Kauai,

that tectonic hotspot

 in a necklace of tiny Pacific islands

as far from any landmass as could be.

 

Holy men transported this treasure

from India:

the largest six-sided, uncut quartz

ever found;

to set it here, along the Wailua River

in the  sun-shafted shade

of great Banyan and Fig trees.

The monks, it’s guardians:

to build its temple of white stone

one day.

 

And I, globe-circum-trotter

pilgriming profanely

show up at this privy place...

On the breeze, as if sung by the air itself

wafts Om namah shiva

- choirs of unearthly beauty

straight to the marrow in my bones,

the hairs on my neck rising in salute.

 

This is no tourist spot.

Shadowy figures of robed men

slip silently about in the garden:

An archway, a  trodden path invites…..

only the singing silence answers.

 

Not sure exactly how:

an old man beckoning?

drawn inexorably by a magnetic chord?

chance, choice…

I find myself before 700lb

of shimmering rosy-pink, like love

garlanded in flowers

and bathed in candlelit incense.

 

It takes 18 years to find a word

and even now, run out.

But, whenever Om Namaha

 echoes in my dreamy cells

 I still smell the vibrant earth, the salty air

sense the rustling shade full of presence

with speechless awe, heart shimmying

before something inexplicable, glorious.