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Monday, October 14, 2013

Pack your bags

When he steps off the balcony, when magic holds him up, that is You...

When he commands without touching, takes life without mercy, that is You...

The evil can only slip past me, your Many mightily arrayed as the One, the beggar, the king, the redemption of the evil One... it is all You.

I still hear always the bubbles rising, the prana rising through the akasha, sometimes a melodious tinkling... that is my nada.

I was almost asleep, and I realized for the first time in many months, the sound of the plane warming up on the tarmac was gone...(!) It was fading, but I never thought it would leave.

(Will you not take me, My Love? I am the place of your smile, the drift of your half-closed eyes... You flow to me as your embrace, the sacred Ganga Maa... dancing down through the Himalayas to the place of stillness, never forsaken, the beautiful one, Kashi... Veranasi... and Surya, the rising sun. Pranam...)

"With what?" I looked around, saw nothing I needed to carry, nothing that wasn't me.

I was almost awake, and then I heard in a woman's voice, clearly... (I thought someone was in my apartment).
She said: "Pack your bags."

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