Under the Charm

Just got back from a 3 day meditation retreat in Lexington, Virginia―a place in the forest called Sat Guru Dham. The photo here is not from that trip, but in a similar way, I played some of my songs for the other satsangis at the outdoor langar (free kitchen). It was very nice to have even the most cryptic of my lyrics understood and appreciated.

I told a few about how I had traveled to Bangalore last winter and met Baba Ram Singh Ji―spent two weeks meditating and attending His satsangs―how jolly and beautiful and how full of authority He was. How to tell people about Him without proselytizing? haven’t quite figured it out. But here it is, almost a year later and I’m still under His charm.

Under the Charm

 I can see my desires rising up so clearly

I can feel my loss; falling down so dearly

the gift of love, again, missed so nearly

It seems that life is a game that no one can win

It’s all arranged so cleverly and queerly

Are we born to live?

Or are we born to die?

Some say we can choose our view

yet both the young and the old

still wonder why

and neither know what to do.

Whether we look at the earth

or look beyond the sky

none of it, real or true

Then You come with Your revealing story

with Your mystic love and Your graceful glory

into the world for some time

of all things forgotten, You remind

Then all our weary old hearts are breaking

with Your every familiar glance

Then the very earth begins shaking

just like our trembling hands

Then the pains of all the ages aching

pour forth at such a chance

All relatives and dreams of relatives we are forsaking

as You walk upon these ancient and bitter lands

Then, no more plans are we making

under the charm of this romance

But, what of our failures; what of our crimes

Every moment our guilt is exposed in these hard times

You say, “Judge not!” but all we do is judge

We wipe the mirror, but we only make a smudge

My friends say, “Jesse, don’t take it so seriously, man!”

My answer is that we all do what we can.

Then You come and Sweet Justice falters

goes out the back door with his chains and his altars

with his curse of impending doom

and now, at last, we can breathe in this room

Now the timid day dreamers are free to make friends

Now the desperate self-defeaters can make our amends

We lowly floor cleaners will stand as women and men

Even these of ghostly poor demeanor may come forth again.