The Return
Drifts
of memory surface
then
fade, taunting me
the
Potala Palace is beckoning
centuries
ago my home
calling
me back
with
the echo of conches.
The
subterranean passages, dark
hold
secrets the invaders will never know,
arcane
inscriptions by senior lamas
coded
in the universal language of light
passages
to higher dimensions
transcending
the material.
Younghusband’s
British superiority,
his
guns and arrogance useless
the
invader’s fear and ignorance mocked
Lamas
come and go still.
New
invaders
driven
by ideologies of insecurity
armed
with yellow-steel machines,
drones,
infrared eyes and satellites
all
useless against the secret of invisibility.
And
still the lamas come and go.
The
fragrance of sandalwood
lingers
far beneath the golden turrets,
I must
return to complete the Yantra
deep in
the mountain rock vault
the
place of my Little Death Ceremony.
High on
the roof of the world
arcane
secrets wait patiently,
The Dalai
Lama clearing the way
as the
focus of white light
emerging
from the universal matrix
will
manifest through the interlacing Yantra.
The
sacred symbol will pulse
channelling
the healing energy
like
radio waves around the earth
peace
and unity will soon return
resonating
and clearing the turmoil of centuries.
Yantra -- Sandra Joran
