I Am
by Justine Mara Andersen
Was I?
Will I be?
I am.
I will be.
I was.
Mar15
Tag Archives: spiritual poetry
Mar11
The White Deer
The White Deer
by Justine Mara Andersen
Why, red cardinal, do you stare silently from the tangles,
Of dirt and roots that tell of how the mighty fall,
Are you silenced by what I have seen this morning,
Or is silence the only song that speaks of all we know?
Why eagle do you sit so low in the bowers and the branches,
So near that I now know the name and weight of your form,
So still that when you go I know the might of your flight,
I ask why do my feet remain solid in the sand and dust?
Why cardinal of the forest do you stare at me from the twigs,
As I contemplate all I am reading from the shady place,
That overlooks the lake reflecting every rising orange moon,
Are there secrets I will see only through your black eyes?
And wasn’t it just this morning as I crossed the lake,
Just this morning as I tended to the feeding of my body,
That I looked up and saw what I took for a wooly white goat,
But why a goat where the deer and turkeys come to feed?
My heart and every step did stop, and I forgot to breathe,
This was no goat before me, not standing with the timid doe,
This too was a doe, though luminous, white as the camphor,
The camphor I burn before the altar of my beloved Mahadev.
As it goes with wisdom, once I saw you for what you are,
You turned from me, white deer, and leapt into the forest,
Leaving nothing of you but a white ghost and many questions,
Leaving me with nothing in hand beyond what I had seen.
Today I saw the red cardinal from the roots of the fallen tree,
And I saw the great eagle perched amidst the bowers,
And I saw the silent cardinal stand forever in the twigs,
And I saw the white deer standing outside my forest room.
And today I read of the play of Parvati’s and Siva’s maya,
And though the words were wondrous and full of godly wisdom,
Their truth remains to me as elusive as the smoke of camphor,
Fleeting as the snow-white doe which I beheld but for a moment.
As with ecstasy, my wisdom vanishes like the smoke of incense,
As with wisdom the white deer only allowed me but a glimpse,
And a holy longing that one day I might run through the forest,
Alive in the camphor of His company, resolved fully in truth.
Feb22
Aghori Baba Circling Back
Aghori Baba Circling Back
by Justine Mara Andersen
Having bowed under one, a dozen blew in on the wind,
Dancing dispassionate circles in the sky.
Some see you as ugly, grim, inauspicious and turn away,
I see truth in the center of your soaring.
Circling high, circling low, black winged Babas all,
In all they are, they teach all that we are.
Into their bellies then high above the thriving trees,
Wrinkled red-faced Gurus carry death like Gods.
Above samsara my Aghori Babas circle as all must circle,
Earth to death, birth to sky, sky to earth.
All that dissolves is destroyed by Mahadev’s dancing,
All that dances is destroyed as it is doing.
All that dies is reborn through Mahadev’s destruction,
All that falls must rise again to the dancing.
So why fear losing that which is released into flight,
Only once dissolved in bellies and destruction.
What greater victory over fear than bowing to vultures,
Jai Jai Shiva Shankar! Jai Jai Shiva Shambho,
What greater victory over death than red and black Babas,
Who fly the rot of death in their bellies.
Jai! To carry death above the trees! I bow in devotion,
Har Har Mahadev! Har Har Mahadev!
Feb16
Aghori Baba
Aghori Baba
by Justine Mara Andersen
I saw you solely through the darkness of others,
As a thing of filth, as horrid and bald.
But today I see you, you who eat only death,
Without fear, it is you who finds life.
I bow to thee vulture, so alone in the branches,
Tears well in me, to see my Aghori Baba.
Exalted to be below your silent secret wisdom,
I stare in devotion, it is you who knows.
Teach me, Baba, to eat of death without fear,
To fly above the darkness others see.
Shedding tears in the shadow of your black wings,
I shade my eyes from so much sky and sun.
Feb15
Goddess Of The Azaleas
Goddess Of The Azaleas
Goddess Of The Azaleas
by Barefoot Justine
In a sea with no sound but my own warmth and vibration,
In such resonance Shiva, Atman, Aum and all resolve,
To Destroy, create, maintain, I, one sinuous forever,
In whose gravity particles alive as fireflies revolve.
