Debashish Banerji

Consciousness • Art History • Writing




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As we went about on this side of life
A glistening silver line appeared
And Samarda slipped quietly through the crack

Hardly visible this line
Nothing more than a slight unease
That followed us day after day

On the 11th day we sat around the fire
Around us the wind howled
But a charmed magic circle gathered close

Passing half visibly
One saw across the threshold
The kamandalu of the Brahmin

They say death is the great teacher
When Nachiketas was given to death
He wondered what lesson he was chosen for

So too death chose us for a lesson
For each a different one
Death is the speaker in tongues

To the dead he teaches nivritti
The art of dissolving the sheaths
Tended by his slow-suffering hands

To the living he teaches pravritti
The mystery of persistence
Through the thicket of contradictions

So in the transpersonal intimacy
One foot in nonbeing the other in being
The teaching is given

Taking the right posture
Yoking body breath and mind
Bring yourself to attention

When the subtle door creaks
Mid the howling of the wind
And the crackling of the fire

Tune your ear to hear it
Greet him with joy
As a guest bearing gifts

Time flies and time stands still
Occult surgeons
Were stitching the collective body without organs

He slipped in like a pressure
An intensification of frequency
Above the head

A great listening silence
Open to the profound mystery of Being
Settled in and between us

A giant bird that filled the room
And sometimes a small
That one could reach down and touch

Open at both ends
In thick strands like a banyan
Descending and descending.


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