Lost Treasures

Jun 18, 2017

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The Myth Of The Kundalini
The woman curls up in the midst of the green and the red.
An ancient, archaic, green desire,
infused like a slow poison
slowly invades the pores of her being.
She closes her eyes in a sweet surrender
and lets her hair down in a cascade of the words
uttered like a waterfall running down like a magic chant.
The female cobra lying dormant at the base of the spine
rises and raises its head. Its tongue is the tongue of fire.
The woman is the moment of waiting for a resurrection.
She is just the moment before she will snap up like a sword, erect and out of the sheathing.
She will seem to annihilate you,
but no; she will not.
A mighty force, the will of God,
she will incarnate
and take you along
the six subtle stopovers on the winding path
but never allow you to pause and rest.
At each sojourn she will give you glimpses
of the lifetimes lived in the past,
each lifetime a singular lesson
distilled insights in measured steps.
First, the primordial strength to fight the primordial fear
at the base of the being,
then the settlement in the life of the body
fully entrenched in faith of living.
Then onward she will pull you along.
You are energy, power,
infinite but scattered.
You will have to dwell here long
until you learn to collect and ride over it like you ride a horse;

until boredom, lethargy, nausea will spread over you like a gentle swoon.

And slowly a new lotus will be your heart,
opening like a bud, mysterious, gentle,
greeting the dawn.
The call of a distant drum'beating but unheard
and you will follow the mysterious notes of the unsung song
until you land at the throat
to breathe in unison with God.
The lady will be quiet, serene, benign.
You will live with her as with a goddess sublime.
You will have no language but that which you learn to speak with her.
Long will be these blissful days, an unending era of peace.
And one day  all of a sudden she will wake you out of sleep.
An unrest the origin of which you will not know
will take hold of you and throw you into a swirling tide of restlessness.
Now is the time you need her most.
Do not let go of her hand.
The path is straight and narrow.
Nothing will make sense to you;
it's a vast universe of absurdity;
but hold her fast;
hold her steady;
she makes no demands.
Listen to her silence.
An infinite valley of tenderness,
the peaks of ecstasy,
the visions will come and go.
But do not let her go.
She will take you into a trance,
deeper and deeper, quieter still.
Shiva will dance before your eyes
and the rhythm of the dance
will reach a crescendo
Do not look back;
she is right there behind you

Now she is with you on this journey to the light.

She has taken you to the final call.

The Master calls;

in a moment the spirit breaks the bounds.

There is nothing but an infinite sea of the white light

and infinite silence, infinite peace.

And yes, you will return like a rain falling 

from the thousand petals of a lotus cloud.

•  Your genius fully emerges with this masterpiece...in this visionary saga poem you allow free reign to every energy of metaphor, every aspect of bringing forth the power of your subconscious mind...
  
  I am unable to completely convey more

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  Sushama Karnik I think we both tap the sources of the energy of the subconscious mind. We start without the full realization of the potential of the language, the expression, of that energy. It is only when that energy completes its mission and stops of its own accord do we see the form it has taken. Thank you Tighe O'Donoghue Ross for the insightful comment as always.

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    Tighe O'Donoghue Ross Sushama Karnik 🙏🏻

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  Sushama Karnik+2

  +Tighe O'Donoghue/Ross This painting is the most poetic revelation of the ancient symbol of the feminine energy in the occult science known as Kundalini. The occult symbols have an archetypal existence, and artists, with their intuitive awareness of the universal archetypes, are the best illustrators of the occult symbols, though they may not be aware at the time of creation, of the connection between their work and its universal significance.

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  Jun 18, 2017

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  Tighe O'Donoghue/Ross+1

  +Sushama Karnik it is very interesting the way that imagery enters my head....these exercises began with no preconceived notions about meaning or subject...I find an interesting model, recreate the pose a bit...then add the ingredients as they come to me....your deep understanding of the kundalini did not even occur to me at first...then I saw that I had unconsciously made the snake as a disembodied spine....The Id....the archeo/cortex....all the significances which you name....then emerged.

