One of the last classes of 2017’s Mahasamadhi observances was Paramacharya Sadasivanathaswami’s class. Swami spoke about Gurudeva’s wisdom and even shared some never-before-seen video showing Gurudeva from long ago. One of the last aspects of the class was to enjoy a poem Paramacharya wrote during last year’s Mahasamadhi, except this year the group was able to hear it! One of the monastery’s devotees not only received the poem but turned it into a heart-warming melodious song.
October 28, 2016
Siva in My Wonder
Siva in My Woe
For fifty years I’ve camped in your graced grove.
Fifty rounds in that torrid tapas stove.
Fifty more I ungrudgingly bequeath
To you who let slip sweet love’s secret trove.
Should avalanching karmas ever sweep
Down and bury me in icy hardness deep,
‘Twere Siva Himself whose massive mountain
Crushed the mote of me—then why whine or weep?
What if some tsunami of goodness falls
Upon my shore too fast to flee, enthralls
My littlest self which thinks it’s earned such spoils?
‘Twere Siva who all suffering forestalls.
Should my dense body’s every cell rebel,
One hundred trillion traitors try to fell
Their own safe camp, ‘twere five-starred Siva planned
The deadly uprising, life’s pains to quell.
What if devonic outer space surrounds
And in light’s inner chambers I am bound
So inner/outer me do merge and meld?
‘Twere Siva frolicking in His playground.
Should I be shackled in a sharp-toothed snare
Of lies and accusations full unfair,
‘Twere Siva’s tongue that every falsehood spoke—
So where’s the wisdom in vain, dark despair?
What if, like some sought-after rock star’s fans,
Or camels thund’ring toward their caravans,
Life’s every answer rushed to touch my hem?
‘Twere Siva’s doing, and His guardians.
Should my unruly ego rise to rule
Others, to foist on them cold, learned gruel,
‘Twere Siva who let loose the howling hounds
Of me and mine, that we might slay the fool.
What if some winsome, wry and wily witch
Turned all my foes to friends with spell and switch,
‘Twere Siva there beneath the wizard’s cloak
Stirring the cauldron with His magick pitch.
Should Earth grow weary under our harsh weight
And, changing things, consign our human fate,
‘Twere Siva’s hand upon the balanced scale
Exacting justice as we desecrate.
What if I downed the fabled power pill
And eight rare siddhis rose from that one swill?
Or ate a lethal mushroom in the woods?
‘Twas Siva served them both. All’s Siva’s Will.
Wait! My Siva is my Sivaguru!
So, if it be He, then it must be you
Who shines lights dim and bright upon my path,
That I may know He’s one—and also two.
O Siva, Siva! Sivaguru dear!
My vow to you this day, bawled loud and clear:
To take all trials that must needs come my way,
Both good and bad, as good, for you are near.
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