There is something
thrilling about a storm...
The thrill begins as the air starts stiring, and bits of moisture,
leaves, and all manner of flotsam and jetsam are uplifted and drift through the
restless ether. God’s elements become vividly apparent. The weather of the
world is not under our control; and in this mechanized world we’ve come to live
in, the stirring of a storm is a reminder of the tiny place I occupy in this vast
universe.
In the tenth
chapter of the Bhagavad Gita, called The Opulence of the Absolute, there is a verse, that begins: "Of puriļ¬ers I
am the wind...", I find that this
chapter encourages me to meditate on God by seeing him in all of creation, the
vision that the divine is in all things, both animate and inanimate. It
personalizes God; in this meditation the vision of a supreme artist comes to
the fore, and the art is that which feeds, loves, and sustains us in everyway.
At the end of the
poem I contemplate how I don’t have much to give back to God for all the
beautiful gifts he gives, how he maintains me, and so I
offer a dance, a dance of words.
My Slideshow below: The Painted Sky, refers again to the
painter, the anima mundi: the soul of the world.
 |
| Photography by the author, Janavi Held |
Storming
by Janavi Held
by Janavi Held
1
A sound describes
the wind,
looking at dusk
skies
almost blue,
almost black,
windstorm rising
from northern bellows,
Venus sitting in
my heart-sky
brightest of all.
Tears on the
cheeks of space- whisper,
trees fight for
meaning,
describing beauty,
can't touch that
divinity
I am speaking
words, only words.
Tips of daylight
linger in gray clouds,
sparking contrast,
storms coming
restless and true
nothing to be done
but stand
with this restless
spirit,
who embraces
atmospheric songs
as God's words
come from silence
swallowing nature
digesting her
essence
surrendering to
brief silent stillness,
it rises again
to meet the
disobedient heart, only heart.
2
Oh wind!
Put me down, put
me down
for you never stay
long enough.
I could run from
you
to an indoor tomb.
But I can't leave
Your fingers for long
I would drown and
drift.
Instead I will meet
You
escaping my
enemies.
Your friendly air
never refuses to
touch my skin.
You are my only
dependable,
friendly relative.
My fingers reach
for all your textures,
my eyes eat all
your tastes
as you transform
me
into your wind.
3
Dusk settles into
night.
Sparkling blankets
appear,
dancing for You
although I am
smaller than
those luminous
bodies
I dance for you
into the night
I dance.
(Click play to hear Janavi recite her poem to her own photography)
Janavi Held is the author of Letters to my Oldest Friend: A Book of Poetry and Photography. She has also contributed poems to two poetry anthologies, Bhakti Blossoms: A Collection of Contemporary Vaishnavi Poetry and GODDESS: When She Rules: Expressions by Contemporary Women. Two of her poems were shortlisted for the prestigious Hamilton House International Poetry Prize awarded by the University Centre Grimsby, and published in their anthology "Eternal". Janavi started writing poetry and wandering around with her father’s camera as a child. At the age of nineteen, she began practicing Bhakti yoga. She held a bachelor’s degree from Goddard College where she studied poetry, photography, and media studies. She passed away peacefully in December of 2018 after having battled a brutal illness. You may read more of her poems and view her artwork on her website here and Facebook page here.
A wonderful, spiritual poem.
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