poetry = nonsense
nonsense = meaninglessness
meaninglessness = void
void = nothingness
nothingness = spirit

Today she played the old tape the one with the Bangalore traffic that hisses and transports me to ancient India His voice, rich in the tones of caring was that of a friend not seen in years a humble trumpet - muted, but resonant with the powerful magic of his work And I remembered, not with mind but with heart what it was like to feel, to surrender I heard once more the harmonics of breathing together, of togetherness felt the peculiar quivering of my hands (the Shakti rushing through me) the tightening of my skin the loss of sense of location I touched and had dialogue again with those who are not there! And when the time came for Savasana motionless as a corpse but fully aware I abdicated the heaviness of my body to wooden floors, and a little euphoria I laid without breath, without thought for a time without reckoning transfiguring under his guidance as recorded in that wonderful old tape [8 XI 2009]
Copyright © 2011 Erick Calder
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