The Wild
The Wild--a poem
There are cows in a field of snow
black and red angus to be exact
behind them lies a fallow apple orchard
in its neat, precise rows
the hand of man imprinted on the land
as I drive past my favorite
rock formation
there are pre-fab houses
everywhere
the hand of man imprinted on the land
One picturesque, one abomination
these are the polarities of man
364 days a year we bend the Earth
to our will
the hand of man imprinted on the land
but the wild
the wild is always there
one day, maybe more,
the land reminds us who owns it
no one
the arroyos swell and wash away
the stain
the fires burn and quench their thirst
with the tenderbox houses filled
with trinkets and trash
and the precious lives of men
the wild awakens in the brown bear
the mountain cougar
the lonely coyote
the Great Eagle watches
the hand of man cannot touch everything
it cannot touch the wild
man can only awaken it
within his own heart
Labels: poem, poetry
My Soul is not Sikh
As a part of my job here at KRI, I get the honor of attending what are known as TTEC meetings. It's essentially a gathering of some of the most esteemed and long-standing students of Yogi Bhajan's and the lead trainers of our Aquarian Trainer Academy from around the world. Needless to say, the discussions are right up my alley. . . . .for example, the question posed to the group one afternoon was, "What defines Spiritual Maturity?" A beautiful conversation then followed. But the most meaningful comment for me--the one that struck right to the core of what I've been dealing with personally, before and after, my trip to India--was this: "My soul is not Sikh."
Krishna Kaur from Los Angeles said it. She to me embodies the Bhakti-Shakti Ideal that is this path. A powerful, humble, radiant woman who speaks the truth with compassion, challenges you with tenderness, and inspires you with every breath she takes. I was so struck by this simple statement, realizing that even though we define ourselves through form, we are always, ultimately, formless.
So here is a poem, in reflection of that conversation--and the power of those simple words:
My soul is not Sikh
no, my soul cannot
be confined
to one name
to many names
to any name
My soul is as wide
as a sea with no horizon
no shore
My soul is not Sikh
no, my soul
speaks a greater truth
and,
bows to all names
or no name
my own name
My soul is as endless
as the summer sky
a mile wide
No -- My soul is not Sikh
Labels: poem, religion
