Madhuri introduces her new book.
In my own eyes this is a very strange book – childish and yet profound, simple and yet peculiar. I am embarrassed by it, and yet it is one of my children – buck-toothed and goofy, yet with a sinuousness in many of its limbs (It has as many limbs as a herd of octopi.) I don’t really expect anyone to read it (and very few people have even seen it yet) but the two or three people who have, report back to me that they love it. A portion has been excerpted for the Osho Sammasati website.
There are only 100 copies in the world, or are ever likely to be. I fear it is a cliché to say “I didn’t write it” – but that’s how it came about – as a download, unencumbered by censorship.
Basically, the book is two very long poems; the second comprised of many sub-poems. It’s coming from what the modern radical philosopher Rob Brezsny calls Pronoia – the opposite of paranoia. It’s about life loving life.
The first section, Suppose There is No Armageddon, discusses the habit people have of predicting a great doom for all of us. An excerpt:
Suppose no World Ending tries our trust
And strangles us to foretold dust –
Suppose it just keeps getting better
Like receiving a snail-mailed loving letter
All plump with words like flavor-cells
Like peace will sit with Tibetan bells.
Suppose the world goes on and on
Circling from dusk till dawn
Circling back from end to start.
Suppose the world’s a beating heart
No preacher has the right to blame.
Suppose this heart is like a flame
Renewed with vigour like a spring
From fire to water, called to sing
And sing it does, in lilt and purl
A stream, a wave, a tender curl
Of blue upon the space backdrop.
What is the need for it to stop?
Suppose the dino-tread swung nigh
From its hatch-land in the sky
Then elected just to snort on by
Meandering out to cause some grief
Aborting novas, like a thief
Or s’pose those dinosaurs with teeth so great
Arrive to scourge us.., rather late.
They’ve paused to eat
Some other meat
And postponed the appointed hour.
And when they come, like rumbling towers
They’re already full, and can be paid off
With a song, and a colorful
Dessert of flowers.
(Read the whole poem on Osho News: Suppose There Is No Armageddon)
The second section is called My Personal Utopia. When I was receiving it, over weeks during middle-of-the-night wakings in my house under the benevolent shade of a hundred oak trees in Missouri in 2006, I was all the time connected to the memory, underneath everything, of Osho speaking…in the series of discourses called The Greatest Challenge: The Golden Future. So I’m describing a wild paradise, full of variance, eccentricity, and organic gardens, in places where wolves and bears can come and visit us for a cuddle on the edges of things, and we can taste the qualities of day and night:
Walking in the Dark
Did you ever walk at night
When no moon is there for light?
On some small un-trafficked road
Where feet are felt –
Or, on garden-grass just mowed
Dark and curtained absolute
And all your eyes are in your foot?
Did you ever run along a beach
With your eyes closed, both and each
Friends watch out for any trouble
While you hurtle in a dark bubble
Feeling scared and fast and free?
Place a friend ahead, far up the reach
Also, to catch the wind anew –
Wind whose body is called…you.
It’s wonderful to feel those arms
Cushioning you from any harm
After freefall flight ensues.
But…I can’t say; it’s up to you.
Did you ever cycle dark
In the country or the park?
Danger, yes, it’s dangerous –
If you are young you might not fuss –
Might dare, might also come to grief
As you cycle like a thief
Intuiting where might be a gutter
Bumping in the darkness utter
As the weirdness parts like butter –
You might crash, might travel, might endure
Out here where the night is pure –
I have done this, in the East
I lived – I’m here – nor rock nor beast
Tipped me from that rutted road.
Don’t say I made you leave your abode
And go wild in the darkness biking –
But, I say, for my own liking
‘Twas a thing of gorgeous beauty;
‘Twas a finer wine than duty.
Now, because it is my book, I wrote about things that I love…but you might like some of them too. There is an exposition on Dynamic Meditation, and commentaries on Death, and Dance and Laughter and Hats and Raccoons…all sorts of things.
The book is illustrated with line drawings. It has a Preface, an Introduction which it is important not to skip since it contains a conversation with the Invisibles about all the…rhyming in the book!
M: “Guides, what about all those nauseating rhymes? Did you really do that?”
G: It will remember people of themselves that’s all Madhuri.
M: “But couldn’t people be remembered of themselves without rhyming?”
G: Yes. But tonight we rhymed. (Meaning, on the nights the poem was coming in.)
M: “But isn’t it just third-rate verse?”
G: Madhuri, we love people – pour people on themselves like moonlight that’s all. (Beautiful shivery lovely feeling: I am shown in a feeling way, the love that Guides have for us…no matter what idiots we feel ourselves to be! There is a vertical on-pouring made out of moonlight…)
And, at the end there are six pages of quotes from all over the place – many of course from Osho – that appealed to me in the context.
Bindu said, “It’s a children’s book for grownups.”
Nisarg agreed, and added, “I have always known you as this creative person who flutters and splutters around with clothes, jewelry, psychic readings, groups…you name it. But now as if for the first time I understood…not completely but I’m beginning to have a real understanding…the importance of this aspect of your creativity, that it’s number one…words. Words that want to come out of your mouth – what a poet you are – continuously downloading all the time – this stuff is in a pressure to come out – there is so much still to be downloaded, and only this much time…there needs to be a beautiful space provided… This book feels like dancing – like little lights dancing around inside me.
“It’s very important that you get to do this. You need a sponsor – you seem to me to be in the same category as Van Gogh or Mozart – or Rilke – they depended on somebody recognizing them, taking care… Mozart died in Vienna and was thrown into a pauper’s grave, and now the Viennese are biting their own ass that they missed out because there is no grave for people to visit.
“Then Van Gogh…I was in the South of France, could see what he saw…all these people were downloading. His brother Theo was a Reflector, supported him… That’s the quality I see in you, and the most important thing is, now is the time, it should not be postponed!”
The book is available to be purchased directly from the author:
madhurijewel (at) yahoo (dot) com
Madhuri is a regular contributor
More articles, reviews and poems by the same author on Osho News