Ken Trimble #45 Night of Shiva

Lost in the bardo
between existence
and extinction
I kept remembering
back to school days
of that lost and lonely
childhood mumbling
many amends along
the way.

Clouds of obscurity
cover me like a veil
between sky and earth.

Wild dreams come with monks
performing rituals-
I am beckoned to the altar
surrounded by a bunch
of Whitely Streiber freaks.

I'm surrounded  by water
and as I bend down before
Rinpoche he gives me a new
name Samdup Djore
becoming the fulfilment
of one's wishes,
a lighting bolt of wonder,

and at that moment I saw
a double rainbow over
hills and I thought,
wow, who needs drugs.

Strange moments haunt
me watching the holy mountain
of Arunachala as it

turns to fire and there a thousand
bodies prostrate to Shiva
as I stand watching my apocalypse
now .

A woman rushed towards me,
her eyes wide and deep as
a black moon falling, twisting
and screaming to the ground
collapsing exhausted by her
ecstasy.

The night of circumambulation
begins as the seething mass
are joined by the spiritual
madness of humanity's cauldron
chanting songs to God.

And just then I felt I was going
to fall, and as I was about to,
I felt a hand grab mine, looking
at this strange figure,
I realised it was my own fallen
angel.