Thou Hast Opened My Blind Eyes
—after “Listen, Listen, Listen”
Thou hast opened my eyes to treachery
And grown me a shield against her.
She groped through my heart chambers
Leaving barbs that pricked with each beat,
But Thou hast swept them away,
Swept each chamber clean!
Thou hast opened my blind eyes;
Now, I open my voice
And sing to Thee my songs
That Thou hast given me.
O, hear my songs,
Hear my songs to Thee:
I can never forget, never forsake Thee,
O Great Sweeper of my heart!
Just a Visitor
—after “Where is there Love?”
I am just a visitor here
Where no one knows how to love me,
Where few even think of the soul;
Divine Mother, bless their blind eyes,
Bless their dry hearts, open wide
The gates of love that they may
Behold Thy radiant face.
I am just a visitor here
Where no one can love me,
For only soul love will satisfy me.
Divine Mother, bless this dark world
Where no one knows how to love anyone,
From where I yearn to travel to Thine abode
Where true loving love offers solace.
Only the Soul Am I
—after “No Birth, No Death”
No father, no mother, no sister, no brother—
Only the soul am I
Only the soul.
No city, no country, no gender, no race—
Only the soul am I
Only the soul.
I am not the iron in this blood—
Only the soul am I
Only the soul.
I am not the air in these lungs—
Only the soul am I
Only the soul.
I am not the muscle, not the bones—
Only the soul am I
Only the soul.
Not the skin, not the nerves—
Only the soul am I
Only the soul.
Not the hair, not the teeth—
Only the soul am I
Only the soul.
Not the brain, not the mind—
Only the soul am I
Only the soul.
Only the soul am I—
Only the immortal, eternal, divine soul.
My Altar of Bliss
—after “In the Temple of Silence”
I close the door to the world,
Listen to the music of Aum,
Listen to the hum of silence.
I close the windows of the world,
Welcome no more in my sanctuary.
Peace, silence, light, glorious, divine Love
Coax me to my temple of silence,
Coax me to my altar of peace,
Where sacred love waits to wed
My soul to the Soul of golden Bliss.
Immersed in Glory
—after “I Am the Bubble, Make Me the Sea”
Thou wak’st my senses to clear sight, glorious sound,
Intelligent touch, pure fragrance, tempered taste.
Thou wak’st my senses by immersing them in Glory
Inundating them in the silence of Thy vastness,
Spilling on them the majestic light show
Of Thy body, bound by boundlessness.
In the ocean of Thy love, my bubble heart
Contracts and expands to eternity.
My restless brain shrinks and extends
Its reach to unknown realms of wisdom.
My soul knows itself in the crash of breaking worlds
Where it stands unshaken hand in hand with Thee.
As Thou dost, so I wish to do forever,
Engulfed in the Glory of Thy sacred presence.
A slightly different version appeared in my collection Singing in Soul Silence: Voices of Faith in the third section “Chants to Poems”
Thou Art That
—after “Hymn to Brahma”
Beyond my thoughts,
Beyond my ideas,
Beyond my knowledge,
Far beyond my wisdom—
Thou are That.
Beyond my body,
Beyond my mind,
Beyond my energy,
One with my soul—
Thou art That.
Joy, Joy, Joy!
—inspired by “Ever New Joy”
Joy, joy, joy—
Morning breaks open in joy.
Light of starlight, hiding
Behind the sun.
Joy, joy, joy—
Noon breaks bread
Lovingly baked
By God-guided hands.
Joy, joy, joy—
Evening calls the faithful
To rest from a full day’s labor
Practiced by Divine decree.
Joy, joy, joy—
Night covers maya’s delusion
So the spiritual eye
May bound in brilliance.
Who says, She is Dark?
—inspired by “Thousands of Suns and Moons”
Her smile beams
With the rays
Of a millions suns.
Her skin glows
With the light
Of a million moons.
Who says, She is dark?
Only those who refuse
To open their eye
To her light.
Flood Plain
The climate changes itself to suit itself.
Humankind’s arrogant bluster adds nor
Subtracts not a tittle in the gravity of things.
Rioting winds have destroyed and played
On the flood plain since time began.
Humans controlling climate change is like
Humans saving time: Daylight Saving Time—
That imaginary figment of someone’s fevered brain:
Imagine making a blanket longer by cutting off
One end and sewing it to the other.
When the Divine Creator fashioned this mud ball
Of a planet, he gave some people the ability to sense
That this Earth is a really big orb, and no number
Of little human beings no matter how much they breathe
Can ever change what God made immutable.
My Summer Mind
Winter kept me bound
To the thought of warmer days.
My tongue remained frozen,
Figuring talk was later.
Heat was all I sought,
Waiting in rooms chilled with snow.
We did not burn each other
Or have the guts to move in a daze.
If we listened to the song,
We felt that nature would change us.
Love and knowledge may contradict
Each other in the wait of uneven things
But cold gives way to warm
As winter gives way to spring
And bodies of fire hang in the brain
Where turning feels right.
