A place for puja and prayers at the “secret ghat” in Rishikesh
I sit by the shrine on the ghat
and begin my morning prayers.
One for healing for an old friend,
one for a baby who is struggling
to remain in her newborn body,
one for all who tread the path
of healing from forgetfulness
and remembering what is true,
one for a newly awakening world
in which humanity incarnates Love,
one for an enlightened partnership
that vanquishes delusion, dispels
death and advances all the way
to real tenderness and beauty.
Ganga is listening profoundly.
The whirling currents respond.
The fresh winds sweep my face
as my feet enjoy the frigid water.
After each heartfelt prayer I place
a pinch of vibhuti into her dynamic
and liberated, eternally stirring form.
The Goddess loves to be appreciated.
“Jal hee jeevan hai” is the first phrase
of Hindi that I learned from a waiter
and devotee of the deep feminine
while staying near Laxman Jhula.
“Water is life.” Jal brings us Life.
Jal is our connection to Source.
Ganga embodies this liquid link
between Earth and the supernal.
The Goddess springs from heaven
and sends energy in every direction
as an omnipotent enlivening force.
Then, after summits and glaciers,
after racing through mountains
and gliding through the plains,
she returns the world to God.
When I trekked to Gaumukh,
where the holy river begins,
and rededicated all service
to the endless flow of Love,
this human life began anew.
As I began to commune daily
with the fluent body of Ganga,
I noticed that words of devotion
started to surface inside my heart,
transmute and reform my innermost
desires, aspirations, losses, and laments,
and surge outward as undulating elocutions,
confessions of a soul now aburst with the Infinite.
To the river devi transforming me from within, I commit
all of my passions, all of my strength, all of my faithfulness
in support of peace and awakeness for those who are adrift.
As I open to receive her responses, I am inundated with gifts
and outrageously overflowing blessings of divine reciprocity.
Submerged in her agile movements, my existence is a puja.
Immersed in mutuality, each moment is made into prasad.
From Ganga I am imbibing the perennial pedagogy of joy.
On a heavenly night in Rishikesh she brought you to me.
In bliss, she offers lines, stanzas, a whole book devoted
to the one who lit up my heart while sitting on this ghat.
Ganga Maa gives me poems, which I, in turn, offer to you.
She is my co-author and subtlest teacher of the sacred arts.
She is my tutor, mentor, and guide in the fine art of loving you.
This poem is part of a collection titled The Longing of God for God.
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