Poetry

Where are the chakaruna,

the old ones who know,

who know who they are

and why we are here?

Where are they,

the ones who bridge,

who bridge heaven to earth,

whose hearts

center the universe?

Don’t look on the mountain,

in the forest or the jungle,

across the great river

or behind ashram walls.

The forests are floating

in the rivers,

the mountains mined,

our hearts escaping

only by benign neglect.

The old ones are back

disguised in young faces,

fresh from heaven

with tablets glowing

in their hands.

They are struggling,

still shaking off

Fate’s enforced forgetting

felt like jet lag

multiplied by millennia,

their commandments writ large

on souls still smoking,

their eyes burning

with heaven’s fire

and coffee.

They are in the airports

moving fast and wide,

feeling the planet,

taking stock,

triaging the carnage,

trying to remember

who they are,

what their work is this time

while things heat up

and humanity teeters.

I say,

walk with them,

wake them quickly,

tell them the one thing

they need to know.

I say

show them how to know,

how to listen with their hearts

so they will know again

who they are,

why we are here

and what they have to do.

You know, amigo,

you remind me

of a bull rider I knew once.

I've watched you gripping

a handful of mushrooms,

or some similar,

as though you were wrapping

your legs around a brahma bull

ready to come out of the chute.

You weren't long on board

before you hit the dirt hard,

getting up with a grin,

heading off for a cool one,

and the little smoke

that dulls your pain,

But it ain't all about adrenaline,

amigo.

Some mother’s sons,

suit up to ride

capitalism's bull,

drink that adrenaline,

and grab some big prize money,

while some of us just hope

we can survive their fantasy.

You know,

It’s not my first rodeo either.

I've come out of the chute

when the shaman

opened that gateless gate.

Those were rides to remember,

complete with clowns.

I came down hard

on the dirt more than once.

Like when Kali laughed

at my little testosterone,

letting me feel

what it’s like to birth a baby,

like she was saying:

if you want to feel like a man,

try feeling it like a woman.

Kali had me begging

for the buzzer

to end that ride.

Well . . .

It ain't all boots and spurs

and getting thrown higher

than your hat.

I found myself wanting more,

and found it in less.

Less keeps you in the body

for more than eight seconds.

Dragon don't need spurs

to light up a dark sky.

Jaguar runs

low and fast

through darkest night,

making a kill that wipes

your wounds away.

There's more than enough

Love on the other side

to hold that wild body up

and gentle it down

so it follows you home.

And there are births

of all kinds.

Lose the beer, boyyo,

and the smoke.

We want to feel more,

not less.

It’s not about rising

above the pain,

but melting into it,

coming out the other side

of that gate,

feeling deeply enough to know

you can live,

and love,

down here on the planet.

There's another arena

just on the other side

of your heart, amigo,

deep down in the body,

lit with luminous darkness,

where less goes all the way,

where laughing angels

dress up like rodeo clowns

and catch you in mid-air

and raise you up

until you've grown real cojones—

like hot tires

rolling down a darkened highway

carrying a heart on fire

with eyes on bright

and a soul on purpose 

The woman wore black

to mark her grief,

some said.

Her husband gone

and children too,

they said.

Some called her old crone,

and those who came near

might hear her humming.

Crazy, some said,

and kept their distance.

Winter came.

The ground froze hard.

Darkness came hard too.

It was true.

Grief hadbroken her heart

and hollowed it out

bigger than any sky

you’ve ever seen.

But as light faded

into long dark,

she smiled a smile

even starless night

could not hide.

And on thisnight,

while others huddled

by small hearths,

out she walked,

eyes raised up,

singing softly,

but not to herself.

Not to herself at all.

She built a fire,

but such a fire,

if you and I were watching,

we would not see.

In her vast heart,

she built the Great Fire,

ignited with grief

and stoked with song—

her calling song—

and smiled a knowing smile.

His eyes would see the fire,

she knew,

and he would come.

And come he did.

Wrapped in light he came, 

smiling a curious smile.

Old crone,

he said,

I’ve come before

and found the Maid, 

and the Mother too,

but now you are here.

