Saturday, September 15, 2007
The Stages of Bliss (poem)
The Stages of Bliss
Once, yogi returned,
I sat on the floor
ankles crossed,
did puja
with bells and clasped hands—
asanas were the key—
heavy bliss flows stirring
like rivers of love,
everything for the god/goddess
who had come at last.
Next I became music—
kirtans, bhajans,
Brahms,
honey in the throat,
the hands.
Sacred sounds
to stroke the hidden
centers awake,
angels
kissing me alive.
Who could refuse
such favor?
Then it was Buddha
beckoning,
thongka on my wall,
image bringing
unbearable joy.
I bowed and rapture
flooded my crown,
my body.
I withstood it to the edge
of feeling
as I rose toward
some other realm.
Was I still there?
Now I stand
in the center of silence
soft wind stirring leaves
moon stilling the waters.
I bow quietly,
move little.
Light flowing.
in gentle pulses,
a subtle sweetness,
the other telling me once more
who I am.
Dorothy Walters
September 8, 2007
