Trips

 

Prayer bunting at the Dhamekh Stupa, Sarnath.

Every trip’s a pilgrimage, with its own

little sacredness, with its small bunting

fluttering on a chain link fence somewhere

a hallowed symbol scratched on a milestone

vaguely sacred numbers, an ankh, an om

forming suddenly like a fallen prayer

as the light changes, a flash of gull wings –

and every pilgrimage is also home.

 

And each cobblestone’s a bamboo ladder

to some other plane, to someplace else

that smoothens the circuits, and makes gladder

the heart that comes to a standstill and marvels.

Each trip has its own sanctity. Purpose.

Each step’s electric. And miraculous.

I was in Lucknow, Varanasi and Sarnath over the new year and ticked off the original of the Ashoka Pillar, and also a few other things, from ye olde buckete liste. Juuust ducking out of the way of the third wave. Now its back to the same old, same old scary boring pathways of the pandemic. Plus ca change, plus c'est la meme chose.  I hope the new year is treating you well.