Bhakti, Shakti, Nad, and Nam

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Bhakti, Shakti, Nad, and Nam

What’s the matter with normal reality?
Why does everyone try
To get away from it?

It’s the subliminal urge, the inner need,
To evolve, to grow, to discover,
Staying the same is a well known way
To invite the various amplitudes of suffering over suffering cubed,

Nobody wants to really die,
Everyone innately knows
The endlessness of their own existence,
Within the endlessness of existence
Itself,

Normal human awareness is the perfect conduit
For divine love,
But we’re all way out of tune,
It’s all static, a sort of jazzless jazz,
Syncopation without style,

A chemical change in consciousness
Is mostly an attempt
To get back in tune, to reacquire beauty, freedom, love;
All the good things that have been stripped along the way,

That’s why war is so loved,
And never ends,
Because it reestablishes a drumbeat,
A rhythm,
A cadence, even if of decadence, to be marched to,
Because humans love to march,
Because it makes them forget what was lost,
Makes them forget who they are,
Even when the drama that unfolds
Is nothing but horror,

It’s almost a cruel punishment
To ask someone with normal human awareness,
As currently modulated,
To endure the rampage of insanity
That blossoms endlessly;
Day after day,

So we have another generation
Of addicts,
All decadent, cancerous, misguided fingers grappling
For a fresh, new and improved forms of hope,

The body knows truth,
Even when the mind fumbles hopelessly in the world,
That’s why yoga is so good,
Because it unites mind and body
So that the body knows the mind
And the mind knows the body,
So that the spirit knows the universe
And the universe knows the spirit,

Yoga, union, divine love,
All to get back in tune;
As when humanity is out of tune,
Fear becomes the ultimate purpose,

Inebriation is a rebellion against
Our culturally clouded awareness
Which has been blinded
By social indoctrination,

Nothing pleases God more
Than the Bhakti, Shakti, Nam, and Nad,
Divine intoxication,
That forbidden love affair with the source of everything;
With truth, as opposed to the transience
Of our limited existential station,

Or a simple, selfless kindness,
That reflects God’s beauty
And initial intention, mirroring,
The initial urgency and demand of love,
Which gave birth to the word, to what is,
And only is,

There are 6 trillion ways to get “There”,
But only one “There”
Which has been “Here”
With us, within us, and around us,
All along.

My yoga teacher once said,
“You don’t beg,
You take,”

Well, I beg to differ,

You take,
Until you discover
The emptiness that ensues,
Then you beg for mercy, even forgiveness,
Generosity,
And realize,
The fullness of grace and peace you feel,

You beg God,
You take from the world,
Not the other way around.

The kingdom of heaven is at hand,
At the dawn of human awareness
The sun was god,
And in all fairness
The seasons, his children,
Blossomed refulgently
In the Land of Nod,
East of Parsippany,
And in the now of God,

Recoverability is a virtue
That falls under the category
Of endurance, probably,
Another word
Would be “toughness”,
The ability to get up off
The canvas,
And begin a new painting,
To throw another punch,
Okay, if you want to get abstract,
To become selfless.

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