17 March 2007

In search of a Tantra master: the becoming of a Tantrika

The wind dives over the plains dragging the reluctant wild grasses in the wake of the yawning sky. Red soils crack under noon day fire and riverbeds dream of long forgotten cool waters. These ancient lands held by the watchers and gatherers of time and form, mountains becoming and dissolving over eons of form grokking itself.

And in this place of relentless breath stands a man, savage and full, deep lines etch his living across the expanse of face and seeing, his body a meeting of life and will. Here he stands in full waiting and readiness to all movings that may bump against his way. His presence that of life diving deep and deeper still unto herself.

This waiting that stood along side the journey of the ancient mountains, this waiting that this day finds her dreamless sleep.

A woman comes, long and weary, dancing the horizon, one step in front of where eye cannot see. This woman dancing, wild and still, across expanding vastness of light and dark, dancing in her blood and in her water and in her laughter, dancing across bridges which hold breath and source of breath, dancing under oceans and over cliffs, dancing until only dancing remains.

The woman bows down to ground at the feet of the man. The wind lays down beside her and a rain opens under the sky as she closes her eyes and remembers her name.