Little Dragon
A dragon,
a little dragon
curled up, head over tail.
Sleeping.
Sleeping quite happily,
warm, happy,
curled around something.
A toy.
A little doll of him.
Or more like what he was.
What he was not so long ago.
But now he’s happy.
Never has he slept so peacefully,
so blissfully.
He never had the chance to do so before,
but now there was comfort.
In a place surrounded by those who love him.
Figures,
that little dragon could have never guessed how nice heaven really is.
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The Lotus-Flower
All the heights of the high shores gleam
Red and gold
at the sunset hour:
There comes the spell of a magic dream,
And the Harbour seems a lotus-flower;
A blue flower tinted at dawn with gold,
A broad flower blazing with light at noon,
A flower forever with charms to hold
His heart, who sees it by sun or moon.
Its beauty burns like a ceaseless fire,
And tower looks over the top of tower;
For all mute things it would seem, aspire
To catch a glimpse of the lotus-flower.
Men meet its beauty with furrowed face,
And straight the furrows are smoothed away;
They buy and sell in the market-place,
And languor leadens their blood all day.
At night they look on the flower, and lo!
The City passes with all its cares:
They dream no more in its azure glow,
Of gold and silver and stocks and shares.
The Lotus dreams 'neath the dreaming skies,
Its beauty touching with spell divine
The grey old town, till the old town lies
Like one half-drunk with a magic wine.
Star-loved, it breathes at the midnight hour
A sense of peace from its velvet mouth.
Though flowers be fair -- is there any flower
Like this blue flower of the radiant South?
Sun-loved and lit by the moon it yields
A challenge-glory or glow serene,
And men bethink them of jewelled shields,
A turquoise lighting a ground of green.
Fond lovers pacing beside it see
Not death and darkness, but life and light,
And dream no dream of the witchery
The Lotus sheds on the silent night.
Pale watchers weary of watching stars
That fall, and fall, and forever fall,
Tear-worn and troubled with many scars,
They seek the Lotus and end life's thrall.
The spirit spelled by the Lotus swoons,
Its beauty summons the artist mood;
And thus, perchance, in a thousand moons
Its spell shall work in our waiting blood.
Then souls shall shine with an old-time grace,
And sense be wrapped in a golden trance,
And art be crowned in the market-place
With Love and Beauty and fair Romance.
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Lotus
The lotus rises through the murky waters of ponds and lakes yet, when it blooms, it floats upon the surface, its petals shining and untainted by the mud from which it emerged. In the scriptural language and sacred poetry of Hinduism and Buddhism, the lotus perfectly embodies the soul, rising up through the murkiness of worldly experience until it reaches the surface of the spiritual realm and blooms, vibrant and pure, free from all taint and attachment.
The lotus is so fundamental to the spiritual language of Yoga that it has become a technical term. The word "lotus" is used interchangeably with the word chakra referring to the spinning wheels of spiritual energy located along the spinal axis. While the lotus can refer to any of the chakras, it is most especially associated with the radiant white-gold crown chakra.
More than metaphor, referring to the crown chakra as a white lotus is a good description. It is a variation of the experience that I have called the Golden Ocean. The experience is of a shining golden-whiteness, radiating outward from a living central point. It seems to flow outward, like water, or like a thousand white petals surging with life and renewing themselves while, at the same time, remaining utterly self-contained and at rest.
