for turiyasangitanandaaka alice coltrane
why hang'st thou lonely on yon withered bough?
unstrung for ever, must thou there remain…
henry louis vivian derozio
does it really matter who u were
before, swamini? before everything
turned saffron, when the very air
bore the fragrant scent of god’s
anointed mercy & no less than u
found yrself on a fated journey,
in a glorious galaxy -- in satchidananda,
in the energetic state of non-duality.
does it matter that yr music, even
then, yoked life, mind & matter
with sublime states -- in & thru yr
piano’s ten thousand moving parts?
in & thru yr harp’s neck, sound
board & strings? in & thru yr raw,
blistered & calloused virtuosity. no,
it matters not at all, for u are with
that, turiyasangitananda, in the
supreme abode of the adorable,
the formless, passionless & unborn;
swimming in that existence, in that
consciousness & bliss -- in that sea of
milk. & should your beloved harp
hang on some withered bough,
unstrung, fear not. yr music, yr sacred
selfsong, yr chaitya purusha will
incarnate again in new bodies;
resonate in new harps & hearts!