THE SIXTH ERA
Poetry starting February 12, 2005
SANNA TORPET, SWEDEN
Regarding the eras of my life:
1. Childhood
2. Darkness
3. Religion
4. Art
5. Nakedness
6. Creative Faith
This 6th era has commenced: an era of manifesting GodÕs dream in me, moving into expanding fruitfulness, of increasing blessing through sharing the limitless Love of God with others, seeing their Light arise. More Love in the World!
the poemsÉ
BÉ
BEING TRUE
BREATHING GODÕS NAME
DÉ
DRUNK WITH LIGHT
FÉ
FROM A NOTE TO SANDRA IN INDIA
GÉ
Grandpa Oats
IÉ
IN THE SEA OF LOVE
INTO THE MIRROR
LÉ
LITTLE TEACHER
TÉ
THE NIPPLE
THE PURE DROP
THE SIXTH ERA
WÉ
WHAT MYSTERY?
WITH LOVESÕ INTENT
14 POEMS
last poem:
I WANT TO STOP THIS MADNESS
poetryÉ
THE SIXTH ERA
A new chapter begins
marked by GodÕs finger
across the innocent page,
written with lifeÕs language
from the day and the dark
of religion and the holy.
As ripples on a still pool
expand in silver light
so Love expands to embrace all:
for Love is the water
and the stone in the water
and the expanding circle of waves.
Little teacher of innocent joy,
naturally shining
with eyes luminous as two pearls
and a smile as easy as wind,
your thoughts are as simple as milk,
as clear as limpid water in a glass.
You drink from the secret pink fountain:
your every action reveals
effortless love.Ó
IN THE SEA OF LOVE
We exist in the sea of Love.
Thoughts arise and fall as waves
in an ocean of innocence.
I see the white sun
Grandpa Oats
Here I am in a
garden.
I have no idea
what makes it grow
or my fingers
move.
I only know
that sunshine in my brain and bones
is like God
loving me.
The wind glides
as a naked hand over my body
while the sea
goes on calling her sweet songs
to wandering
birds:
SheÕs like a
wild fisherwoman with foam-white hair
saying, come
catch my wares,
or a quizzical
old dancer in a blue dress
wooing me to be
a silent witness with her of the stars.
Meanwhile, I
work like a child works,
aware of little
but the play
of my hands
with earth.
Seeds fall from
my fingers
to do their
little duties.
I spill my tin
watering cup
and magic
happens.
Sometimes a
thought comes
that holds the
secret of what it is made.
Then my blood
roars loud in my veins.
This also
passes, settling like a wave
back into this
sea of peace
somehow, I am.
THE PURE DROP
The pure drop:
that famous mystery,
so simple it confounds the seeking mind.
Jesus called it many names:
the hidden treasure, the lost coin,
the precious pearl.
That secret place where there is no need,
no suffering, no trouble:
the dove spot of white peace;
the perfect, playful happiness of a little Buddha.
We all carry it within
as it carries us in Holy Presence:
embracing our suffering,
our human dreams of separation,
our slow, painful parting from those we love,
while holding, as a white stone,
the unwavering vision of our return home.
How can there be anxious care
in perfect trust:
this quality beyond words,
this Yes beyond yes?
What is there to ask for,
except to drink the cup
as freely as it is poured,
and to taste on the tip of our tongues
the sweet release,
the trembling end of trembling,
the pure, round, liquid
drop of Light
that Light drinks?
FROM A NOTE TO SANDRA IN INDIA
I think of Sandra in her silence,
in the profound space that birds keep,
in the place where flowers quiver
in ecstasy at the slightest stir of a breeze.
Light rests easy in open spaces
that only silence can reach.
WHAT MYSTERY?
The child is stalked amidst bamboo shadowsÑ
Zen in Zebra-light.
What hand parts towering tendrils,
bars and blades,
to reveal the quiet tiger' s radiant,
watching eyes?
There is a pure nipple
in the center of your heart
flowing with the milk of Life.
Open up your heart
and take that tender nipple into your lips,
into your open mouth of innocent awareness.
Suck and drink; it is pure being.
From the clouds of its cream
comes stars and distant galaxiesÑ
mountains, seas, birds and trees.
From that nipple flows
white rivers of Love
into the mystery of your luminous pool
gazed at by innocent eyes.
BEING TRUE
I want to live in such a way
that my words and actions
resonate in the wombs
of women
who hold deep earth
in the dark of their eyes:
women with hearts
that shimmer open with grace
of that wild patience
that penetrates earth
with harmonies of Light
and sounds of heaven.
INTO THE MIRROR
Into the mirror the bright river streamsÑ
everything is utterly just as it seems.
Cast off your blankets,
and lay in the sun,
stop all this madnessÑ
where will you run?
The river is flowing with bird song and wind
as the warm earth tips
into winterÕs bright end.
Just a puff of a breeze and the shadows depart,
from the brightness and beauty
of an innocent heart.
Those drunk with light are called
mad by the blind.
Those giddy with Love are called
crazy by cynics.
Some child thinks the world was
made by Love.
Everyone in the circus laughs,
except the clown.
Whoever makes the glory his own
becomes the glory.
Whoever sings the glory in their
bodily cells opens hearts.
WITH LOVESÕ INTENT
When imagination flows
with LoveÕs intent
something eternal shines
within the lantern of your ribs:
Oil flows from your fingers;
ritual becomes reality.
You put your hands gently
on someoneÕs head,
their heart opens
and God laughs.
BREATHING GODÕS NAME
The deep, deep,
tender pink sweetness of God,
in the center of your chest,
in the essence of your heart.
In and out, in and out, the breath flows
breathing the name of God:
AlÉ in,
laÉout,
haÉin,
AlÉout,
laÉin,
haÉoutÉ
on and on,
sighing the name,
relaxing into the name,
sinking deeper into the sweetness,
opening your most vulnerable heart,
drinking in the Love.