Kundalini Splendor

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Thursday, March 22, 2007

At a Time of Turning: What the Ancient Oracle Said 

At a Time of Turning
(What the Ancient Oracle Said)



Even now
as the rising waters come
as the winds blow over us
bringing pillows of sand.
earth blazes beneath our feet
as we turn to you,
oh, Shiva,
god who dances always,
worlds coming to birth
and dying,
creation and destruction
as sperm and egg,
as breath and soul,
enfold us,
let us move with you,
let us be who you are.



In the midst of the chaos,
cities rioting, bursting flame,
brother against brother,
confusion of anarchy,
guns, exploding streets and avenues,
cries of children and animals,
a voice which is stillness,
a silence which speaks:

What you have constructed,
so your habitation.
What you have chosen,
thus your world.
At the center only,
at the quiet core,
at the place where movement
becomes the interval between,
cessation of action,
where the agitation and striving
fall away
voice and longing
the refuge.


The Lion's Mouth

A leader stood up
and announced his ambition
to the world.
His followers
echoed his words
behind him,
advisors of cunning intent,
men desperate
for power.

Their dark designs
undid the world,
universal blight,
set free the demons
of destruction,
the hounds
of hell.

Brave ones
who rose against
were soon carved up,
the voices which spoke out
The people murmured,
did not act.

Everything hung
in the balance scales
of time,
all rested
in the lion's mouth.



Blinded, blinded,
by always getting,
hurrying here and there,
meaningless communication,
pointless speculation,
who has discovered
the lost key?
Whose lantern can light
the way?



The false prophets
came forth,
spoke to the
The desperate
listeners clung,
ready to follow
the elusive words,
willing to be led
over the precipice edge,
fling themselves
over the cliff.



Then something
out of the darkness,
a seed opening
far below
in the moist womb
of the unseen mother.
A flower was pressing upward
past the thick blanket
of soil,
swallowing light,
arriving into being,
eager to behold the sun.
The earth stood ready,
the air filled with scent.
Everything became still
and waited.


Who Knows

Did the world now enter
its final transcendence?
Did all dissolve
into a rubbish heap of decay?

Who knows how a story
the direction it will choose?
Who can say
what manner of happenings
will be?

Only Shiva,
his shimmering dance,
only the dancer
who is the world.

Dorothy Walters
March 20, 2007

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