Still, it is my summer mind I seek
To keep in my heart its
Fuel to keep the arms and legs
Moving and the soul on fire.
A Prose Commentary on My Original Poem “My Summer Mind”
In my poem “My Summer Mind,” I have created a speaker who is musing upon the tension between dormancy and vitality, hesitation and movement, using the seasonal opposition of winter and summer as a governing metaphor for interior states of being. The poem is less concerned with external climate than with the mind’s fluctuating capacity for warmth, courage, and animation.
Where “Some Bones” dwelt in fragmentation and arrested spiritual development, this poem turns toward the possibility—though not the certainty—of renewal. Yet the tone remains guarded. My speaker does not claim arrival but instead reveals a consciousness caught in transition, aware of warmth as an aspiration rather than a constant possession.
The imagery moves between cold and heat, stillness and motion, silence and expression. My speaker situates herself in a liminal condition: waiting, anticipating, and attempting to summon a more vital state of mind. The poem’s underlying concern is not merely seasonal change but the discipline required to sustain inner fire once it has been glimpsed.
First Stanza: Winter as Suspension
In the opening stanza, my speaker situates herself in winter, a season that “kept [her] bound / To the thought of warmer days.” The emphasis here is not simply on cold but on deferral. The speaker is oriented toward the future, toward warmth that has not yet arrived.
The frozen tongue is especially significant. Speech is postponed, withheld under the assumption that expression belongs to a more favorable time—“Figuring talk was later.” This suggests a psychological habit of delay, a reluctance to engage fully with the present moment.
The stanza’s middle lines intensify the sense of enclosure. The rooms are interior, insulated, yet still pervaded by cold. My speaker implies that external shelter does not guarantee internal warmth.
The line “We did not burn each other / Or have the guts to move in a daze” introduces relational hesitation. Passion is avoided; risk is deferred. Even confusion—“a daze”—is rejected, suggesting that the speaker prefers stasis over the vulnerability of imperfect action.
The stanza closes with a tentative openness: “If we listened to the song, / We felt that nature would change us.” Here, my speaker gestures toward a passive hope that transformation might occur through attunement rather than effort. The “song” of nature becomes a kind of external agency, one that might effect change without requiring decisive internal movement.
Second Stanza: The Friction of Love and Knowledge
The second stanza complicates the earlier passivity by introducing an intellectual and emotional tension. My speaker acknowledges that human experience is rarely harmonious; feeling and understanding often pull in opposing directions.
The phrase “the wait of uneven things” reinforces the earlier motif of delay while adding a sense of imbalance. Time passes, but it does not resolve contradiction. Instead, it sustains it.
Yet my speaker reintroduces the natural cycle as a form of reassurance: “cold gives way to warm / As winter gives way to spring.” This transformation is not a dramatic revelation but a steady, almost inevitable progression. The movement from winter to spring serves as both metaphor and quiet argument: change is embedded in the structure of existence.
The line “And bodies of fire hang in the brain / Where turning feels right” marks a subtle but important shift inward. The warmth the speaker seeks is no longer purely external; it exists as potential within the mind itself. These “bodies of fire” suggest ideas, impulses, or passions suspended in a state of readiness.
The phrase “Where turning feels right” implies that transformation involves choice or orientation. The speaker begins to recognize that movement toward warmth is not entirely dependent on external seasons but on an internal willingness to turn.
Third Movement: Aspiration toward the Summer Mind
The closing lines crystallize the poem’s central desire: “Still, it is my summer mind I seek.” The phrasing is deliberate—my speaker does not claim to possess this state but actively seeks it.
The “summer mind” functions as a metaphor for sustained vitality: warmth, clarity, motion, and perhaps courage. It is not merely a seasonal mood but a disciplined condition the speaker wishes to “keep in [her] heart.”
The emphasis on “fuel” extends the metaphor into the realm of energy and maintenance. Warmth must be sustained; it requires ongoing attention. My speaker understands that vitality is not self-perpetuating but must be actively preserved.
The final lines—“to keep the arms and legs / Moving and the soul on fire”—bring the poem into the realm of embodied action. Unlike the earlier stasis of winter, the summer mind enables motion. Physical movement becomes a sign of inner animation, while the “soul on fire” suggests the divine union of energy and purpose.
An Afterthought
In “My Summer Mind,” I have attempted to articulate a transition from passivity to intentional vitality, though that transition remains incomplete. The poem does not celebrate arrival but instead dwells in the act of seeking—a condition that is, in itself, both necessary and unstable.
My speaker’s awareness of seasonal change serves as both comfort and challenge. While nature guarantees transformation, the maintenance of an inner “summer” requires more than passive observation. It demands orientation, effort, and a willingness to risk movement even before warmth is fully secured.
In contrast to the disintegration explored in “Some Bones,” this poem suggests the possibility of coherence, though it stops short of confirming it. The speaker recognizes that without cultivating this “summer mind,”she risks remaining in cycles of delay and hesitation.
Ultimately, the poem proposes that vitality is not merely given but chosen—and that the sustaining of inner fire is an ongoing, deliberate act.
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