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#2202 -
In this issue are some poems from a book
called Darshan Poems by Naomi Kasnitz. I doubt
you'll ever find a copy. They are poems to her Guru, whoever that
was.
--Jerry
The old woman in white embraces the knees
of the Guru,
and she becomes a bride again.
The pink embroidered roses on her saree
bloom.
~ ~ ~
The mother with an infant on her hip
leans over to catch a glimpse of the Guru.
Her hair brushing across the baby's face
is the universe celebrating its potency.
~ ~ ~
What kind of love is this?
I give him an apple,
and he gives me
an orchard,
apple blossoms,
apple cider,
apple pies.
~ ~ ~
I don't want enlightenment or the life
to come.
What do I care for salvation,
liberation,
self-realization?
I only want perfect moment
at my lover's feet.
~ ~ ~
A huge door opens,
A man's colossal form completely fills
the doorway.
Don't be afraid:
He is as loving as he is gigantic.
~ ~ ~
Slowly I open my eyes and look down.
In the valley of my folded legs,
my folded hands appear
like two old friends.
~ ~ ~
He strides down the aisle,
and we become
an undulating field of grass.
~ ~ ~
To accept the Guru!
You might as well try to accept
an avalanche,
the fire that's burning up your house,
a hungry tiger stalking your heart.
~ ~ ~
Your mystery is an open door
on the rock face of the mountain,
an old man appearing from nowhere
on a starlit road.
~ ~ ~
The perfect balance of student and
instructor;
as the questions grow more complex,
the answers grow more simple.
~ ~ ~
I dreamt that I was calling out your name,
and weeping;
I woke up listening to the rain.
~ ~ ~
Take him!
Possess him!
Claim him as your own!
Don't be shy or stupid.
Tell me,
what good can someone else's
God and Guru
do for you?