Afloat on a Floating World

A love nest, 
elegant as a mountain 
vihara

passed by here one night.

I saw the rejoicing,

felt the shining as I gazed

through moonlit blossoms,

No stranger to the magic

or the passing

of that woven reed.

Like the setting sun 
gives way to the night,

the story changes..

Some said in that maze was an emperor

who liked to be served in silence..

that heads rolled

when he noticed any unusual sound,

even in the breathing

of any unfortunate enough

to stumble into his service.

Someone else told about creaking wheels

on a cart used to haul his firewood..

No belly was so hungry

to force a return.

I am sure these stories are incomplete

and run wild with assumption.

Stories are colored

by incomplete perception.

Another story told of a yogi-warrior

with a golden bow,

how the radiant glow of the forest

Is the flow from his heart,

how his bejeweled arrow

can still be seen

Flying across the vast sky.

I know he was called 'minstrel'

who would play where he felt

understood,
where he was

wanted.

I heard music

beautiful, soothing

clear as a crystal bell

the color of Generous Love,

marking the way

on that yellow brick road..

..where travelers walk

remembering, aching..

..mesmerised in self performance,

painting an endless darkening

behind clouds of fear..

..trailing tears

of abandonment, loneliness,

defeat and deception..

..disguised under heavy cloaks

of adornment,

entrancing, testing

bewitching others,
all apart.

Playing until emptied,

Any gift offered

Is for self.

Why break windows to enter

your own house

When there is an open door.

Walk in!

--

Leaving
the long road,
after

campaigning for peace,

a warrior

lays down 
the sword.

Love can then live

as a moon

rising in the darkness

to light the creative spark

in all.

Yielding self

in sacrifice

we rejoice

with the Beloved,

in rhythm

with the 
Changeless 
Spirit.

Garudafire Poet Story 2012