Ancient Letter to Tara
Dear Tara,
Worldly weights bow my back though scant seasons passed since carefree youth, when soul’s purpose burned independent of titles and gold. How swiftly priorities shifted from freedom to furnishing facades for fleeting pride’s empty altar.
Now strangers measure me by collections and conquests, ever prodding my progression up illusion’s ladder. Each rung mires me deeper in lives not my own, bartering freedom to clutch coveted prizes. For what? Rot builds in stuffed rooms of things while joy’s built on borrowed bricks.
My elders too fell prey to cultural hypnosis, numbed by glittering objects declaring significance, drugged by status to abandon self and Nature. Climbing without summit, ever diving for next prize, promising to fill the void inside.
Guide me, Lord Tara — help reclaim meaning disfigured by commercial enterprise. Teach me inward worth immovable in frenzied markets. Show me care and character craft truer wealth. Direct my sights from false idols toward Ideal’s compass.
I yearn to love boundless as you, not seeking self in others but seeing Self through. I crave to serve with compassion surpassing earthly bonds and breed — nurture talents, shoulder strangers, speed outcasts. I wish to parent inspiration and joy, send them laughing into the world souled fully.
Our short dance confounds when steps mapped for eternal travelers. Impart to me true movement in this fleeting skin. Initiate my feet to that rhythm transcending cradles and caskets. Let me practice for spirit trajectories, not pride’s dead-end labyrinth.
I cry out against violence done to body and soul in dressed quests for security in crowds contaminated by fear and want. Our planet pains from brute efforts at control.
Show me gentle fiery strength centered in sovereign peace. Then send my tiny flame to soothe and realign all led far astray.
Teach my being to beam your belonging more magnetic than material magnetism — to shine your sheltering.
For only light from Home dispels darkness haunting homeless hearts. Our possessions make paupers of passion and fade worn with time, yet love alone remains through life’s wildest storms.
Guide me there, beloved master, for surrender offers wings everlasting.