Tag Archives: Ego

Krishna Kanhaiya

Oh, you’re so lovely I could break!
With all your garlands of soft flowers
your soft and colorful fabrics,
You’re the most approachable form of God.
So gentle, I could cry.

So much love.
So much!

I start to feel it in my own chest,
and Friend,
it scares me.

Because
What if my ego breaks?
My container has been so small,
and now you’re coming to me?
Do you think I can hold That?!

What if
when
my heart becomes as big as my body,
someone uses me and I’m not safe anymore?
I’m human!

So,
God Most Approachable,
I’m asking you this.

Little soul
wants an answer from Big Soul.

Before I roll out on the town with you,
it’s high time
You give me an answer and
soothe my fearful mind!

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Strings of Mind

Hey, Hey, God,
Take all the straight strings of my mind
and twist them
into a rainbow circle
and wear it
around the ankle above your feet.

I told you I want to be the village idiot
like that drunkard, Rumi,
but at the moment,
I am on the star farthest from.

I told you I’m done playing the game,
and yet I still stick the sword of knowledge in my heart
and play this game with zealous abandon.

Do we have to keep fighting
like a couple
who thinks
they’ve gotten used to each other’s ways?

Let’s settle down
and hold hands
and drink a cup of tea together
without saying a word,
And how about you whisper
some more of your secrets to me, Love?

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Love, And Timestops

All of the sudden, I want you to crash into me.
If that train careened into me,
nothing, not a thing, would be wrong.

You give me
downright
mindblowing
sensations
of the way you love the whole universe.

When I start to feel love,
I suddenly feel…an immense ocean of lack.
It burns sweet and pulls hard.
But really?
It’s not a lacking at all is it?
That sweet burn and hard pull
is Your desire to play as every last atom in the universe,
isn’t it?
You made infinity to pleasure yourself, didn’t you.
How much you love, I doubt I’ll ever know,
and just a taste of it turns my world inside out.

You keep sending me postcards lately,
snapshots in time.
A tree I’ve driven past a hundred times
is suddenly blooming still in timestop,
effulgent in all its beautiful, raucous
attention-getting.

White blossoms say “Hello!” to me as they fall in stillmotion.
A chime, unringing, grabs my attention,
and the world in the misty morning stands still yet again
as you send me another postcard.

What if You wrote me a whole letter?
I might lose my fucking mind.
I might stop going to work.
I might stop doing my duty.
I might stop talking.
I might stop hating and fighting.
That’s scary, and you know that, too, don’t you?

You’re hinting at me.
I’m starting to catch your drift.
The stories I tell myself, the stories I told,
and clung on to, don’t matter.
It could all be so easy,
so mindnumbingly simple,
if I just let it be.

If you blast my mind away,
I’ll run through town smashing your idols,
and then we’ll be Even.

I love the postcards,
but I want you to know I’m scared,
yet curious as always.

So if you fire the final shot,
please do this gently, with me on board,
when the time is right,
with the love you love the whole universe with.

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Player’s Honor

He’s a peacock,
He’s a player.
How is it that
Keshava honors women so well?
He says to me that he is neither
Man nor woman.

He is not stiff
He is not angry
No rules bind him
And the profane is not in his universe.
His heart is wide
His loins are loose and warm.
His center is balanced.
With a body like that,
How could he not be kind to those who call?

Keshava knows women better than most.
How could he not come to
Give Draupadi a river of covering silk?

Mortal men who sleep with a hundred
Get lost in ego.
They get lost in the image of masculinity.
Don’t get caught in your own gender.
Remember who this play is for.

Through his hands the beads of planets and jewels of stars pass.
The one with the peacock feather in his long dark hair.
The one in the forest,
The one from your village
Who waits at pink dusk for a hundred lovers, for you,
On the steamy, languorous banks of the Yamuna.

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