Tuesday, August 25, 2020
The T.V. Guru
The T.V. Guru
She has her robe, her mala, her bindi.
She is speaking to a large audience.
Mostly she is telling me
what was imprinted within
so many years ago,
glimpses of eternity.
I have almost none of the implements
that she wears or knows about.
I search blindly for knowledge
once mine, then vanished,
absorbed into the great cosmic field
of eternal knowledge.
I feel for my bindi.
It is not there.
I hold my mala,
something substantial
that remains,
but I do not know its stations.
I ponder that my bindi
is merely a marker,
a reminder of the Great Bindu,
the minuscule center, the atom
from which all derives,
to which all returns in the well hole
of creation, the source and destination,
me the fleeting witness,
the momentary flicker
in the flame of existence.
Dorothy Walters
August 19, 2020
