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The wind carves shapes into the beach sand

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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.







The old woman in white embraces the knees

   of the Guru,

and she becomes a bride again.


The pink embroidered roses on her saree



~ ~ ~



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,




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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