Primal Mud
“How can sense slaves enjoy the world? Its subtle flavors escape them while they grovel in primal mud.”
—Sri Yukteswar, in Paramahansa Yogananda’s Autobiography of a Yogi
Flesh is the battlefield.
Every soldier takes it to war.
The armies marching under the cover
Of skin are the enemies.
Your neighbor may be the worst bag
Of blather to carry a stick,
But you can walk away from
Him. You cannot walk away from
That bag of guts.
You cannot walk away from
Those thousands of miles of blood tube.
You cannot walk away from
The heat and bristle of the loins.
Your head is on straight.
You’re a moral giant.
You exercise bladder control.
You spit only in the bathroom sink.
But you’re not one of us,
If you don’t carry around a sack of excrement.
Every sack of bones and motley sense clown
Learns sooner or later
That the mind is a terrible thing
Wasted in the slime of primal mud.
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