Every seven generations,
one child is chosen
from the pool of seed
floating on the surface of
Secret Lotus Lake.
She comes to keep the bond
intact and ever blooming
between what is possible
and what withdraws in Brahman.
She grows among the people,
and love becomes her chakra.
Quiet spells come on her after
raucous laughter, playing.
The gleaming moon ascends.
She dreams the dream of ancients
in which no time can be,
seeing into archetypes
and soaking up the symbols.
Her later life is laden,
for in her lives another,
moving half into our time,
Lakshmi is her burden,
bringing grace and beauty.
Beauty glows within the chosen,
like a light reaching others,
but she will not find a soul-mate,
for no one is godly.
Tears like droplets on the lotus
in an evening’s condensation
weep inside where Lakshmi drinks them,
turning tears into visions,
into brightness and the cobra.
White to let her know that Brahman
is aware of her heartache,
Shiva into hooded form
to tell her she is not alone.
And her dreams at night come pouring,
dreams Ganesha weaves profusely,
He who pines for absent Lakshmi —
speaks to Her beneath our forms,
speaks of realms and deeds beyond.
Languid, dreaming through the woman,
Lakshmi weeps for the chosen,
for her life as secret holder
of the chain of Love.
Dawn breaking.
Birds singing.
Leaves dripping.
Breeze sighing.
And in the crystal pool,
the woman wades up to her waist,
reaching out entranced to gather
lotus blooms of lustrous pink.
Then inhaling subtle fragrance
deep into her lungs and Lakshmi,
she ensures the future’s blooming
for all lovers, though not her.
Read Meet Mago Contributor Tim Buck.