Musings of the Kali Yuga. {poetry}
A Zeitgeist Chaos
Deep wounds submerged in our subconscious flourish up to the surface.
Roots of traumas sprout. Issues deter us.
It’s them versus us.
Earth and its inhabitants are being disinterred.
Disguised as turmoil, the Kali Yuga’s firm grip, not to be splintered.
The new earth plane we’ve entered.
Fight, desist, or resist.
Into the Now we’re all surging.
Lineages of karma purging…
… iniquitous acts of darkness
Grim, subversive nights overpowering the light days in the universe.
At some points
polarities are converging…
… Bhu Loka dimension borders in place.
Ego drives compress our shared sacred space.
Above the underground Sheol of hoarders. Greed.
Infinite ideas suppressed. Active minds succumb to limitation.
Free spirits live guided by love, soaring in a universe parallel,
guiding those still trapped in their ego shell.
We’re all looking for the path out of hell.
Light on heaven, awake sight.
Twisted tunnel dreams formulate as we escape
out of a world of malice.
Fell off the soapbox into another plane, residue remains.
Funnels filtering out poison, cleansing this soul of pain
rebirth through Bhuvah, down to earth.
Wrestling with what we could not see, all that spurns us.
Latent memories drifting away all that is visible
emptying mind as we firmly grip this kite.
Realizing that heaven is a state of mind,
not a place unreachable that we can’t find,
not a place we need to wait in line for,
perhaps a portal between sleep and awake,
gift of perception is our only weapon.
Purgatory — ethers and embers combine sips of air
Intoxicating us.
As if we’re drinking from a chalice of wine
tasting the nectars of love divine.
Madam Mama Master of mandalas.
Mother Nature’s moon in full bloom makes impressions mirroring our internal makeup.
She’s staring into the cobwebs of our souls,
making a papier-mâché out of our energetic matter.
Howling into our darkness, waking up the collective monsters, skeletons
in the closet released.
Medusa and Mistress Magdala
meandering through the madness.
Tonight we step out into the mire,
out of a smoldering fire,
into a new light.
Moksha: Liberation
Partially infused
Variably confused
sheaths of energetic matter breath and white light,
open our heart portals.
Unaligned with society’s norms,
clarity of perception! They laugh at our disorientation, bemused.
Being light and love now, we’ll never lose.
Ascension, rising to the next dimension.
Realizing that earthly limitations are a fragment of our imagination.
Infinite soul expansion embraces our truest intentions.
In a parallel universe, amidst chaos, love brought our lights into fruition.
Sattvic gunas and sadhana purify samsaras.
Healing as one entity cures us.
Codified Matrix
Cosmic samsara ocean.
In Akashic records, we swam and floated up into our holograms.
Stepped out of the sea, into Pleiades sand,
Our higher selves ascended out of earth land.
Heeding lifetimes ago, aura-sightseeing intelligent life resides in orbs.
Words are secondary here, symbols for human beings. Die, Ego, Die.
The soul takes the lead. Proceed home, starseeds.
Dharma Realizations
In Nirvana, Buddhists see our planet as an orb, a vector inscribed with a mandala.
Our stomping grounds, the earth is no longer a globe twirling on a stand.
In paradise, circular motion ceases.
Once the cycle of karma ends, we all go upwards, not around.
Spiraled staircases teach us about our circular nature.
Sliding down escalators — temporary transport, the illusion we’re moving somewhere.
To survive on this plane, we must listen to our hearts and diminish the ego.
An atrium awaits us, as we forget our agendas.
Amoeba buried in muddy water.
Merged with Lord Shiva, became our potter.
Shaped into humans, wiping away sod.
Hearts in lotus rise.
Concrete lingam carved into our mind’s eye.
Chiseled spirits refine, dharma leads the way.
Granules of an epic evolution.
Invoking deities, end illusion.
Practice devotion without question?
Posture, breath, rise up against oppression.
Scintillating petals, the heart will grow.
Budding lotus seeds are sown earth ground show.
Pieces of us in the collective Brahman.
Om. Inside us, Atman. An inner shaman.
We are encapsulated in a myriad realms simultaneously.
At this moment, language codifies illusionary eyes.
Moving forward only in the mind. On earth, it’s but a firm concept.
Not here or now, we may rewind. Waking states formulate precepts.
Unconsciously we step into eternity. Drones to the clock, we tick tock.
Unsure of why to count, but knowing inherently it’s part of our dharma
to march along to the present timer of our cosmic bank account.
Money. Cha-ching. Alarm clock ring. Wake up.
Light on Kali Yuga
Up against our ear, secrets stored in a conch shell hushing us to sleep.
Unwavering waves carry us in deep.
Caught in the undertow, watery emotions weep releasing stored patterns of fear.
Panic dissolves, imagined drama resolves. One ocean, collection of tears.
Finding our unique wisdom while swimming down a clear channel, landing in a telling trough.
Turbulent tumultuous tides of weighty thoughts roll in.
A sage filters through debris in oceanic waves. Separating dust from sediment;
transmuting the weight of the world to lightness.
Meditating on a pure dune, fluid white waters wash away concrete mental matters.
A rift in consciousness, simply fixed by becoming one with the breeze.
Separation is an illusion, a mental dis-ease. Expanding wings, flying westward with ease.
Echoes of peace in the far east. A Tibetan monk meditates in peace.
Observing the fall, we heard psithurism.
Hearing the chatter of schism, siphoning the silent darkness.
In this moment of change, we relish in peace.
A voice within us utters, “Being comfortable in turmoil is part of the journey.”
Seeds of lightworkers rise,
supplanting negative energy.
Blossoming into nature, neutralizing all that is obscene.
Intervening between here and above the skies, renewing all that dies.
Finding truth in ignorant lies, loving us anyway.
Angelic sighs.
***
Brieanne Tanner has been practicing yoga for 12 years, and writing since she was a child. She’s been rebelling since she was 17. Additionally, she’s a registered yoga teacher with Yoga Alliance since 2010, a strict vegetarian for 11 years, and a dharma mama of one. Brieanne writes poetry and practices yoga daily. She has a couple of degrees, but tries to not take her self too seriously. In 2016, she published her first book, PurgeAtory.
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