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The Temple
A pigeon struts on the sand,
chewing a twig, red eyes, bronze neck,
grey body, orange feet, the ocean is
sliding and swishing towards an
impenetrable mystery, this territorial
bridge between India and Sri Lanka,
this Chinese wall sealing off the
country from these constructive
foreigners, the sea is snoring,
but in astronomical India they
chose jungles and hill-tops
so remote for their centers
of learning, the more sacred
the slag site, the more faraway
in the solar system, far out into
inter-stellar space, I hear French
being spoken.
The pidgeons have disappeared, the indicating
planet we inhabit is this non-luminous star for
yogic recovery, it is an elaborate temple complex
in a remote part of the galaxy, it is the strong-hold
of saints, it is the center of solitude for UFOS, the
wind blows a secret transmission to the pigeons,
this earth exists like an intricate carving, breathing
life into human matter, to this primeval crust that
has now been totally destroyed, to the red-brick
cloud system of Jupiter that has been sucked into
its red spot which is charged with environmental
spiritual energy, which helps these spiritual aspirants
reach their planetary goals.
The jogger on the beach runs towards the bridge, he has started his journey of
surrender and thus the oceans have now opened the necessary door.
The Evening Chant
Strumming the prayer beads, the blazing
evening sun competes with the silent white
streak of a jet, and the ocean waters sparkle
as the settling planet expands in me--and I
quietly listen to the heart streams of a universe
that shares itself with every thinking grain of
healing, sealing and pulling the trapped demons
of the flaming rock grottos, that are found in every
gleaming galaxy, the ocean roars as a young girl
throws an unknown stick to a dog inside the swirling
expanse of a gem as I strum thr prayer beads and the
jet's white streak firmly vanishes.
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The ALIEN: Part Seven
