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#2202 - Thursday, July 14, 2005 - Editor: Jerry Katz


 

 

In this issue are some poems from a book called Darshan Poems by Naomi Kasnitz. I doubt you'll ever find a copy. They are poems to her Guru, whoever that was.

 

--Jerry

 

 


 

 

The old woman in white embraces the knees

   of the Guru,

and she becomes a bride again.

 

The pink embroidered roses on her saree

   bloom.

 

~ ~ ~

 

 

The mother with an infant on her hip

leans over to catch a glimpse of the Guru.

 

Her hair brushing across the baby's face

is the universe celebrating its potency.

 

 

~ ~ ~

 

 

What kind of love is this?

 

I give him an apple,

and he gives me

 

an orchard,

 

apple blossoms,

apple cider,

apple pies.

 

~ ~ ~

 

I don't want enlightenment or the life

   to come.

 

What do I care for salvation,

liberation,

self-realization?

 

I only want perfect moment

at my lover's feet.

 

~ ~ ~

 

A huge door opens,

A man's colossal form completely fills

  the doorway.

 

Don't be afraid:

He is as loving as he is gigantic.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Slowly I open my eyes and look down.

 

In the valley of my folded legs,

my folded hands appear

like two old friends.

 

~ ~ ~

 

He strides down the aisle,

 

and we become

an undulating field of grass.

 

~ ~ ~

 

To accept the Guru!

 

You might as well try to accept

an avalanche,

the fire that's burning up your house,

a hungry tiger stalking your heart.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Your mystery is an open door

on the rock face of the mountain,

 

an old man appearing from nowhere

on a starlit road.

 

~ ~ ~

 

The perfect balance of student and instructor;

 

as the questions grow more complex,

the answers grow more simple.

 

~ ~ ~

 

I dreamt that I was calling out your name,

   and weeping;

 

I woke up listening to the rain.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Take him!

Possess him!

Claim him as your own!

 

Don't be shy or stupid.

 

Tell me,

what good can someone else's

God and Guru

do for you?

 

 

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