Day after the seige

Day after the siege

Day after the siege

eyes met, embraces shared.

Connected oneness.

Day after the siege.

When senselessness looms

We all reach out to connect

Day after the siege

We affirm this is not us

We connect, are one.

Tina Shettigara December 17 2014

Enlighten me

Enlighten me

There’s something wrong with the tube light.

It’s flickering on and off, on and off.

You might say that’s better than when it was off all the time

and I was crashing about in the dark and banging into things.

So much suffering.

Then it came on and everything was so obvious …

for some timeless moments …

before it went off again.

But there was a faint halo left

so I couldn’t forget its brilliance,

and I yearn for that light.

Other timeless moments have happened along the way.

Suddenly being in the light

and then the darkness closing round,

forgetting, almost.

Then it started this flickering business.

This strobing effect is really quite distracting.

It’s driving me mad.

Sometimes I feel drunk,

sometimes nauseous,

sometimes dizzy

with all this on again, off again

state of affairs.

But now I see there’s nothing wrong with the light.

It’s on all the time, but I can’t keep my eyes open.

Time to wake up darling. You’re dreaming.

© Tina Shettigara September 2018

https://www.statnews.com/2019/02/06/detecting-consciousness-in-flickering-brain-signals/

On returning from retreat

On returning from retreat, Frankston June 2016

So, how was retreat?

I have become breakfast, tissues scintillating like Coco Pops;
I am spread thinner than vegemite with the butter showing through.
I have become the sound of softly falling rain.
I am champagne feeling the bubbles rise and burst.
As ripples circling around the duck on the pond
I ripple in all directions.
Driving, I am flying, senses spread from horizon to horizon
the air blowing through me.
Rolling to the red light, I cease to exist in stillness.
I am spread taut across the universe
so the Beloved can play infinite rhythms
upon my membranes.
Delight is shimmering here, and there, can’t you feel it?

It was lovely, thank you.

©Tina Shettigara 2016

[Note for non-Australians: the Australian national breakfast spread, Vegemite, is hated by just about everyone else in the world, probably because when they first try it they spread it thick like jam. The only way to eat Vegemite is to spread it very thin.]

https://www.theodysseyonline.com/6-misconceptions-about-vegemite

Ducks on the pond, Brahma Kumari Centre Frankston, photo: Tina Shettigara

When Galahs show the way

When galahs show the way

Braking at yet another red light

The pressure under foot echoes dense anxiety in belly and in heart:

Running late.

But there, a row of galahs on the light pole

Lined up on the horizontal beam

Dozens of them; but they don’t quite fit

And one is relegated to the descending curve,

Slides and must take wing, flies around and wedges into the row;

Birds adjusting, and the one now on the end, sliding, taking wing,

Flying around, edging into the row;

And another slides off the end, and so it goes.

Cocooned I cannot hear their calls

The screeching chatter I know must be there.

But I am captivated and my belly laughs,

The dense knot releases, the light turns green and soon I arrive,

Heart full of joy, present and not late.

Tina Shettigara © 2016

This light pole is not even remotely like the one in the poem and there were way more galahs. Credit: https://hiveminer.com/Tags/galah%2Cgalahs where you will see many more galah pictures.

It was a pole like this,
let your imagination do the rest

I was driving past the actual location and saw these galahs on a nearby pole, so stopped to take their photo.
They waited just long enough for one snap. Taken with my smart phone.

For breasts

For breasts

A blessing in the style of John O'Donohue

We are grateful for breasts.

For breasts which nurtured us

Over whose gracious curve

Is the joining with the mother gaze

Not separate, we are grateful.

For the soft breasts of grandmother’s hugs

That heal a grazed knee

We are grateful.

For pimple breasts

Hidden by folded arms and hunched shoulders

Heralding impending womanhood,

For the blossoming of girl into woman;

And for breasts that are caressed within their first bra,

Suddenly shapely,

We are grateful.

We are grateful

For breasts, pressed in hugs from

mothers, sisters, aunts, grandmothers, girlfriends and lovers.

For breasts ripened into glowing fruit,

And breasts which are pressed, caressed in passion

We are grateful.

We are grateful for breasts which give suckle to our babes.

We are grateful.

And yet when breasts must sacrifice to prolong our

Time with the beloved ones,

We are grateful,

Knowing

we

are

not

those

breasts.

In all these changes,

Bound by time and space

we are not this.

Yet we are grateful

For love and life.

©Tina Shettigara

Ambogio Begognone "Madonna Lactans" c1485: Accademia Carrara, Bergamo

The Ballad of Heartfelt Desire

The Ballad of Heartfelt Desire

Dedicated to Richard Miller on his 70^th birthday 13 April 2018

I sat still, a little child,

Spread myself across the air,

I knew that I was so vast,

Beyond that speck down there.

More than body, more than mind,

More than a tinge of fear,

More than girl, more than a child

Who let go a lonely tear.

Couldn’t climb or run as fast

Couldn’t throw or catch a ball

Couldn’t add or multiply

And my hair wouldn’t take a curl.

A lesser body and lesser mind

And a growing bunch of fears

That I was just not good enough

And freely ran the tears.

Scarcely knew how deep I yearned

To know myself as vast as space

And so much more than belief and fear,

To be still in a state of grace.

Deep gratitude to the teacher dear

Who unlocked my heart to its goal,

The boundaries are blurring now

To the vast non-separate soul.

Tina Shettigara© 2018

The beach at sunset

The beach at sunset

We sat down together on the sea wall, you and I.

Birds flew, boats sailed, homeward, purposefully,

as an orange-red blush emblazoned all the sky,

and the sun’s gold disk slipped into the sea.

We sat down, separate, as a me and you,

and watched beach revellers packing up their day,

dogs walking their people, joggers pounding through,

together, watching, with nothing much to say.

Yet as the glorious sunset blush took hold,

and the sky and sea were tinted in turquoise,

the sense of I, you, them and that dissolved,

replaced by one, in perfect equipoise.

Then I and you returned, and all that’s left is this

memory, yearning and an aftertaste of bliss.

© Tina Shettigara 2015

An Australian Gardener's Thanksgiving

An Australian Gardener’s Thanksgiving

Summer’s cornucopia overflows with gifts

And garden delights are offered fresh each day,

At the altar of long days; grateful, my heart lifts.

So that this cornucopia overflows with gifts

The summer-dry’s combatted with mains water spray

And shrouds of shade-cloth in massive tented drifts.

At the altar of long days, grateful, my heart lifts,

To pick the tender beans, tomatoes ripe and basil spray,

Even darkest moods this bounty lightly shifts.

And as this cornucopia overflows with gifts

The birdsong in the trees is a loud hooray

For life. I drink the sweet rose scent in sniffs.

At the altar of long days, grateful, my heart lifts.

Though sun-burnt plants shrivel sometimes and die

Though disease attacks, or laden fruit tree rifts,

Yet I am glad each spring to obey

The call to plant, and tend and work the clay

So summer’s cornucopia will overflow with gifts

And at the altar of long days, grateful, my heart lifts.

©Tina Shettigara 2015