A tear is never just a tear.
A speck of dust is never
just a speck of dust.

How will you discover
other worlds in this one
if you cannot pluck the ancient forest
from a tiny white seed?

Each photon mothers a galaxy.
Lord Shiva's sacred work
is Tirobhava: concealing
truth beneath appearances...

How dull this planet would be
if a dandelion were merely a weed!

Is earth not a rapture of veils,
mirage in mirage,
each hidden-ness revealing
the hidden-ness in that?

Think of shells and pearls,
husk and milk of coconut,
the first adventurer who broke
the pomegranate open

or her that first explored the secret
beauty of a wound...

It is a sea of poems.
You dive in with
your whole body,
then come up gasping
with a soul.

Ode To Butter

Eating butter makes the heartbeat strong.
Eating butter lubricates the soul
so that it slips gracefully from one
lifetime to the next.
I'm not talking about the ghee
of refinement and discipline,
but the effortless grace of honest fat,
the golden wealth of your buttocks.
Ghee is for effete philosophers,
but poet saints like Lala Dev,
who burn thousands of calories
just chanting Shiva’s name, need stamina
to dance naked in the streets:
they eat butter.
Even infant Krishna was a butter thief!
Angels gaze down with envy
at your honey-brown pancakes
dripping with the nectar of cows.
The hills and valleys
of your breasts and thighs
glow round and warm with butter,
making gods yearn to come home
and take birth on this world again.
Your flesh doesn't get this way
by chance, my friend, but by feasting!
And though you may not live as long
if you cook your food with butter,
you may not live at all
if you don't…
Let's not get carried away, dear soul.
Exercise moderation.
Just spread a little on everything.
I don't speak in lofty abstract symbols.
The truth is just the opposite.
Lofty abstractions must get churned
into butter!