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God’s Been Harassing Me

God’s been harassing me lately.
He plays tricks with my mind.
I see people who aren’t really there.

The Cheeky Bastard has suddenly
gone beyond cheeky.

He’s been heckling me,
walking around with a
wily, knowing smile on his face
and the gleam of stars in his eyes.

And he’s been going around like
a lawless, wild bastard,
smoking, what, ganja?
Rolling around the known world with his
disheveled self and his messy cahoots.

Been showing me crazy shit,
and speaking truths my self of yesterday
would have thought were heresy.

Ai! Bhairav!
Let’s get on with this destruction,
shall we?


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Surrender to the Silk

the Joy requires this again and again
like a gently revolving wooden spoked wheel.

It’s never a surrender to anyone out there.
Don’t ever give yourself in to objects and men.


It’s a surrender
to the silks
to the veils
to your human nature.
To pleasure
and to ease.


We don’t have to fight it inside any longer!

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Dwara Bhairav

I sit still on the side of a dusty street, full of people passing.
I am neither woman nor man.
I am neither young nor old.

On my forehead is the three line ash marks,
On my arms, too.
I am waiting for Bhairav.

I am waiting for all the old lines and bondages to dissolve.
I am waiting for the guard of the boundaries to open the door.
When the mind is ready,
The Dharmapala becomes the Dwara,
The Guard of the Field becomes the Door-Opener.

This is scaring me, yet
I’m waiting.

Let Distinction die!
Let knowledge die!

And what of fear?
Bhairav knows.
World Shaker.
World Turner.

No one needs protection in the world of Bhairav!
He doesn’t come to scare!
He comes to churn and tear tiny old weaves apart.

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Who am I, Lalla?
You’ve been fooling me,
making me think
I was a small self.

You let me have all these problems, Scoundrel!
Just a pinhole lens!
Thanks for letting me know I’m human, Friend.

What ground is there
when I don’t latch onto problems anymore?
What is there to hold onto, Lalla?

Your peace is scaring me,
drawing me out of myself.
Your wide continent is too new.
You’re making my heart shake, Lalla!

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Kashi’s Kotwal

He comes to my door,
Begging for rice.
He’s a liar.
He’s no beggar!

Red skin, black hair wild
in unbound jata,
he proffers a wooden bowl to me
in his paw of a hand
with sharp black nails,
like a bashful child.

He’s a liar.
He’s no beggar.
He’s not bashful.
Bhayankara Bhairav, he is.

“Tell me the truth, Graveyard Dancer!” I demand.

He is
The Fearsome One who Turns the World
Upside Down.
The Breaker of Boundaries.
The Defiler of Concept.

His eyes turn to me.
He knows I am afraid of the future I see.

The little gold bells around his waist jingle,
I see his golden thread hiding in dust.
He says, “Everything is alright, ma’am.”
Jesus, what a voice!
Inaudible undertones that could tear apart Danavlok,
But here, now, in my house for the first time,
He’s being endearingly soft-spoken.

I ask him what he wants.
He doesn’t want me to go with him.
He doesn’t want to come in.
What does Bhairav want?

And is he really just Kashi’s Kotwal?
Hell no!
That paper tiger job
is a red herring for his real post with Bhairavi
at the center of the divided world,
and on the edge in the eight directions.
His entourage of ghosts and spirits dances with him,
Smoking the ganja and laughing like fools
in the enjoyment of boundless freedom!

Here’s the secret to his fearsome form:
Bhairav’s work is never external, out there!
His roar shatters worlds of mind.
He decries fear!
The whole universe is infinite subject,
The Divine Experiencer Itself!
Aham Idam!

He doesn’t want me to go with him.
He doesn’t want to come in.
What does Bhairav want?

He wants me to be him.

Oh, hell no!
My small self says this is insane!
But I’m a sucker,
I’m still game.

So! He says,
Never, never let your mind entice you
To the false security of objectivity–that self-made prison.


Bhayankara Bhairav is your inside track
to the death of fear itself,
and the birth of your sahaja anand!

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Whoever Named This Guy Shankar?

You know what he did at Dakshapur and Kulinda
He called out Uma because he knew she was Parvati Durga

With a conch and bhang and objectless laughter

Whoever named this guy Shankar?
He’s a clown!
He’s a drunk!
He smears himself with ashes and dances with the horde!
Maybe they knew–down is the way up
Maybe they knew
in the world of no distinction there is cosmic peace.

Parvati went out to him cawing in delight and dancing
on the edge of the city
Jagatdeshwari met up with Mahadev
And they danced the Double Tandav.

Did you know the secret of how he drank the poison and survived?
She was there.
It burned so bad but he held it
she was holding him
as he let the poison burn out in his body.

That scoundrel Krishna seems to be a fine topic for cosmic love,
But the real couple of union is
Shyamaa and Shankar,
Parvati and Jatadhari,
Uma and Bolenaath,
Parvati Durga and Shiva!

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Sadness and Awe mix
as I watch my future coming.

I think You tagged me.
I didn’t know it.

Such a weird space.

“We’re waiting for it to drop,” You say.
I don’t think it will.
You say it’s coming.
I don’t want this.

I must have said yes in some other lifetime,
in dreams I dreamed of Now a long time ago.

Riding the corona of the edge,
I shy away in fear of the unknown and and yearn for the change
at the same time.
Reiterations of the same.

I see an old bowl,
enamel cracked,
like something from Apocalypse Now,
waiting to dissolve.

This hasn’t happened before.
Fear and desire and Awareness appear in the same place.

I’m remembering that I really don’t know what life is.
My memory was fooling me.

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