Paramahashtagwali Poem by Chris Robideaux

Walking compassion’s razor edge – the mystery is getting slippery – my wet trees are heavy, too.

Between the ends and the beginnings, power crouches behind the
Nursemaid of violence and replays its only tune.

Eternal night flanked by the handmaids of daylight – lions spring forth from dead eyes –

Corridors of cold hearts cry to be revealed. Doors of mystery swing open by hands of limpid causality;

We spin on a globe of doomed certainty – sheets of rain twirl misty raiment upon this

Shadow-sleeping village. Flanks of pain scourge those who thrive on pillage.

Why would my eyes now expect a twirling vine of ivy or horse in a field?

We’re in the drudge of doing, between anvil and hammer, messiah and ruin.

The curdled, debauched bone enthroned will fall well as the war of
spite and belief smites the stars of Hell.

Smoke pours from our aspect, in hunger’s grievance to grab, tasting beauty.

Dark flame of silent alcoves, spark of a second’s life, eternally –
This is the adventure souls do wear – for even in absence you are somewhere

(…)

Better an absence than false presence.

With feline, graceful Zen can we bend, and string a bead of mind-free train;

Where a purloined life may return again.

Sequential eyes never tongue the sun, but give rise to ages – aegis – toil for pharaohs, scarabs,

Oilmen politicians – drone for truth and sit, friend, on suchness’ bed.

Buddha, struck by lightning, took it for an insight.
The burned tree sat opened for ages, too.

We must un-think death. Quit these mental crucifixions.

Let all occurrences aid us.

Godhead. Bodhi tree births us – Paramahashtagwali – name the 7 thousand thousand gifts of life,

And so for these births an un-costumed SUN. An Ode-ity of fire.

The ridge where death laughs is our ridge, too.

Rejoice, then, even in body-soul separation, an eagle leaving the nest:
Child-parent, rocket-capsule, chrysalis-wings

Egg-shell,

Vogashwanda-asana-Somatdavali you are leaf and tree, soil and sea, every heart and eye, weeping joy withering brightly –

In steps, You are All Things.