listen.

 

It is our listening 

that keeps Goddess playing.

our attuning

that re-weaves the world.

The question: “What am I hearing?”
a prayer for understanding;

a benediction to the curious,

ever-opening, pulsing divine,

that lives in our listening

to the space between 

wood and ears,

between thoughts and breaths,

between the sparkling of our tears:

that lives in the sound.

 

 

Her existing a reflection

of our ongoing attention.

Retention of the essence of life

found through remembering the rhythm,

the rhythm, the rhythm, the rhythm,

the churning vibration

pulsing our resonant heart strings,

that is the sound what lifts our wings:

sound is what lifts our wings.

 

If we could hear the symphony our blood makes in its pumping,

the wonder found in a baby’s birth, in a baby’s first breath,

how rivers sound to each other,

we would know

Goddess lives.

She lives in the sound.

 

 

(listen to the audio recording of Niema speaking this on soundcloud)

This is that bliss.

Voices joined in adoration 

of the wealth of our becoming. 

A devotion born of the longing

that is the true answer to our incessant questioning.

Our calling to everything that is holy,

wholly, hole-y, holy,

within and around us.

We call to the Earth, 

that birthed us, stone and bone,

wood and blood. (Durga…)

We call to the air that carries the music to our ears,

that moves the trees so we may see how they dance. (Krishna…)

We call to the fire that is our passion, is our dying, is our flying. (Mahadeva…)

And we call to the waters,

the rains, the ocean, the river flowing from Síva’s wild hair,

giddy and grateful as children who have just learned what it means to drink. (Saraswati…)

We drink this in,

And though a thousand flagons of finest wine may never quench our thirst,

one true taste of the holy on our lips can set us free.

 

The mantra that protects our minds, 

protects us from our minds,

so we can remember

re-member, as in put back together,

remember who we truly are.

This is that bliss,

not a state we find by seeking,

but only those who seek shall find.

Only those who sing shall hear.

The sacred land,

the home of our true selves

is not a rarified museum only accessible to the pure and perfect.

Grants no pass to those who not yet been broken open by love.

What is sacred resides in the messy, fecund, spectacularly confusing garden of life.

Goddess lives in the soil between the thoughts, 

She is the yoga, the space that unifies everything.

Most of us have never seen 

the lands that birthed these particular words,

but we know them with our whole hearts.

We know them with the part of ourselves that remembers

that Goddess lives in the sound,

Goddess lives      in the sound.

And we can actually be attuned,

in. tune.

with all of life.

We are not lone carrion birds on desolate mountain crags.

Not barren islands in tempestuous seas.

We are instruments in the orchestra of life,

listening for the inherent frequency

of our innate divinity.

Tuning ourselves home

through the simplest, greatest vehicle: song.

This is that bliss.

Sometimes we cannot look at a thing directly,

only its reflection.

The connection to Source made through pulsing perception.

Careless gaze an invitation

to our own destruction,

as Medusa rendered immobile

any who would not humble

themselves in the presence 

of the primal life force.

 

Sunlight is blinding straight on.

But we can witness it in rippling sparkling water,

growing food,

the brilliance of the Moon,

the effulgence of our songs.

Wind can only be seen by its effect.

The force of its motion only visible on what it has moved.

Music is intangible,

its essence undefinable.

It cannot be felt with skin,

or deciphered with mind,

yet it transforms time, ​

spirals into our cells,

entrains our hearts with rhythmic spells,

sparks awake our DNA

in a chain reaction of activation

until there is no telling

who is playing,

and who is being played.

 

Water is immobile on its own

yet ever flowing

on this planet beholden 

to gravity and slope,

wind and condensation,

perpetual evaporation,

rapid temperature fluctuation,

and all the things that give water her properties.

 

Life is made of life.

We are all built of the selfsame dust, 

dependent upon gravity and fire to become stars.

Nature knows no such thing as isolation.

This dimension is made of mirrors.

We are defined by our interpenetration

of everything.

It is the dappling of sunlight that gives it meaning

and allows our perceiving.

The wind-made waves that let us observe the water

as it reflects the bottomless sky.

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© 2018 by Medicinal Poetry