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I am a mystic madman, a wandering wildman, scholar of esoterica, dilettante sadhu, dready-headed hippie (only have a few jata on the back of my head right now, though more be forming of this third set of knotted hair), gentle yogi, fierce foe of falsity. I was a preacher, but I renounced that. I was married, but she renounced me. I was a grad student at one of the top universities in the world on my way to becoming a professor, but I realized they taught lies there too. I am protector of souls, lover of mountains, smoker of herb, fond of hot springs, oceans and lakes and rivers and rain and sunshine, devotee of Devi.

Hindu Gods and Goddesses

Saturday, January 2, 2016

American Roots and Rebirth


Billy Holiday, Jazz and Blues ringing true
to those stories of forever,
to memories of eternity:

Laralen singing “God Bless the Child”
at 420 South 22nd Street,
Melanie's face aglow in adoration
of Lala and her song
as we pass the pipe.
Black Mamas with a capital M
and a capital B, too (though Mel had Auburn hair
and Laralen dirty blond).

Didn't much think about who was who
in terms of past lives lived,
in those days,
just took it for granted
we were here and now.

Since lovers like those two've become
most times mostly memory,
my reveries have conveyed my mind
to a claustrophobic sarcophagus,
my apparent interment after some other life,
and possibilities of who all we were and are
through the tumult of eternity,
incarnations and reincarnations,
love and loss and strange stories
that keep us entertained as we play
and ply our way through forever,
those songs and dances we are blessed
to sing and dance and play
as time goes by,
time and time again . . .

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