POETRY
The Rider in the Sky
A poem about Death’s ride to seek release
I drove across the car-filled streets of L.A., my heart open to the coolness of my new-found love of my Self. I watched my brothers race around each other, blasting their horns in frustration of another second wasted from reaching their happiness awaiting for them at home. Always there are signs for any who wants to see. But who really wants to see? I saw a sign, that for many would chill them to their very bones. That is why most saw it not in the sky above their heads, as large as a mountain. I witnessed it, because fear has no place in my Self. With fascination, I watched, as my hair stood on end.
O God, I saw in the sky the other day Wisps of cloud in the shape of a horseman, Scattering the other clouds with his cry.
The walls of city towers shook, And the birds in the sky flew silent; Yet no one in the city did hear; No one in the city did see.
Who was this rider across the sky? Was it truly one of the four the preachers and priests Have thumped over their congregations’ heads With the threat of the wrath of You?
I cannot but laugh at the thought of You filled with wrath. It is like the sky filled with fish.
I know this horseman, Whose name is Death, Has been sent not from You, But from human minds.
How is it that the Eternal Can know this specter called Death?
Can water know this thing called dryness? Only those who continue to believe They are nothing but a bag of flesh and bones, Who know not the Self, Will meet this lord of death, Who rides howling across the sky.
Yet the very ones who created such a god, Stare straight ahead as they speed down the road, To lock themselves in little cubicles And to turn on the magic box.
Lest they see that ride, Lest they hear that cry.
O silly ones, who close your eyes and ears, This rider comes not to destroy. He comes to be released from time’s unending task. He cries to quit, to walk away from his job.
But no one hears him.
No one sees.
So he must rip apart bodies and draw away breaths, To knock down the towers and tear away the cubicles, Until his creators have cried out: “Enough!”
Until they have looked inside and found the Eternal Self, Where Death is dissolved like a spider’s web Licked by a dancing flame.
O seeker of God, Know that this rider of the winds Is the greatest of friends.
He will only touch you If you see me and you, And you chase after this and that, And think your happiness is but outside.
While at the same time, you build security boxes To keep that same outside from coming in.
Janaka has heard this cry And has seen this ride, And has laughed with his pants around his ankles, As the rider galloped to run him down.
Thank you for reading this excerpt from my book, Footprints Along the Shore of an Incoming Tide: Impressions of a Fellow Traveler. Follow this link to purchase my book from Amazon.
The following are narratives about conversations with Yama, otherwise known as the Lord of Death.
Check out my website, mindfulness-meditation-techniques.com, for learning about various meditation practices and reading more articles and other writings. I have authored nine books, including The Teachings of Yama: A Conversation with Death. Visit my Author Page to know more. And if you liked this artwork of mine in this article, you can see more on Pinterest. You can follow me on Facebook.