And I, a Goddess, aglow, the color of the azaleas,
Ten arms undulating in waves of roiling magnificence,
Three eyes closed in the silent harmony of eternity,
No din of thought to dim the melody of pure existence.
Floating in the cosmic sea, a mountain of sacred peace,
Soaring weightless over rock and tree, river and sod,
And I am light, and I am joy, and I am life hereafter,
And light and joy and life in self are all as one in God.
Feb15
When Shiva Whispers
When Shiva Whispers
When Shiva Whispers
by Barefoot Justine
When solitude comes to me as its lonely worst,
A cloud of suffering mists my mornings.
When solitude comes to me as the breath of Shiva,
my vision is awash with shimmering saffron.
When I am she alone battling in my darkest hollows,
With a soured stomach I long for silence.
When all and one purr like twin tigers in my heart,
Silence flows clear as crystal springs.
When I alone am bloodied by demoniac struggles,
I see no path to virtue or release.
When I alone am one with all and one with truth,
I have no desire for the songs of men.
When Shiva seems to me but paint and fragile plaster,
No wisp of peace wafts from stillness.
When Shiva’s whispers warm my ears full of grace,
I melt into him with tearful trembles.
When maya barks its verses to me the virgin Mara,
I cannot hear the wisdom of the shlokas.
But when I wander quietly the lush green forest,
Every tree drops leaves of grace and wisdom.
Jai, jai! Every tree drops leaves of grace and wisdom.
Har Har Mahadev! Har Har Mahadev!
Feb15
I Am Therefore
I Am Therefor
I Am Therefore…
by Barefoot Justine
I am not the pillar cypress swaying,
I am not the rattled dirty window,
Nor am I the wary eye of my watching,
I am the very movement of the wind.
I am not the harbor of my precious pains,
I am not the gnawing claws of my regrets,
I am not my beliefs, nor the believing,
I am this peace that need know nothing.
I am not a shadow of he who travelled with me,
I am not of the bile he held in our bellies,
His whiskey breath could not contain me,
Nor am I worm, cocoon or Rapunzel’s butterfly.
I am not this headache which cannot touch me,
I am not this clot, nor stroke nor cancer,
Nor these thousand thoughts eating their tails,
And further not redoubling doubts and dreading.
I am not the echo of those who hurt me,
Nor the barbs of canker in those I’ve wounded,
I am not the song of our sad hearts singing,
Nor even the rumble of our forsaken laughing.
I am that silent breath of Shiv which wants not,
That altar of Ganapati’s heart which needs not,
That which travels to reach beyond my all,
That whose wanderlust has been sated and reborn.
I am the fall of a million cloudburst sisters,
I am far beneath the low of this long fall ended,
Yet far above the cloud of this fall’s birthing,
And I, of one, and all are of the fall itself.
I am the wet that manifests the drop of rain,
That becomes my sisters on the ground,
That knows no breathless pain for falling,
That knows no fear in fateful ending.
I am silver dew of grass into which I fall,
And I am the rain rippling in the pooling,
I am all the rain that has become one center,
And am every heaven reflecting in my puddles.
I am both feeding roots and flooding stream,
And I the sunken stones ‘neath river running,
I am all the storm does by doing,
And am the sea and depth with no light shining.
I am not what I was willing to know,
Not what thinking thought were so,
And I stand on nothing that I cognize,
And am only knowing in knowing being.
I am only what I am alone with all,
Not that which thinks therefore I am,
I am that which tastes the infinite nothing,
I am the forever still between my thoughts.
I am that silence between unspoken words,
I am that center, that hearth of home,
And I am sometimes so far and spinning,
From that home where silence holds its center.
I am not that simmering head that chatters so,
But am the stillness of silence in each ecstasy,
Yes I am only endless when one alone,
And reaching for forevermore now in one together.
I am not the steadfast earnest seeker,
Yet am the length between myself and all I’ve lost,
I am no more than the unteachable wisdom,
And more than every truth I have forgotten.
I am every birth of your becoming,
I am myself in all you dream without me,
I am the life in death’s concentric rhythms,
I am, most humbly, one only with God.
