Sunday, 30 June 2019

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
    1
  • 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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Saturday, 29 June 2019

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

Wednesday, 19 June 2019

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.

Wednesday, 12 June 2019

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.

Monday, 10 June 2019

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)

Friday, 7 June 2019

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
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
shadows