Manatita is an esteemed author living in London, UK. He writes spiritual books, flash fiction and esoteric poetry, his favourite genre.
There is a profound and impactful story in the life of the Buddha. A woman, having faith in him, paid a visit for the purpose of asking him to save the life of her dead son. The Buddha smiled compassionately and asked her to bring him some mustard seeds, from a house in which there had been no afflictions … no deaths. The woman thought that this was simple enough and set out as quickly as she could.
The story goes that in every house she visited, she discovered that someone was either ill, suffering from a malady of sorts, or one or two had actually died. Wisdom dawned on the woman and she went back to the Buddha with a matured Heart, asking to become one of his disciples.
My father died in my early fifties and my mom in my late fifties. One of my sisters has stage 4 cancer. This poem is not only for those who have lost mothers, fathers, daughters or sons. Grief takes many forms and so this is for you in your grief, in whatever form it takes. Hari Om! (Victory to Love! All glory to the Absolute Supreme!)
No Guide to Grief
Here at the funeral parlour, I stood
Over my mother’s casket, and watched her face.
A sweetness had descended, from the great
Void of Emptiness and kissed her cheeks.
On the Elysian lap of death, she travelled,
But Love caressed her last breath;
Hid unseen within the stillness of her sacrifice.
What Light she exuded; what radiance!
The poignancy of the music touched me;
I remembered her fortitude; her sweetness.
My tears travelled four thousand miles,
Only to drop, like dew, in this sacred sanctuary.
Time flew, like the Phoenix, to the eternal gate,
Yet my mother’s Spirit lingered, exuding the Peace of Heaven.
Today my soul-bird cried copiously,
And my younger sister, not seeing me like this before,
Dropped her head unto my shoulders and wept with me.
There is no guide to grief! No compass,
No maps, no GPS. The blind has a dog, yes;
The Captain, his navigational charts.
But Love, the astrolabe of God’s secrets,
Carves its choice hour, into the emptiness of each soul.
- Manatita, The Lantern Carrier, 26th March, 2019.
Wisdom from the Master
"Who will understand,
Who will believe
The pressure of my private grief?
I have lost my heart’s
God." - Sri Chinmoy.
The Agony of Grieving
Forlorn is my state. I hear soothing voices;
Feel the comforting hands on my shoulders.
Yet I walk inside, empty and alone.
I need this momentary journey without schedule,
Carving my own space; dealing with this searing pain –
This bitter Alchemist, sent to heal my wounded Heart.
I say: “Be merciful, O Lord!”
You say: “lt is I who carry your rugged scars.”
I say: “Can You walk a little quicker?” You smile sweetly.
I know now that I cannot move faster than Grace;
That my inner knots need to be untied.
I give praise, yet it is small comfort,
From the extreme agony tearing up my soul;
Preparing it for a much deeper Love.
Manatita, The Lantern Carrier. 3rd may, 2019.
© 2019 manatita44