1 minute reading time (219 words)

JOURNEYING

This journey is never-ending –
And that’s the whole point of it, too, fresh explorations of the self
With every passing moment, every breath that rises and falls,
Sudden illuminations mingled with step-by-step progressions
All grist to the celestial mills.

 
In each precise instant, this being blooms into an infinite space
And is yet contained in a fragile clay jar, smaller than a blot of ink on the page of eternity;
Bullay Shah, too, knew that dot, and Sohni entrusted herself to that jar- so Love demands of us all these deaths and rebirths and we dissolve and are reincorporated, time after time after time.
 
There is no heaving or shoving or forcing anything, here.
The river flows on into the ocean, intuitively,
And in each forgetfulness there is a greater awareness born,
Drop or ocean, milk or honey, vinegar or wine, all substances wax and wane
And attain new forms and qualities and patterns in this glorious abandon – abandon that rests beyond words, beyond all constructions, beyond human upheavals.
 
There is no salvation or destruction on this journey, then;
Only a descent from the domains of discord, into a vale of quietude, leading on to successive vistas and to the stripping away of infinite veils;
the road rises to meet us in a dear embrace.

 


2017 pub

It has been some time
Kingfisher (The Mahals, Wah village, 1990)

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