

Being available

The old mystic wakes up
after having travelled arround so many memories,
so many scenes of life comes out of your " inner self" to talk of ancient things,
of a time when things were fragrant and beautiful!!

He sits upon your quietness and says" Bliss , like a star that cannot speak -- they express
their enlightenment in silence"

This is exactly how i feel at times, as i walk by the river banks, a few peniches glides along,
and tall ,old, trees with branches bent upon the waters trying to understand each other.

Today ,just like one of those other days, crosses the fields of sunbaked poppies, pushing wheat praries , takes you by your shoulders, to go looking for that hidden rock in the pinewoods,
so you could squat upon and watch the sun pierced dancing leaves, and make you conscious
of those intense activities organised into so many subways of energy.

From the leaves to the branches,the trunk, the roots -- all the way down.....the tree!!
"The great tree" outside you steps into you to remind you of the great tree within you , Your personal tree, just there with its branches spread out in the wind while flower petals detach and falls into the Soul river that guides you beyond the universe of thoughts.

Touched by an experience such as this can make me talk of trees, rocks and rivers;
for each day ,a banquet awaits each one of us, some sort of spiritual banquet just as it appears today through the warm sunny day , filled with pleasent pulse beat in the psyche, whispering so many silent things.

The principles of life are hanging from the skies, their wings flaps from sunrise to sunset, in the night they hover your dreams and plunge into your conscience,they do and undo your chains
so you could realise that nevertheless you stay free.

INK AND THE SOUL BETWEEN THE FINGERS

If i could i'd write to you everyday, i would then do so...just the way i'm doing it right now!
a step closer with every word, i displace myself even more closer to you,

i love writing
i find it to be one of the most graceful gesture,
it undoes, it relieves,
it blends ink and the soul between the fingers.

i write, when i feel well;
iwrite, when i suffer
Writing, is'nt like a phone call, its much more full with oneself,
to write, is an act that upsurges from within;
the ink translates the soul, it's nuances and subtilites
to write, if one could settle down so that all the heavens and hells may converge upon the pen point
the soul and the chant, the ink and the point??
Sponteneously seizing the outsides with your insides;
Sometimes, i feel that i don't write anymore with my pen, but with my suffering, and sufferings knows not writing with a pen, but with a knife...therefore, all that could be written, are nothing but drops...drops of blood spreading.
ceaselessly, they fall on a page, not the usual way,rather, in a wordless way, bleeding phrases.

Sometimes, the darkness devastates my being,and there's very little light left ,
and me ,the Don quixote fight against the windmills.

However ,today is a day the penpoint wants to chant, so i find myself in a position, as malleable as possible.......a natural joy,just as a sun coming into the spaces can only fill with light, a light that renders visible, the beautiful world.
the crap, becomes more beautiful than the "diamond sutras",
there's no crap when the heart's so full of love, so clear and sponteneous to all things.
And then?
If this is'nt prayer? then? what's it??