She’s thinking of “me”
when open-heart-softened like spaces, like strings
tan – stretch
It’s only a lantern garden party (from the inside)
And through it all the stereotypical sage
(barefoot, wandering, old man-of-matted-hair)
still wants to give you his body. He has been working on it decidedly for years.
Your heart, the garden; His touch, the light.
In the streaming sunlight we bow
over and over to offer-up our selves
our poses; a higher power
“service,” she says
“The Universe,” he says
only seventy-eight percent of what comes from unbroken streams of consciousness is Crap! Allen Ginsberg, he says to himself, he mutters. And, only a measly two percent of junkies give their lovers fair warning of their habits. That said, if we took you by the elbow tonight and guided you to see the night sky, it would be my birthday day and it would be drizzling on sand beach. There we’d see the phosphorescence in the ocean and the fireflies in the sky. And he told me, if he could, he would tie them in a thin line. We could hold on to their tails and no one could stop us from floating up to the heavens—and linking down-down-down to the black bottom of the sea/at some point might they both be the darkest parts/unfortunately for your kidneys and renal function, it’s raining harder now and the stars are not inspiring us. As such, you might decide that a hungry ghost is easier to tolerate than a Buddha.
“It’s all stormy!” rants Allen Ginsberg
“All life, this moment, more,” out-breaths a hungry ghost
“nothing, ” Buddha
try to drop, no do actually drop from cloud-to-cloud until you choose one of three graves Allen Ginsbergs ashes take. This one, up next to Marpa, will strip you of your clothes and point your naked—cross-eyed body towards the crescent monument for buddhist morals (don’t worry… almost-full-moon-yoga moon-salutation class is on monday on the glacier dropped flat granite slabs of wonderland—no really—that’s what it is called, no really – that’s what it is).
“ready for your initiation?” Allen calls to the bald sky
“do it” laughs a hungry ghost
“_____________ , “ buddha
hope /the moon clears/ the clouds from the sky
it is how you will know simplicity
it is then you can close one eye and extend the cup of your palm to cradle that moon
all the while you make choices
you listen to one voice or another
you make a way.
at the end of your time
you come back to the garden and let his touch illuminate your night
Integrate the Universe.
Ms. Ellen Pierce Sevigny is an ever-aspiring-inspiring student of yoga and being human, living in Colorado, and summer-adventuring in Maine She shares what she has learned through teaching this yoga in Bar Harbor, ME and Boulder, CO. She is the founder of Yoga in the Park, a program of the non-profit Children, Families & Communities. She is currently working on her masters degree in Contemplative Psychotherapy (Naropa, 2013) and hopes to become a yoga therapist within the year. Ellen encourages individuals to experience their unique version of yoga practice; her classes are designed to hold space for finding freedom within the structure. Notice, yoga makes great metaphors for living. Her focus is the continually unfolding processes of self- awareness, self- love, and self-acceptance.
Editor: Kate Bartolotta