I am sitting here in Jaipur,India, and just heard word that Windsor Riley unexpectedly passed away in his sleep. As Bhagavan Adi Da said, “Death is a Perfect Insult” and I am saddened by this untimely transition. I will miss Windsor. Our community is full of “jewels”, all attracted by Bhagavan Adi Da into His Company, His sangha. To His Eye we were/are very humble. That is certainly true. With such great Gifts and such Revelation, and we all balking and dragging our heals? But on the other hand, we did recognize Adi Da’s Greatness, and came together to help create the Sanctuaries, to Celebrate Him,, to publish His books, to acculturate in our humble ways, new devotees. He was always the Inspiration and the Guidance, and the Heart of it all. The ragtag group that we were/are gave our lives and our energy to the creation of Shree Hridayam Satsang, The Dawn Horse Communion, The Free Primitive Church of Divine Communion, the Advaitayana Buddhist Fellowship, the Crazy Wisdom Fellowship, The Laughing Man Institute, Adidam. Windsor always epitomized for me something about all of us. He was rough around the edges–but he showed up. He recognized Adi Da and he participated even in the midst of whatever human life problems he might have been dealing with. Sometimes I wouldn’t see him for a while and then he would be back and around again. There to celebrate our Guru, the Great One that we have stumbled upon in this wilderness of the world.
Windsor’s profile picture on Facebook
Windsor had just come to one of the book club meetings on Ramana Maharshi earlier this month. And he and I had talked about putting some of his poems on the website. He had just sent me eight poems for me to consider . And so, now posthumously, I will post them here.
First is the introductory note Winsdor had written:
Hi James. I’ve got about 150 poems written between ’95 and 2003. The most productive period was in the 90s.
Most are less than a page. The major inspiration and instruction was Adi Da reading His and Dylan Thomas’ [poems].
Small pieces of the Teaching spontaneously appear here and there.
A few go on for several pages. One a Mummery book inspired metaphysical odyssey called “Avocado Pearls”.
Here are a few. One called Nothing Less won a spot in some poetry publication.
So here are the poems. I will begin with “Milestones”, which in some interesting way can now serve as Windsor’s own milestone. In some ways, all the poems serve that function. There are eight poems in all.
Milestones
From here it looks totally open.
Big feet in the furnace
Taking in the scenery.
Earth shifted awake,
Kinda mad with people.
Everyone on the only thing they are.
A piece of clever flesh
Dictates the choice.
Aimless adherence to a reckless life.
Toiling on blind.
Nearly dead with pleasure
Sunk in the pull of mortality
And making the best of it.
Temporary plans at best.
Can’t get a lot out of it.
Clock ticking.
Déjà vu!
Gonna really get it on!
Make a funhouse out of this
Mad contraction!
Live it up!
Take it to the nines!
Go out in a bang!
Big print:
“Ego goes POW!”
Small time citizen loses it.
“He was a loving father.
A real boon to the community.
A credit to his race.”
Nothing Less
If you search for God you will be disappointed.
But if you gaze real deep into the holy heart
you will be blessed with nothing less
than the wound of the ages welling up
sweetly in your arms.
It is said that those who look for delight
find only friends and their story ends
in the arms of everyone.
Song of the Crazy Wiseman
My hair is full of dynamite.
Stand back!
People want me out of town by sunset!
This town is crazy!
Haunted!
Written in stone like a grave
many years gone!
If I leave, who will ever come
up to the mark!
My power is blinding and tall
lightning is my trademark!
Truth is, I’ve hardly begun!
When darkness is deepest,
a mean place to be,
and days go by golden
and bright with life,
the hells will shower you with roses
and your chakras will drink the red
petals lit with love.
If I leave this town
no one will ever come back,
and the red petals of the earth
will never sing from the heart
as they are destined to do.
Broken By Love
When the pure light is free to roam your soul,
then we will see.
Then the soldiers will live
again countries will rise
and stakes will fall.
The bounty of the bread and wine.
