Shivaratri

I offer this hymn for Shivaratri, which means "Night of Shiva," most sacred of the Yogic calender. This night celebrates regeneration out of darkness, through the union of Lord Shiva and the Goddess, consciousness and its beloved body. Devotees stay up all night chanting the divine name to purify the mind, the nervous system, and the earth.

 

Calling this place your Heart does not make the way clear.
It is nearer than that, closer than our lips when they meet 

like an arrow of wine striking the vigilance of a ruby.

Every spark from this wound is a poem about our hidden fire. 

Remain awake in jasmine-scented darkness, sleeplessly singing 

Shiva's name, your very breath his paramour, the Goddess Shakti.

Evaporate your blood into the night, chanting "Shivo'ham!" 

Let this sound be a medicinal thorn to remove the deeper thorn 

of wanting. Shakti's sigh alone cannot find its alphabet. 

 

Jesus and Magdalene meet and touch, first gently 

in the garden, and later with flames in your solar plexus,
where love's only song is a sky of boundless listening. 

 

Above the moon-bathed neem and champa leaves, 

the kunj heavy with heart-mango, swirling supernovae pause 

like sudden intuitions in the mind of Shambu.

 

God is as shocked to awaken in You

as You are to awaken in God.

Stop pretending any of this is outside your body! 

 

All these galaxies, gardens, and lovers dissolve 

in the glittering blackness beyond your belly button.

Meditation begins when prayer becomes its own answer.

The diamond of breathlessness is both empty and full.
In prayer, you ask the Christ and all his heavenly hosts

to reveal your destiny, your duty, your work. 

 

But in meditation, Christ and his hosts entangle
their cilia with the neurons of your thalamus, 

weaving the hyphae of their soma through your flesh.

 

They ARE your destiny, and You are their anatomy.

This very breath is your mother tongue, 

more ancient than the Torah or the Vedas. 

 

Let your exhalation be a milk-offering, 

poured upon the lingam of your own spine.

Let your praises inebriate the Earth. 

 

You are the oblation, and You are the flame.
You are the ghee, You are the nectar,  

You are the green fire of Spring.

 

Don't stop pouring, don't stop perishing into love-sparks! 

At dawn, drink from the breasts of El Shaddai,
Who is both bride and bridegroom;

 

Who wields a lethal trident with three prongs,
Consciousness, Matter, and Bliss,

and whose five elements are the syllables,
Namah Shivaya!

LISTEN to a reading of this poem. Artwork: Ardhanarishvara, the male-female form of Shivashakti, from isha.sadhguru.org