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  Jun 18, 2017

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  Sushama Karnik+1

  +Tighe O'Donoghue/Ross This is the living example of how the art, archetypes, and the ancient wisdom emerge in consonance in the artistic creations of the modern times. Perhaps the artists of the renaissance and and the medieval times made a conscious use of them, but in the modern times the links exist in the subconscious, and yet they surface in some way or the other.

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  Jun 18, 2017

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  UPENDRA PAREKH+1

  Beautiful Art

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The Art of Living

If I see through your eye; you see through mine.
What will it matter to our perception?
How will it change things? If we redefine.
We see what we see with no exception.
If my words could sail across your ocean.
If I could, some-how, get on your good-side.
If you could sense and feel my emotion.
The gentle rolling of my inner tide.
You would perceive my sincere devotion.
My hope and good-will for all of mankind.
Breathe deep now. Relax. Feel the slow motion
as the tension we feel starts to unwind.
We are complex. It's true. And we must be.
For what's inside you is inside of me. Peace to all...Doc

Healing

HEALING

Healing stones,
take a close look,
peridot,garnet, amethyst,
coral, lasanya,emeralds and rubies;
they are all rocks at the core,
just too deep to visit
exploring the netherland in the light of day,
you see them lying shocked and stunned
on the benign surface of the earth;
not having forgotten as yet
that the lava brought them forth
and turned them now into healing stones.
Before the rays of the sun
caressed them and awakened the healing force,
they lay in the dark,
abysmal depth,
unaware of what they could do
when exposed to the light of the sun.
And the gold? That too lay compounded with ore.
It needed the venomous touch of mercury
to separate it from ore and make it shine as gold.

On A Morning Like This

May 27, 2016

On a morning like this
when the sunlight streams
in and falls
on the window-sill,
everything in a surprise goes helter skelter,
the rose in the vase is a stunning red,
the pages of the diary flutter,
only my cat is the creature
that remains composed,
looks out and reads the message of this morn.

Tanya Dimitrova originally shared the image

An Apple Of Delight

Jun 2, 2016

An apple of delight
caught the golden sun
A luminous dart of light,
Rembrandt's dark
wrapped around in love
and the old rack shivered in the rising sun.
A tactile glow all around,
and the apple, slowly turned around,
slowly deepened the lovely tone,
a reddening sphere of vibrant red
turned around the axis and stopped,
springing a surprise for the jaded eye.

Sushama Karnik (c)

Milan Lakić originally shared the image

RAINING IN SILENCE

It's raining in silence today
where the earth once scorched under flames.

The rain is seeping in silence to heal
where once the fangs would steal
all inspiration and the elixir to feel
the essence of the writing skill
.
The rain is scouring the lanes
in a steady sonnet of a meditative beat,
teasing and chasing the boy on the wheels
of the daily run to the everyday grit.

The rain is sliding off the slopes of hills
in little rivulets of low-sounding trickles
of a daylong strain of a musical dream
drowning the world in a hypnotized trance
when nothing matters except the sky and the drifting clouds.

It's raining in silence behind the hills,
stirring in the life not visible yet,
soothing the anxiety of the future nights.
I'll rush in the downy drifting streams
to wash my tears over yesteryears.

It's raining in silence to lead me to the sea
and rid me of the rafts of a whirlpool drift.
I sink to the bottom of the billowy waves
and rise again on the crest of the tide
to hold the flower that blooms in the surf.


The rain without a thunder, a classical note
of a silver bell singing occasionally
to catch me awake when the world goes to sleep.

Sushama Karnik

Milan Lakić originally shared the image to Art (Discussion):

Alfred Émile Léopold Stevens (11 May 1823 – 24 August 1906) was a Belgian painter

A Bird And Me And The Shadow

A Bird And Me And The Shadows

I stay in the shadows, thick and dark
and wait to watch
a bird arrive on timid wings,
an exotic bird from another climate.
To see it, I would gladly go all the way
to the country where it dwells.
Here in my region I just walk
some deserted lane
and come to a spot and stop,
breathlessly.

