Kundalini Splendor

Kundalini Splendor <$BlogRSDURL$>

Tuesday, September 15, 2015

Living with Buddha--Dorothy--poem 

(This poem was written about ten years ago and expresses my responses after buying a thangka (wall hanging) of Buddha.  At that time, I was still in the state of extreme Kundalini arousal.  I still have the thangka, but no longer practice in front of it.)


(Recently I purchased a Buddhist thangka
which seems to possess special powers of 
 awakening the inner vibrations.  This
poem is about this experience.)


I never expected this.
As always, it was just the music and me,
the vibrations coming on like waves
ruffling the shore.
And then the Unseen came,
taking my breath,
sly cat circling the cradle
where the naked baby lies,
and suddenly—
You appeared,
radiant being
lit from within
like an icon set in a temple
incandescence lighting
your face, your breast,
now there was the outer image,
and this inner brightness as well--
what was I to do?


True, there had been a time of preparation, a leading up—
for days, Tibetan music
with its raucous gongs and drums
beating the blood
to a kind of inner frenzy,
slow movement whipping the vibrations
to a pitch,
like a lash
over the waves,
everything pulsating,
bliss, they call it,
who can give it a name?


And then the day when many Buddhas
came within
in geometric procession,
appearing one behind the other,
like figures in a text
on perspective,
showing how objects maintain power
even as they diminish,
I couldn’t even move.


I found it there days earlier,
on the wall of the import store,
holding me in its gaze,
Buddha in a wall painting,
a kind of scroll
with the Teacher
captured in the design,
they name it a thangka,
majestic presence
calling me.

But I didn’t yield.
I left empty handed.


But later
I returned,
telling myself,
If it’s still there,
I’ll take it,
if not, I’ll simply say
it wasn’t meant to be,
and muse on nonattachment.

It was waiting.
I ran my hand over the face
and felt sweetness
ripple like musk-scented breezes
over my wrist.
I’ll take it, I said.


Next morning,
when I bowed
to this image
on my wall,
the energies
pulsed so sweet and strong
I almost could not stand.

First, my head
was blessed
as if his aura
touched my own,
then body, legs,
arms and hands
all began quietly to move,
to slowly dance,
and I became a turning
Buddha field
of light,
my limbs like blossomings of
some kind of nectar,
I could not even ask
what was happening,
I could only
whatever it was.


And so each morning,
there was boundless bliss
and inner teachers came,
each day someone new,
I gave them nicknames
to keep them straight,
“Sturdy Boy” or “Master Chi”
or “Ting Mao” with his flowing
sleeves and fan,
Tara with my mother’s face,
so many, all to lead me
in my morning rite,
new movements, new postures,
I was easily led, bliss currents streaming.


When I moved in close
to get a better look,
the Buddha field
surrounded me.
I turned my face gently
right and left,
I felt its soft stroke
along my cheeks,
I bowed
and began my movements
once again.

How many minutes
could I stay
in this electric clasp?
How long survive
in this dense
torrent of love?


High, high.

Were these the vibrations
of the outer realms,
the place of gods and
deities of every kind,
the supramundane,
other worldly
spirits from the
secret spheres?

When Zeus came down to Semele,
she vanished in a flash.

Who can withstand
such all devouring love,
who is willing
to be pierced again and again by light,
light purified at source?

First, you arrived
like a flower
lit from within,
holding its own sun.

I let your
multiple form
inhabit my mind.

Now you are an image
against my wall.

Each morning
I stand before you, bow,
move about a bit,
while you watch quietly
in your steady pose,
you the unchanging,
compassionate wisdom,
easy love.

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?