met a guru

met a guru

(yogi, i should say)

in a veil and a turban of white

from L.A. last night

she was a charmer too

(is, i should say)

 

she asked us to do

many strange things

with our bodies, and my

trains of thought transitioned

to one thought of discomfort, then pain

and i was a lotus warrior

for my body and mind

(actually, for my knees and lower back)

and i was an eagle

flapping his wings

(actually, my aching arms)

while the guru sat

on pillows eating seeds

 

and my spine

is not yet

a serpent

waiting to be

awakened—

maybe

someday

 

our breath of fire exhaled, panting

like the ghosts of gurus past, ranting

the songs of kundalini wailed, chanting

pow pow fingers pointed, cramping

 

now, her white turbaned husband

he was a dapper dan, with his white beard

and tight white leggings

dan sat cross-legged beside her, with his huge gong

doing everything we did

until it came time for shavasana

(thank god, for shavasana)

then it was, literally, bang a gong

and T.Rex woulda freaked

dan was a great gong player

(is, i should say)

i’ve never heard anything like it

it was loud, then musical

softening into a trembling timbre

(and my timber back softened)

and rising to a crazy crescendo

(and my mind was not crazy)

then the lights came on

we rolled up our mats

ate good cookies

and we met the guru

with the blissful life force

behind her eyes

 

so i

met a guru from L.A.

(yogi, should i say?)

and her husband

the guy with the gong

and maybe

someday

i’ll

uncoil

the snake

About troysherdahl

A blue-collar bohemian with a penchant for fine words and dirty jeans.
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