Sitting in the airport just a few minutes from leaving this wondrous place I've come to know and love as a home over the last 6-months... Eagerly anticipating the next leg of this journey called life and relishing the one just past.
I wrote this stream-of-love poem in January during a pilgrimage, in a temple in Puri, near a tree over 500 years old, under which countless mysteries and miracles did unfold.
India, I will miss you and I will see you again. You have my word. You have my heart.
In India inside is out. And outside comes in. Whether or not you like it or want it or think you need it. Dogs, cows, men are dead in the street at your feet or above your head as the case may be. The weather is made to enter the homes and the homes are made in a meek attempt to keep it out and keep you cool. Darkness is light and light is so bright when the smiles of locals turn on. Even though their teeth which they brush in the early morning in the street are yellowed and crooked. Her streets will make you feel miserable if you are offended by defecation and smoke, noise, pollution and sewage afoot. If you can't dance around the tragedy don't come to her shores. You'll surely be tossed left and right in
your mind and slammed as by the waves of her ocean or frozen further as by the snow in her mountains or burnt to a crisp of nothingness by her sun larger than in other parts; but it will be for your own good. It will break you open like no teenage love can and it will let you bleed right on the street in front of people who barely bat an eyelash. But that blood will be the sweetest relief to ever seep from your veins and you'll be so far beyond caring if you're loved and needed because you will be in love with something greater than a person faking to need you to make you feel whole. So far beyond faking a role you thought was real for the sake of picking something up because you once felt so empty without the covering. You'll be so far beyond commenting on the dress or smell or events to fill the time, the air, the space between you and the rest of the human race because you will be so deep in it you won't need to point and stare like you never saw such a thing. It will see you and you might feel naked but no one will comment or care and there you might find a gap for freedom to slip in and your ego to fall down around your dirty, dust covered soul. And your mind will be silenced, will stop chasing the wind of emptiness you thought could fill you in, on and on and on again. Aloof to public opinion moreover your own voice of unreasonable dry and sterile vision will soak up the sounds that force you to listen to ancient truths in language that speaks to invisible energy inside you never knew lived, deeper than the sheen of newly found proofs, realer to your needs than justified closed-circuit cold n cut-up clues. She will make you understand. You will be attracted on the other hand. Your small soul might come out to play with the Supersoul in the light of day. And if you're fancy and full of buttons to push your machinery, God help you, will heat up and burn out and all the plastic guards you wield to protect yourself will melt like the trash piles of non recyclable matter -- dead and bringing you to the senses that quietly shake and shatter in your once empty now reality-filled head. You won't be holding on to your Louisiana purchase, clutching property with greedy need and seeking more through sight of dull eyes with a dumb sheen. She will force you to forget you ever thought you could possess anything more than the spirit that free love, true love reflects. That love will lift your consciousness so high you will finally feel good with humility brining you down with the top of your head on the ground, praying, praying, praying that you'll never forget how. She dares you to try and put your finger on it, hint: it's near your wrist where the pulse rests to show your heart is doing it, doing it all for the best. And chanting in the streets you will run into shy smiles too sweet and knowing to protest and hand shakes to send you on your way with a wish as blessings will pour if in a search for absolute truth you once did, still do invest. Let go. Roll in the dust and live a little more than you ever thought made sense. Steep in the source where it pleases that source. And if you can believe, if you dare believe, you might, for once, really be free
I wrote this stream-of-love poem in January during a pilgrimage, in a temple in Puri, near a tree over 500 years old, under which countless mysteries and miracles did unfold.
India, I will miss you and I will see you again. You have my word. You have my heart.
In India inside is out. And outside comes in. Whether or not you like it or want it or think you need it. Dogs, cows, men are dead in the street at your feet or above your head as the case may be. The weather is made to enter the homes and the homes are made in a meek attempt to keep it out and keep you cool. Darkness is light and light is so bright when the smiles of locals turn on. Even though their teeth which they brush in the early morning in the street are yellowed and crooked. Her streets will make you feel miserable if you are offended by defecation and smoke, noise, pollution and sewage afoot. If you can't dance around the tragedy don't come to her shores. You'll surely be tossed left and right in
your mind and slammed as by the waves of her ocean or frozen further as by the snow in her mountains or burnt to a crisp of nothingness by her sun larger than in other parts; but it will be for your own good. It will break you open like no teenage love can and it will let you bleed right on the street in front of people who barely bat an eyelash. But that blood will be the sweetest relief to ever seep from your veins and you'll be so far beyond caring if you're loved and needed because you will be in love with something greater than a person faking to need you to make you feel whole. So far beyond faking a role you thought was real for the sake of picking something up because you once felt so empty without the covering. You'll be so far beyond commenting on the dress or smell or events to fill the time, the air, the space between you and the rest of the human race because you will be so deep in it you won't need to point and stare like you never saw such a thing. It will see you and you might feel naked but no one will comment or care and there you might find a gap for freedom to slip in and your ego to fall down around your dirty, dust covered soul. And your mind will be silenced, will stop chasing the wind of emptiness you thought could fill you in, on and on and on again. Aloof to public opinion moreover your own voice of unreasonable dry and sterile vision will soak up the sounds that force you to listen to ancient truths in language that speaks to invisible energy inside you never knew lived, deeper than the sheen of newly found proofs, realer to your needs than justified closed-circuit cold n cut-up clues. She will make you understand. You will be attracted on the other hand. Your small soul might come out to play with the Supersoul in the light of day. And if you're fancy and full of buttons to push your machinery, God help you, will heat up and burn out and all the plastic guards you wield to protect yourself will melt like the trash piles of non recyclable matter -- dead and bringing you to the senses that quietly shake and shatter in your once empty now reality-filled head. You won't be holding on to your Louisiana purchase, clutching property with greedy need and seeking more through sight of dull eyes with a dumb sheen. She will force you to forget you ever thought you could possess anything more than the spirit that free love, true love reflects. That love will lift your consciousness so high you will finally feel good with humility brining you down with the top of your head on the ground, praying, praying, praying that you'll never forget how. She dares you to try and put your finger on it, hint: it's near your wrist where the pulse rests to show your heart is doing it, doing it all for the best. And chanting in the streets you will run into shy smiles too sweet and knowing to protest and hand shakes to send you on your way with a wish as blessings will pour if in a search for absolute truth you once did, still do invest. Let go. Roll in the dust and live a little more than you ever thought made sense. Steep in the source where it pleases that source. And if you can believe, if you dare believe, you might, for once, really be free
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