Karnamrita Das: Saved From Karmic Cosmic Crud—one of my favorite poems from my book, “My Yoga of Expression”
(I do like to explore problems and difficulties, but I never want to just leave it at that, as do some stories or poems, which are full of negativity and sorrow with a tragic ending that leaves me cold, both sad and unfulfilled—I hate sad stories that offer no hope or solutions, likely because my story growing up was sad on its face, until it culminated in coming to Krishna. Thus I always want to give/find the solution to whatever dilemma I explore/experience —after-all, that has been my life so far as there is always a positive outcome, even in disease, old age, and change of body commonly called “death.” The idea that everything is meant for our highest good, is a philosophy and way of life for my wife and I, and we share it often. This perspective is part of the solution for many problems.) :
Remembering my material sojourn:
I’m caught up in the waves of a cosmic storm
of ever-increasing change and uncertainty—
swirling, frightening energy moving @ mind speed,
lightning and wind amidst thunderous explosions.
Bewildered, pulled in all directions at once, but move nowhere.
I’m desperate for stability, fulfillment, truth, and peace—
a lasting resting place with loving feelings.
I want to understand who I really am, through and through,
to know my relationship to life and the universe.
I’m searching to find meaning in chaos and misery.
But, as soon as I get comfortable and settled,
I morph into a karmic soccer ball, mercilessly kicked
up and down the universal field into the goalposts of duality.
I’m spun in a misery-go-round at warp speed
and repeatedly cast out into an endless sea,
then I’m washed up on the shore of mediocrity.
Grabbed, I’m kneaded into gooey cosmic dough,
ingredients for someone else’s manna.
I’m fried on an open fire and the leftovers become my body.
Emerging, exhausted, into an edible landscape,
hungry beings pursue me with dripping lips and angry eyes.
With bleeding wounds, I barely avoid being eaten.
From one calamity to another, How can I continue?
Then, out of nowhere comes a helping hand.
The light of truth beckons me forward.
Among nature’s rhythm in celestial forests,
the red sky trees call me to learn by opening my heart.
Everything vibrates to divine musical scores.
The hidden Composer gives clues, prompts his seers.
He sends his secret agents who joyfully embody mercy.
Krishna’s flute song is music’s source and purpose,
made available through his penetrating holy names.
Hearing the transcendental sound
vibrated by pure, dancing devotees with loving eyes,
my past rolls up in the palm of my hand. The meaninglessness
of vain people and their confusing, sticky matrix falls away.
My old karmic residue gradually disintegrates.
The veneer of youthful beauty smells repulsive,
but old habits die hard; they fight to endure.
So, I still have to choose at every moment
whether to serve illusion or the real Lord of my heart.
I choose Krishna by serving with taste, loving him
by the mercy of Sri Guru, Gauranga, and the Vaishnavas.