vibrant formless presence looks in within
in-form nodes glisten as kundalini chooses
in witness mode we partake of divine grace
enablements are bestowed as God transfuses
with the instrument of lower mind now rested
no thoughts arise since our heart is quiescent
each cell is slowly by God’s touch transmuted
revealing our soul’s quintessence luminescent
Like a newborn baby
In its mother's hands
For the very first time.
Like a marsupial animal
Carrying its joey in its pouch,
The warmth of abundant love,
That transfuses between mother and child.
Her hands are fertile soil,
Plant any seed in them,
It will surely grow and bear fruit.
The calming embrace
Of her cotton hands,
The softness,
And feeling of being home.
The worries of the world
Unable to reach the mind,
Sedated by the cushion comfort,
Occupied with fantasies
Of never leaving this home,
These hands of a mother.
Purple clouds created splendor
'Pon morn's distant horizon
Brilliant golden sun's glow cast rays
Canvas for maestro to work 'pon
A sky of periwinkle blue
The canvas an artist uses
Miles and more miles in total length
Light the gifted one transfuses
So lucky to see the sunrise
Freedom to enjoy the cool morn
Great experience for mine eyes
To see, feel, and hear the morn born
Finis'
Social awareness springs life in all its many forms of fault
On a thin, blank film of ring which encircles the audience seated,
Wherein precursive images befall the sight of sovereign role-gazers
Who seek after the preservation of authority in place of the refinement of the very sprite itself
For in this gleaming presence, numerous reflections of the seated alighten in passing
Which would bear witness a good fortune on its observers if it will be known
For the dispelling of delusion lies in contribution
As traits of individuals accommodate new affiliations
Through the hallways of the houses they build
A social excuse, vestiture for the chimera that simmer around the echoes that call a friend
A nasal contraction, whispers of ballet along with congenial manic fractures
A pigeons’ hall work as J. Farnsworth transfuses into moll work
Regaling distraction, appalling as adolescent prances conceive a hidden dimension
To decisions made on behalf of
An unknowing few
Surely your indecision wouldn’t assume
We’d all forget the Who
Low
sunlight
transfuses
the translucent
leaves.