The Ashram

by Maya Christobel

I said I wanted to live in an ashram,
some place removed from the world,
somehow closer to heaven than earth,
as if heaven were the destination of choice
and I would find peace and happiness there.

This ashram would be filled with serenity and simplicity,
it would have dazzling light filtering
through large south facing windows,
full of saturated colors,
the smell of spices and pungent fruits in the air,
The deep silence would cling to me
like fine mist rising from the sea in winter,
become the pillow I rest my head on,
time would still itself,
until I could only hear my own rhythmic breathing,
my own heart beating so steadily, with such loyalty
and I could reside in this place inventing my life,
listening to God
returning to the ancient questions of who am I and
why am I here.

How will I find this place,
travel to the far off land
where it is tucked into the hills
above rich budding rice fields
or surrounded by the ancient stones
of crumbling temples littered with monkeys,
deep in the jungles of Thailand.
How will I afford to travel so far from home to my ashram,
my safe haven,
my refuge from the tyranny of my mind.

I cause such pain at the thought
I may never find this place,
never have enough time
or money
or courage
to choose to live in this way,
until I am sleeping and something rouses me in the night ,
and I hear nothing,
only silence,
I hear my own breathing
feel the stillness in me,
I feel my heart beating
faithfully,
and then I am found.
I understand and see my body
the temple ,
my soul the ashram,
my heart the voice of God.
and I sink into my own arms.