side note: On the event (of poetry).

An event as every one knows is something uncalled. It simply befalls you. In this sense it is a gift (beyond good or evil).

I remember now clearly as I sat besides Lake Pushkar, on that fateful night with unusually clear sky, I happened to see the stars shine through the silent and movement-less waters of this ancient lake, and seeing them there (reflected) filled my heart with great joy. I felt as if the lake was singing. But does the lake sing? does it even exist? Will the star be there if there is no one to watch over them. I think consciousness is a very mysterious phenomena. Usually we think “I am conscious’, but there, then, I felt otherwise. At that moment, in that instant, I felt that the lake was not outside, out there out there, nor in within my head, but we were some how within each other, within the open grounds of the Self. Thus there was this plurality of moment (a moment is a single point instant) but there were several points instant…millions -because eternity is a point instant but also an unending sequence of infinite moments, as nothing and as everything.

and thus:

“Time leafs, and leaves
countless stars, and this lake
clusters and blinks
twinkling[ly] sings
in million quickening heart.

too briefly come
moments of eternity.”

about the poem “The Holy”