Neither I nor you have ever been here,
And neither I nor you will ever leave here,
I am an experience only briefly passing,
I the one and you and all are all.
I am the pillar cypress swaying,
I am the rattled dirty window,
I am the wary eye of my watching,
I am the movement of the very wind itself.
Feb15
I Am That
I Am That
I Am That
by Justine Mara Andersen
I am that.
I am not my mistakes.
I am that.
I am the silence.
I am that.
I am.
I am.
I…
I..
i.
i
.
.
Feb15
The Bear
TheBear
The Bear
by Justine
A bear, the beast upon my chest, a cumbrous coat of want and greed,
If I could move I could not breathe for suffocating need,
If I could move it’s teeth would bare, wide eyed would I recede,
This bear it pins me in my place, my life it does impede.
His gums are black, his teeth are yellow, and bloodstained all around,
His beastly fur darker than nights when stars dare not shine upon the ground,
His breath the sea and undertow in which so many lost souls have drowned,
Beneath sharp black eyes I tremble still, and my senses he does astound.
This bear, the beast, blinds me to my path, no sky blue can I see,
The meat-blood breath it takes in turns and draws my will from me,
I fear to move, so mighty he, my heart it cannot flee,
I forget myself, sweat and cry, and wish the beast to set me free.
This bear, my beast, it caught with me as I scrabbled up Longing Hill.
The brutish rhythm of its breathing drives it’s weight throughout my will,
This bear it snarls holes of fear all through dreams I’ll not fulfill,
Paralyzed the beast presses me to the earth and drives me like a drill,
To blackness I fade too slow, though never a sleep of dreams,
The leaping salmon this bear ignores, like me they fight their way up streams,
Afraid to open my mouth for fear I could never stop the screams,
This bear this beast was given birth through my life of mad extremes.
The black of sleep I would welcome now but dear God it never comes,
A minute here an hour there, the peace of sleep comes to me in crumbs,
Please I beg you, let me sleep and still the army of warring drums,
The bear, dear God, the darkness too, my tallied karmic sums.
I seek release from the dark cocoon the bear around me he did weave,
From this web I would struggle to be free but with nothing can I cleave,
So mighty the links in his chain of web I’ll never have my leave,
For now I must surrender myself, my hopes I must relieve.
The forest of the bear is deep, his dark breath thunders deeper still,
The darkness is his blood, and thicker than the web, it will not spill,
I’ve lost myself to fur, breath, webbing and the darkness of this hill,
For want and need I’d lost my way, ground to powder in my mill.
This bear is mine, my soul released the beast which chased me down,
The dreams I dreamt and the paths pursued lost me to this last ghost town,
And all my needs have grown such teeth and growled all my golds to brown,
I’ve lost my way but cannot pray while this bear he keeps me down.
Feb15
Warring Heart Krishna Sky
Krishna Sky
Warring Heart Krishna Sky
by Justine Mara Andersen
No sleep, no peace, no idea,
A sour stomach a warring heart,
Weak with roiling uncertainty,
I left my little kingdom.
Road below, sky above, so blue,
Blue as Krishna’s hands,
Air warm as Krishna’s cheeks,
I am grateful for the light.
How could anything be so bad,
When Krishna is the sky,
When green clings to winter,
Such color stills my heart.
I know the road, each turn,
Better than I know my heart,
Each beat is lost to me,
Each thought sly as shadows.
Each shadow a demon’s growl,
A thousand thoughts at war,
A thousand rootless heartbeats,
No rhythm to bind them.
Towards the cows I go,
One grey as my emotions,
One black as my fears,
He will not break away.
The black cow stares hard,
Into his eyes, deep and far,
He will not let me go of him,
The cow he waits, on what?
I bow gently to his soul,
Satisfied, he looks away,
To the grass, to his eating,
And is a cow once more, black.
Once more, what am I? Black,
Grey, or blue as Krishna’s sky?
I am barefoot in the grass,
And little else I need to be.
Hare Krishna Hare Krishna,
Krishna Krishna, Hare Hare,
Hare Rama, Hare Rama,
Rama Rama Hare Hare.
Barefoot Justine 