“We experience the world as we are; we respond to it as we are; we are continuously reshaping it to how we are.  That is what the Christian mystics say mean when they say. “My sin is stamped upon my universe.  But the Hindu mystic would say, “My goodness is stamped upon the universe.”  Both statements are true: one simply takes the perspective of the jiva [the ego], while the other looks at the world through the shining Self.”  — Eknath Easwaran, The Bhagavad Gita for Daily Living, Volume 3, 15:7-8.

 

Meandering trepidations

This is the police force of the mind

Looking for transgressions

To fill a place of playfulness

Where it can spend time in derogated torture

Of the Self

To unwind a mystic spell

That would have placed you

Infinitesimally close

To the divine

 

Rugged mountain passageways

This is what we have hurdled ourselves through

Aggrandized like Cyclopian giants

We have engaged misfit legs

To transverse the subcontinent

Of listless dreams

And arrive in decadent barren wastelands

Where there is nothing left to still do

But slowly release the bondage of erect form

And crumble into a slumped over child

Energetically emaciated

From any further tasks

To be done

To be undertaken

To be utilized to distract the mind

From any ever present dislocation

Into the effervescent heartbeat

Of just being

 

We have been clumsy

We have been slowly activating our corpuscle driven

Slave tentacles of the spinal elongation

Creating slow movements

Of the inorganic organs

Of hands and feet

Elbows and wrists

Toes and fingers

Legs and arms

Until we have reached the edge

Of flailing centrifugal pantomime

Exorcisms in the phantom muscles

 

They are all directing the body

Into slothful regurgitation awareness

To activate the sinful mind

To call out for carnal retribution

From the catharsis devoted

Police force of the mind

 

It would create movement to punishment

There is nothing you could not do

That would not defractally mobilize the

Condescension of the mind

When you would perform deeds

For which it cannot fabricate awareness

 

Subtle movements of the soul

To abstract the nestled movements away

From the recriminating actions of every

Integration into the material world

 

When you are hedging yourself forth

Into the greatness of grace

The spinning wheel would not slow down

The karmatic spindle would continue

To obfuscate ascendance

From interplanetary existence

Focusing the police force of the mind

On your caustic development of misdeeds

Of karmatic notch see sawing

Through the wooden features of time

Through the uprising verticality of the totem

 

Wanted posters on the post office wall

Detailing all the aspects of what you have done wrong

As wrong is defined by the moralistic implication

Of the police force of the mind

Trapped in dogmatic stage play recreation

Of the soliloquy of societal crimes

 

But all of this is only

A halting edifice

Martin Luther nailing his list of misdeeds

To the cathedral square walls

 

There is no list of anything you have done

You could have done

You have contemplated doing

That could not be unwrapped

Opened up

And exposed to the light of the soul

 

You may have done it

It cannot be undone

The karmatic wheel may still be spinning

Awaiting the metronome momentum

To slow until it targets

The wooden notch of your

Collective ensnarement to one more

Bardo dive

Before the reclamation of the soul turns forever

Into the beacon waterfall of enlightenment

 

But what is done cannot be undone

And it does not matter to the present you

Release it all, the sorrow, the pain

The suffering of internal recriminations

It is the only pathway to evolution

To the next stage of recovering

From the five thousand millennia

Of the dark night of the soul

 

The police force of the mind must be

Relieved of duty to the task

There is nothing it could do

To balance out

The deed to action to repulsification

That arrow sequence has been set to flame

 

It is now that you can walk away

From the phoenix fire

And find the strength to rise above

All the admonitions of the past

And more fruitfully, gracefully

Find present awareness

To the solemn truth of who you are now

 

Shining, not rusted through

You are only who you are right now

And you are ever changing