Jim's Guide to Enlightenment: The Complete Sutras Video

Twenty minutes of reading,

and walking
on my Path.

The Vale of Kashmir

A chill wind descends
from the lofty meadows of Gulmarg.
It carries the scent of those same wildflowers
that captivated noble Sultan
Yusuf Khan six hundred years ago.
It sweeps across the mirror surface
of Dal Lake,
gently rocking the stately cedar houseboats
that recall the elegance of the Raj.
Busy shikaras, those bustling workboats
of this Venice of the Himalayas,
ply their trade along watery avenues
bordered by tall deciduous trees
whose leaves and blossoms
give accent to these shining lanes.

In Srinagar’s marketplace
the vendors’ calls
exaggerate the splendour of their wares.
The cacophony is joined
by the muezzin calling the faithful
to the ancient mosque Jama Masjid,
where Sultan Sikandar
sought favour with his god.
The market’s wooden buildings
have a worn and beaten look:
the price of continuing war
and ethnic violence engraved
on their facades.

Far above the valley,
on the fabled road to Ladakh,
the golden fields of mustard
wave a tribute
to the snow-clad guardians
of this troubled valley:
the mountains wait,
and dream of peace.
Glacial streams leap noisily
to strengthen roots
of mighty chinar trees,
whose ancient spires
daily fall to economic growth.
Across the valley
the Nanga Parbat mountains
swallow a golden sun,
and darkness
claims its due.

Rishikesh

After the holy city of Haridwar
the dusty plains are left behind.
In the distance the foothills climb
to the top of the world,
and here, like an Intercessor
between the gods and man,
nestles Rishikesh.
Embracing Mother Ganga
this religious fantasy come true
hosts graceful temples,
garish artifacts,
peaceful ashrams.

The gentle sweetness of charas
fills the air, and the eyes of sadhus,
and other holy men,
testify to the effectiveness
of their communion.
Avatars walk the narrow streets,
surrounded by the swirling notes
of chants and mantras,
pleased with this bustling invocation
of the ancient Way.

The ghats are busy,
confirming the endless dance of Natraj,
with the fire and smoke
symbolising destruction and rebirth,
while the Ganges welcomes
the ashen remnants
of this cycle of the Wheel.
Floating candles in small clay boats
illuminate the river’s gentle flow,
bearing sparks of Brahman home.

Avalon: A Tribute to Arthurian Legend

The carnage lies behind me now,
the battle sounds have gone:
the morning mist lifts to reveal
the shores of Avalon.

My broken soul and body pain
but I must stumble on
to spend what time is left me
on the isle of Avalon.

We thought we could bring mighty change:
our righteousness had shone;
but now I only seek to rest
upon sweet Avalon.

Excalibur has turned to rust,
ne’er more to be drawn:
no conflict will ever touch
the shores of Avalon.

Fair Camelot is gone to ruin
in this dark and cold new dawn,
and I go now to seek my rest
on gentle Avalon.