Poetry by Award-winning Bangalore Poet Tarun Cherian: Kundalini Rising

Depicting beings of pure consciousness is different in one key aspect from depicting usual objects. A representation of lightning doesn't give shocks. A true evocation of an energy being… actually calls it there. And when that happens it can be jaw dropping.

	Kundalini Rising
Tarun Cherian: Poet. Writer. SongWriter. Mantra Mage.	These blazing poems come from decades ago when The Kundalini was rising in my being. Today The Kundalini offers me her rarer but subtler treasures. Her oceanicity. Her embracingness. The rare and ridiculous joy as I touch the spirit of students, ignite, raise, rejoice, celebrate.
Creative Director with 18 award-winning years. Award-winning Poet. 6 books of poetry, spirituality, art published.	The Lightning Body (Experience 2000, Cambridge L/O Bangalore) Imagine a summer storm iridescent with lightning, only it happens in your body. And the lightning we were talking about? Well it isn't lightning either. Is more the deep content of a child massaged by his mother's fingers, the wine-heady satisfaction of a Sunday afternoon, the sensual slowness of amber honey lazily trickling, the curious stirring of a lover's tongue, the rippling dissolve of a half an hour orgasm, the fierce knowing of a prophet's eyes, sprinkled with volts. It, whatever it maybe, ripples up my body with exquisite slowness. Sparkling fingers touch, turning each cell dense with orgasmic incandescence. It moves with grass-suffused slowness, Flickering-gold beneath lily pads, one may call chakras. Now nibbling at the toes. Now hyalescent fins moving at the crown. Circles on circles, of dancing children {only you can't see the children}, of molten gold {only you can't see the gold}. It fades. It fades, but it's there, through meetings, campaigns, arguments, like the sheen of shot silk woven into my being. Suddenly, in the middle of a discussion on the middle class housewife's idli rice preferences, the Ajna pulses, the Sahasrara opens and shuts. The universe winks on and off. Seed Of Gnowing (Poem & experience 2002, Cambridge L/O Bangalore) Glowworms bound into a shape. Call it a body. Each cell remembers it is light. This time I open myself to it utterly. What is it? Not what the web of words can catch. The experience spirals out of touch. The usual forms a scab, reality slowly stops bleeding away. Distances separate me from me. Yet, something is planted in the earth of my mind. What rain will call it out of its silence? What are the seasons of the soul? I am that dried leaf raining down, I am the dark sky, I am the earth smell of rain. You wake to this, a clue of who you are. Beneath God's gown is a bra.
Back to Home Page. -Spiritual Path, Core Truths -Art: Shaktipats in Disguise. -Gallery of Tarun's Spiritual Art -Critics Praise: -Writing: - Poetry: Pilgrim's Progress. Kundalini Rising. Awakenings: Welcoming The Joy. Regenesis * Witness Refusing to Fall. Je Suis Human. Rules of Life. Homeland - Short Stories: The Merciful Tree - Fables: - Songs & Hymns & Video Poetry - Mantras - Articles: uploaded at creatorschild.com, Tickle Newsletter, edited by Tarun & Celia Cherian - Books:* Buffy's Doggy Revelations uploaded @ creatorschild.com The Chronicle of Death & Rebirth uploaded @creatorschild.com* Selection from Speaking in Tongues. FREE: Big Treasures in Little Pockets. uploaded @ creatorschild.com FREE: The Hour Before Dawn. uploaded @ creatorschild.com - Talks, Videos - Contact.

	This is a tribute to the Shakti. She who is felt, but never understood. Understood but never encompassed, encompassed but never encircled until embraced, embraced only if you are very foolish or blessed.