What say you?

Again, she smiled

her knowing smile,

and spoke clear and strong.

The maid is one.

The mother two.

The crone all three.

If you want them,

you must have me.

Whilst you spurned,

the star wheel turned.

Saturn and Jupiter aligned

and rule the way.

Its soul to soul now,

is what they say.

So kiss the crone,

Have three in one

and set love free.

We’re each a lock

and all a key.

The old woman spoke more.

In darkness it begins,

she said.

To darkness it returns.

The seeds you seek

in darkness wait.

Claim me now,

if claimed you’d be.

Then what comes

is ours to see.

What good is love

not won through grief 

nor wise enough to use it?

Don’t look away,

shining boy.

Everything you see

is me.

She smiled again.

Are you strong enough

to take me in,

she said,

and by me to be taken?

Then turned to walk away,

she did,

not looking back to see 

if he would follow.

She knew

what he would choose—

surrender his soul

to Sophia’s dance,

he would,

and surrender his heart to Hers,

there to warm the seeds. 

My Lover’s kiss

is more magic

than any man’s

imaginating.

Her sorcery

Source itself.

My eyes trance planted

with her green eyes

peel away layer

upon layer

of luminescent

serpentine garment

until reality is naked

and my head lays

upon angel breasts

of pure light.

She whispers

Let me take care of you

and the cosmos becomes my home

as soul enters the body

trance fixed

by her healing gaze.

Her sensuous embrace

trance sending

all my sense

into sinuous dance

ignites my shadow

into golden-blue fire

trance fusing my spine

into light so intense

that every cell

is trance formed

as I awaken

to the vibration of Her voice

and the embrace of Her arms.

I am be-earthed anew

born again

into bright moment

after bright moment

as She breathes into me a

a sighing ecstacy

and pushes Her body

tingling into mine

making my back to arch

with all the strength

of the jungle cat

that claws flaws

from out my sight.

Come play

she whispers

into mine ear

trance muting it

to the sound of all

but her voice.

Dance barefooted

and barehearted

upon enlightened earth

and in dark forest.

Make your soul’s desire

your sole desire.

What soul could resist

such seduction

this sedition of senses

into soul service? 

Not mine

I sigh

and raise my lips

for one more elucidating kiss.

You say you have a dream.

I want to know if the dream has you.

Show me one priest

taken by Vision

who has not burned his Bible

and stripped his robe.

Or one rabbi 

truly hearing even a single Word

who has not torn the Talmud

and raced from the temple.

Don’t tell me what you think.

Tell me if dreaming wiped thinking aside

and showed soul

how to breathe your body.

Those little dreams

those night and day dreams,

they have their use.

But give me waking visions.

I would have them pull me apart

and put me back together.

I have been to the Tree.

I have seen the Blessed Serpent.

My body has been lain across the roots

and healed in sparkling brown mud.

And I was taken deep

into the Earth’s own heart

more than once

until I learned the way.

Little serpents carried me there

rich earth brown and patterned serpents

and white serpents with rainbowed backs

while my body dissolved into joy.

I saw Adam born 

from the womb of my own body.

I watched that Adam find Eve

in the valley of the dying.

I watched the undermountain women heal Eve

and do the same for Adam.

I am that Adam

and my body that Eve.

As earth is heaven’s Eve.

And I have eaten the fruit of the Tree

many, many times.

We are not banished from the Garden

but expanded,

Exploded into interdimensional beings

while the Garden awaits

our bright return

shining like little suns

upon earth’s horizon

illuminating creation’s path.

Heart is my temple.

Not the beating heart

or the emotional heart

or the celebrated chakra

but the Portal Heart,

the doorway to the body

through which soul whispers sweetness,

beckoning the body.

Come my love

sings the soul.

I am that soul. 

And body surrenders to that heart

when there is agony enough.

When the pain is so great

that body seeks its safer haven.

How blessed the paradox of being

that persistent pain

will dog the body

into soul’s loving arms,

when pain can finally turn the body

toward soul song

so the work can begin.