What Rasa Is For Me

Rasa is one of those Sanskrit words that has a long history and is not easily translated in to English. In ancient Sanskrit (here we are talking about thousands of years ago) rasa meant the sap of a tree. (Wikipedia) The sap of a tree flows and contains the essence of the tree. Gradually poets began to use "rasa" to apply to the essence and flow in music, dance, art and poetry. It came to mean the emotions of creativity and eventually spirituality and by the time of the Upanishads nearly 3000 years ago, rasa would be used to describe the divine nature of the gods. A little over 1000 year ago, the word came to be associated with Krishna. Chanting the Hare Krishna could produce the transformational experience that would result in healing and wholeness. Some Jews, Christians and Muslims can experience this in their prayers and meditations, musicians in their music, physicists in Quantum Physics. It is about a higher level of conscious. It is what I feel while listening to the final chorus of the Rolling Stone's "You Can't Always Get What You Want" while watching a sunrise.

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DESCARTES AND THE CRAZY MAN

Sometimes, when I wake up in the morning The world is not what I want it to be But the world is still the magnificent mystery In which I am stuck between Plato’s ideals And Jesus’s Kingdom and Buddha’s Nirvana And the crazy man at the bus stop The world—It is in your face. It won’t let you go. Descartes got it right. Throw it all out. It is all A bundle of thought knots: concepts—illusions Birth and death and memory and hope A dance with realities we don’t understand You Think: The fact that you can doubt your doubts Is a clue. There is a you behind the you you think You are—who loves the ideals, lives in the Kingdom, Dances in Nirvana and gives the crazy man at the bus stop A hug—He stares at you thinking you are crazy.

I Lie On My Back

I lie on my back on a grassy hill At night alone with the moon and stars And the breath of cool night air Thoughts try to think me And I stop them—they are yesterday And tomorrow—not tonight Where the stillness of this moment Lets me pass into s specialness Of quietness uncomplicated By thinking

American Tea

The time honored tradition of English tea, So unlike American morning coffee, Always in a mug—to start the day. English tea is in the afternoon— More like the Japanese tea ceremony To give a ritual presence to life. The saucer so important to balance the cup. Americans find the saucer a nuisance. It’s what is in the cup that matters. Even the English drink coffee in the morning, American tea is at lunch—and iced— Ritual presence not forgotten—just ignored Americans drink tea in mugs. Mugs don’t need saucers.

CurranPoem

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