There behind the wall I hear
the hushed waves of the sea rise and fall,
and I feel the silence at the bird's source,
the rhythm of the ebbing and the rising tides which cradle the bird in a gentle sway.
And there is no other bird I know
who can open my heart's dark door
and enter softly to alight on my floor.

I am not a hunter after birds,
just a patient lover,
in a slow movement, not to scare
the bird with a vision of heaven.
Birds, each one of them,
knows when he or she is loved.
They know it in the silence,
the slowness of your movement,
they know how close they might come
and from how far they must fly;
and they never speak
unless their spirit moves.

Respect their dignity, respect
the silence and fear.
Their flight is to a remote place,
on tired wings and precarious balance.

Sushama Karnik

Tanya Dimitrova originally shared the image

shadows

Black Swans

Black swans swim to the shores
and in the stillness pours
the light of the purple dawn
the scent of the dew just touches and thrills
the life of the trees swaying on the hills.
Gently comes the dawn
and shakes the languor off my limbs

Thank you +Beau Beauregard for the lovely image

Beau Beauregard originally shared to Sensing Beauty In Louisiana:

A Note To Self

A NOTE TO SELF
Tree, a mighty tree,
your roots, the strength tightened within,
your sutured ties with the earth that bears,
are bared open; exposed to atrocity of drought and sun.
You, the earthling, a foundling,
one with the earth and the sky.
You sway upon the hills and send your wings to the valley;
you sing in the valley and send
your songs to the sky and the hills;
you, the nourishment,
you the carrier of seeds and the life
of all that needs a sap,
scatter your seeds to the wind and let them go the way
they came,
somewhere from the place you did not know,
and rested in your heart to sleep and wake
and when the rains came,
woke up to find the springs that stirred.
You are the silent, steady learner
who would preserve and give,
scatter a wealth enshrined in the bowels of earth,
and encrypt the secret in every groove and the grain of your body.

Sushama Karnik

Image Courtesy : Dr Ego Prozac

An entry from note to self...Covington, La

The Land Where The Sunshine Rains

The land where the sunshine rains
and the rains breathe the light
of the rising sun,
where the soil soaks in the scent of the seed
and gives it back in a rich green and golden deed,
where the harvest fills the granaries
and the wretched of the earth are fed,
where hands work and the minds think and feel
only to see the small mission fulfilled
that is the dream that may bless the wishing hearts find
the simplest fulfillment of life.
In another life may I find me and my loved ones
born in that land of generosity.

Mika Pulkkinen originally shared the image

Dust Fogs

Dust fogs eclipse the books on shelves.
It always happens at dusk.
I look back, at diaries never to open them again.
Pages of scripts which know I have decided to close them,
stare back at me
vacantly again.
All that I am resolved to do now
is to collect the piles and put them away,
somewhere away, where even a cat will not go
attracted by the dusty smell and
the memory that once it was her hiding place
on sultry summer afternoons.

THE LITANY OF THE SILENT NIGHT

The litany of the silent night

I listen; I strain my ears to hear
your silence
vanishing in the dark.
The sea roars and you stretch your arms
as if the mysterious gift you have been searching in the sands,
the whole day long,
is going to come back and land in your arms;
as if the rolling tide is going to relent and return
what it once took away in a capricious  game.
My voice lacks a body, my eyes lack a vision;
as the heart listens and gives the lie
to what the body and the eye tell me to believe,
that we are nowhere near the coast
where we could draw the line where the sea must stop;
where the sea must stop its rage.
The roaring sea too returns
once the land is reached.
Each wave is a new wave, a new phenomenon rising in the ocean.

You never see me watch;
my shadow falls far behind;
I am held back by the wind and the sun
and the turbulence raging over the sand.

My loved ones, turn your back on the growl of the sea
and return to the patient land.