Someone asked, What is prema?
Big expert, I thought, what the hell do I know?
What is prema? I once thought I knew,
or at least thought I knew the general direction I was headed
some silicon love story, decorated with spiritual decorations,
a Brahman realization with sexual overtones,
the best of both worlds. It seemed like a slam dunk.
I am the big expert, I have been going from the trite to the triter.
All you need is love. It seems so easy, just love for God's sake.
But we hold a secret, some of us, me the most,
that we really think "love" means "being loved."
It gets lost in the translation. And once lost,
trapped in the forest of male ego,
it searches behind the ever burgeoning weeds of rationality,
and prepares for an epiphany of some sort
to come whirling down from the creepers
like flowers. And the answer to "what is love?"
will be found written in one, like a fortune cookie.
And the answer will be as trite as the answer in a fortune cookie,
"Love and you will be loved."
What is love?
Can I cry my answer in wordless tears?
Can I silently awaken you to the pain in my heart
that cries with unfulfilled fulfillment?
What is love? I seek in the kama bija,
searching in the svadhishthana
I draw the essence of my desire and draw it upward
with my breath and try to pierce the skull
and in my one-pointed mind behold the object
of my worship, sitting on a lotus
sharing sidelong glances and glowing like
ten million suns their love cascading through the universe
touching every atom, every molecule, every creature
in greater or lesser manifestations
and taking this form, for me, for me alone,
and for me to share with someone, with someone
to love by giving this vision, to share this vision
to melt into this vision with the tears of surrender.
And I will cry out in a pure heart
calling out calling out their names
and dancing like a fool as sometimes I laugh--
What is love? I will not dance alone!!!
Let me hold this vision before you
and sing sweetly the holy names.
What is love?
Love cannot live alone.
If love comes to you in your loneliness, you must take it.
You must. Otherwise you are an offender to Love.
No other way to say it. But once Love strikes a man
it seems that her business is to run the damn'd male ego
like a piece of sugar cane through the press
until it runs torrents of juice,
which is really the blood of your false sense of self,
turned sweet through the crushing,
and conjures up the true best of yourself
and will not rest until, through love alone,
she has accomplished her task.
And the gratitude for that love is the impetus to love,
to become a lover, a true lover,
and not one who, bee-like, flits from one flower to another,
but saint-like, plunges into the depths of the Other
with total abandon, doing whatever is necessary,
whatever apparent abasement She demands
to be granted the grace of Her favors
the grace of being One with Her
while being fully one's Self.