by Bo Floyd
The human condition makes me dance in Samsara, yet I dance in place...
|Heart in Ganesha
Yesterday, about 6 or maybe 7 in the evening after the swan had departed into the
Spring skies, perhaps 70 degrees outside like a thought I drifted towards the creek nearby.
Hungry and alone, I dedicated my last bread stone to the birds, which needed it more than I did,
I cast down my lowly shoes to the earth, which finds my thoughts banal and useless
And grasped realization, shame really, in my nakedness.
A cream resin statue of Ganesha stood watch from the Ashram on the hillside
Potbellied and humble; serenely content in his ostracism
Standing naked in the woods, the cool breeze catching my back
Watching the solitary penman of the Mahabharata, Lord Ganesha
Content in his passiveness, made my heart melt with envy
I knew I was never the best craftsman; I was never the favorite son
I spent my life on fleeting pleasures, and old I am hardly
Yet, what have I done?
The human condition makes me dance in Samsara,
Yet I dance in place, my feet sinking deeper into the mud of wantonness
Just like the flowing waters, I’m not a day closer to changing course
Alone, I pray to Lord Ganesha; ‘Our hearts drift down streams, longing for you.’