Ceramic Shiva Lingam by Aion
Poems from Nepal
By Hermeticusnath
YCHRONOS
& CHTHONOS IN NEPAL
In Katmandu
The Gods and Goddesses always have two things:
A house/shrine/temple/image
And
A clock
A clock?!
We give offerings
Take kumkum scarlet pradad
Anoint our third eyes
Seeing the Image with one eye
The House with one eye
And with the third eye
We see that Time Ever Passes
SWAYAMBUNATH
The Monkey Temple
Sits white
Looming over Katmandu
White temple arms
Praying to the Sky
Giant white stupa awakes
Eyes Open
Crowned in Gold
Laughing as 1000s of monkeys
(animal & human!)
Play about it.
Om mani padme hum!
Climbing & gasping in awe
At the world spread beneath us
Chanting, Offering-
Ganesh Temple
Great Goddess who Kills & Heals the Sick
They keep the presence & relics of Lord Buddha
Company in the sky
Devotees line up for puja
To the Terrible Mother who Protects Children
And we pray for our son.
But!
Tibetan Monks, maroon butterflies
Smiling eyes
Part the veil and show us a hidden Chenrezig And we spin many worn
prayer wheels
Circling & Chanting-
Om mani Padme Hum!
Later we sip tea
As the sky turns orange & gold
Sitting with a mad shop-keeper
Under watchful eyes
Laughing and laughing
As monkeys play about us
He offers his White Tara Tanka- it is too much
So
We agree to pray for each other
We agree
That our prayers will last longer than any tanka….
Om Mani Padme Hum!
BODHINATH
In the Center of Metro Madness
In the Middle of
Katmandu Valley
Calm
A Presence, Huge
Covering the sky
Overwhelming in every way
We are holding our breaths!
Bodhinath looms
Emanates
It’s eyes pierce us
Fill us, hold us
Never let go
All we can do is circumnavigate
Clockwise
Chanting
Standing
Touching & spinning worn brass wheels of Karma
Letting it fill us
Piercing our Crowns
Filling us like Jars
Filling us with pure light.
And there is Tibetan chanting & music
On and on
Temple full of scents and sounds and monks and candles and the Presence
Until we float away
The eyes of Bodhinath
Twin suns in brilliant white
Cloaked in infinite blue sky
Always upon us.
PASHUPATINATH
A carnival of Green and sun and dust and stone
Pilgrims, living & dead & beyond
I am not not a “Hindu”
So I may not enter the inner sanctum
Shiva laughs!
He doesn’t care and neither do I
For here are thousands of shrines!
108 Lingams enthroned
Each in a temple
And the smoldering dead
Laid out on the Smashan
Nestled in yellow and red flowers
While the perfume of burning flesh
Fills the air
Drifting as the ashes flow
Down the river, through the valley
Bells, chants, cries and silences
Shiva whispers:
“I am not this
or this
or
this…
I am the Monkey leaping into the ash-filled river
With joy
I am the fumes of the burning woman
You are breathing
These thousands of temples
For all their glory and beauty
Will soon crumble
But I will always BE!”
And I hear Shiva whisper
as I climb the hill
Amidst other Sadhus & Sanyassins & Beggars and Fakirs
“…the rows of Tridents
Are only to remind you
And the flowers
Cast into the water
Are only to remind you
And the incense smoke
The grave markers
The singing & chanting
Are only to remind you
That I am the spark
The Star
The Ember
Within all that Lives
And that is why nothing used in Puja
Is permanent
For all that extends
As a drum beat
Fades in Time
For I am also MahaKala - Time
But there is That which Abides
And IT sits
As the yellow flower
You leave
Upon the Yoni/Lingam
Of the Universe.
BHAKTAPUR
Set in time-stopped
An ancient city in amber
Oh, yes. A car here, a motorcycle there
Konica film
But
These are small compromises
Tiny distractions
From the timeless beauty
Of a City of Gods
Pillars topped with Praying Saints
Temple after Temple rising up- brick and stone
Pagoda pyramids as powerful as those of Mayans or Egypt
The Red Goddess rules the square
With a temple so ornate
It must be designed
To unhinge the mind
So she can play with my dreams!
Ganesh, Vishnu, Kumari, Shiva
All live here with slow-rolling, smiling people
In beautiful brick streets
And puja-lit plazas
The palace of 56 windows!
The once-snake filled Naga pool
Huge stone cobra still on guard
Every nook a mystery or miracle
A myth made flesh in wood or stone
And! the puja the centered people give
Is in carved wood, images, signs, symbols, masks, frames, doors
On every shop and building are the patient prayers
of master carvers.
I immediately want to live here.
I feel right here.
I have been here.
I must return soon
To sip tea
In the sunset glory
Of Bhaktapur
