Releasing to Being / Cracking Open

My heart in thorns is entwined

where light like night

in indigo shine

weary, with fright,

the meek and uncertain

away does divide.


My heart is in brightness conceived

(core pulsing

to rhythmic a beat,)

under thick coating beginning to gleam

revealing the true

and releasing to being.


My heart its own breadth now admits

seeping through thorns

sharp rays as it cracks,

open at last

to life’s greatest gift

as eternity in it softly may drift.




A translation of Gallop (Γκάλοπ) by Lena Platonos (Λένα Πλάτωνος)

Dear reader,

I offer here a humble translation of the transcendental closing track of Lena Platonos’ iconic album ‘Gallop‘. I do this to honor the feat of storytelling that many of the pieces on the album represent, as well as the fact she employs imagery which featured in the guided meditation that concluded my very first yoga practice, occurring some eight years ago in Thessaloniki, Greece.

Bisous,
Sia




Now,
just as a little air lifted,
everyone expected these days to be cool.
At least that’s what they all said.

Even the lady at the street pavilion
made mistakes in her transactions
from the excessive heat.

And on the radio
they prepare the winter
with humour and stability,
seriousness,

galloping through
and choosing different answers.

You close your eyes.
You arrange a date.
You close your eyes
and dream of different cities.
Sparsely populated cities in the night
lacking unnecessary sounds
whose light emanates from within the people,
from the walls of the houses.

A door opens.
Someone lifts their hand
and their greeting traces the shape of a star,

mmmm,

or rather a moon.

You reciprocate.
Slowly many gather,
then even more.

They all reciprocate
and their greeting traces the shape of a moon

and as they approach one another
they are united by that same gallop
of the first rain;
by the colour of the moon in their own touch.

Yes, and further down there is a couple
that have only a moon
that they cut in two,
biting the half

and again the half,
until crumbs are left behind.
Until nothingness remains.

But they share even that nothingness
as it appears that nothing doesn’t exist.

Maybe that’s why the light emanates from them so.




Weaving what we can’t conceive

Look not for it and you it shall find

all the same substance,

having no goal

yet brimming with purpose

;

shaping itself to that which

the torrent (below)

wisely evokes.


Do without

attachment to outcome;

abandon comparison

and embrace therefrom

:

the slow, benign (inconspicuous)

and the vastness of meaning

that from it so glows.


Emanating perpetually

and morphing throughout

in events as minute

as their occurrence bizarre

all we must do is listen and watch

as we permit it to weave

the life we could never conceive.



The Vastness

She swims in a vastness which drifts


and within its essence caresses;


in affection of past, foregone, uncovered,


through rhythm and motion and boundless expanse.



So it becomes


(her advance of no mould)


in uncertainty covered and tension released,


as she swims through the vastness


(swallowed by it)


and her fondness softly embraces.



Where nothingness lays

Taking your touch

– what temporal fancy –

for naught in the past

and much less the present

there for us lays.


It lays thereafter

where torrents connective

dimensionless cascade.

There, where emptiness lays

and the disparate in closeness delivers.


Sensing it certain and grasping unable

in there, where nothingness lays.

Ineffable, that void perpetual

where all which is worthy shall seed.


From it and through it,

arriving at once,

the knowledge embodied in madness conceived

by gifts collected from unity’s trees

you touch me and through me are freed.



Your Caress Alone / Anticipation

I await your gaze,

your lips and touch and passion’s purpose

upon the skin that glows

for your caress alone.

 

To be lost in me,

rapture seeded in impulsive embrace,

as I fold around and hold you tender

much like fruit in petals spring foresees.

 

For when the body feels of lovers true

so sprouts in gleaming shine,

the yearning, budding,

for your caress alone.

 

This work is dedicated to all the lovers distanced by our current emergency; to the flow of nascent romance that must find its way through patience to maintain its grace.

Do not abandon, love, what was there for you before, as for you thereafter it shall remain. 

 

 

Allowing the Present

There comes a time to give

To give and give and give

As the source ethereal

Forever boundless remains.


A vessel, aperture or spirit, no less

Carrying through

Manifesting, through

What there, below, swells.


It is not the I that such current draws

But the current that the I distorts

Should one so permit

Its abundance, put lightly, simply to be.


I cannot shape what I is;

What I becomes, surely,

Or the past the I can recount.

The present, however, is but what I allow.


Stop / See / Embrace

Hop past that stone

To skip to the next

(Jump, stress, race)

Seeking forever a new one to face.


Counting the stones

To move to the next

(Hop, skip, face)

Never enough those stones that I chase.


Eyeing ahead

To look past the next

(Count, move, chase)

Blinded as ever to the path that I trace.


Stopping at one

To see my own place,

(Eye, look, trace)

Vision in stillness I start to embrace.


Standing in current

To feel my own space

(Stop, see, embrace)

Restful in knowing there’s no need to press.


Playing in turning

To grow from my base

Learning at last how the now stone to grace.