Beloved strangers come together,
Feel how opposing energies flow within you.
Let your life be like a forge,
And you smith, metallurgist, and object of artistry.
With each action,
Shape yourself as an instrument and alchemize experience
To approach the Infinite.
In times of suffering and doubt
Recall that
Pains from the past are not fates to be cursed
But material to be recast, alloyed, and nursed into new shape,
Plunged back and forth from furnace to cooled pool,
Again and again:
Like ghanti bells rung during a Ganga Aarti
By priests whirling brass snakes in enflamed circles
Chanting Sanskrit songs amongst fragrant smoke
As sun and moon move across horizon lines.
Like the damaru drum keeping beat
For Lord Shiva’s celestial dance
Atop the demon which seeks to lure the undiscerning to
Forget and ignore their connection to Purity and Eternity.
And when full of joy and faith,
Use memories of times defined as light and sweet
to ring like a singing bowl,
but silently — a soft Om rising unbidden in the chest,
As designs in shape and kind,
To guide your efforts at perceiving the unstruck sound
With others also seeking the wisdom which proclaims:
No matter your state – suffering or bliss, in love or in hate,
creation, preservation, destruction, illusion, or liberation –
If you have breath, then you are blessed.