The ticket that gives the hungry
devil of attention his due.
A Mad Sacrifice laid to rest
before creation is calling you
to slay this demon
in the even prayers of the day.
His hollow hell is broken
by the love in your chest,
and God does the rest.
Stand tall
Ain’t no Jesus here for me.
When the saints get pissed,
and rock the ocean from the black
house of Calcutta,
come to my party and yell in my face!
Build the world with babies,
and if your lucky strike it rich!
Turn a trick with the devil.
Numero Uno,
Slakin’ your lust on a long oceanic solo
slow and crazy behind the senses.
Romance your rejection and play your hard
Run around game in the passage of time.
It’s so outrageous to stand tall
when no one cares.
No doubt
If doubt ever had a purpose
you can rest assured
it has no purpose here.
When a face can shine with such incredible radiance
that the world grows green at the sight of such grace,
then doubt is a metaphor,
a simple spin on the absolute.
And if you want the absolute
you best hold no doubt.
The Wild World
When the perfect heart emerged
It was already sacred,
Still,
Pristine.
Before there was time,
The perfect love sped
From the coil of the heart
With young tears,
And the wild world emerged
In the loud crack of Sundays
Like a molecule dusted with charms.
The bare earth throws it’s pulse
Through the whispers
Of the love slayers.
A ribbon of birds
Tip the bowl of honey
Into the red river
Of deep echoes.
The swift electric fence
Snaps and throws
A long striking Eden rose
Into the nuclear revelation,
Where love does the dance
In the quick of the earth.
Laced with grace
A severed head rides
The waves of holy heat
In a chainless mass of ecstasies.
The head goes off,
The hands break from matter
And the room begins to shine
From the endless beach..
No one is home.
The sun is a coin,
A gravitational grave,
A hole in time,
A silver chord,
A negative cutter,
The best life can give,
A slow train to God.
As the maid lies in the shade
Of the heavenly glade,
A sultry muscle stalks the night.
Long in the tooth for sexual delight.
Hissing with hells
The naked taste of sin
Sizzles on the tongue
Like a viper licking
The eyes of the stars.
As the sun sets toward the heart
The threads of the church
Spread across the sea,
And fingers lit with firelight
Crash like glass
On the mirror of shouts.
Green rivers of unseen grace
Cascade between the clocks.
Men in holy streams move
Towards the mother river.
Smoldering beneath the rhythms
Of the planet she cries
For the people who know her not.
Blue rods shoot the love
From her neck into the lighting
That rolls from her shoulders.
Decked in boney blades
The gorilla jewel races
Unchecked from her heart.
When the bold bucks walk upright
Into the slaughterhouse
Of infinite tomorrows,
My pearly benediction
Takes the wheel of evolution,
Thousands of feet in the air,
On marvelous currents
Over the snows,
Deep above the clouds,
Wrecked with light
And so crazy with sweet love.
Put me to the task
And I’ll walk out
Kicking sunsets from my shoes
With beautiful women
Weeping by my side.
Into the avenue of nerves,
With the ache of a golden nectar
Welling up in the spine of a race.
Born to the wind,
Leaving this place
Behind the stars
To rest on beams of light
And rails of bliss.
Peels of fiery laughter
Sewn to an omen
Dressed in silk.
The shifting muscles of peace
Engraved in the heart.
The spit from the grave
Left to die
In the opera house.
The carnal teaser
wears the weave of years
And drowns in the heavens
Of moksha glory.
This two-bit Armageddon menu
In the end-time matrix
Of open hearted sluggers,
Where the snicker-snack devil
Does his deeds
And the world overflows
With endless needs…
Bounce my Columbus
From the forest of greed.
What angry god made
The earth crawl
For billions of years?
Until human tears
Danced through gravity
On a wheel of hatchets.
‘Til the guts of Rome
Boiled in the walls
And the mock shout
Of the Druid ring
Punished piecemeal punks
By the truckload
Kick my parka Chip!
It’s all Hindu rhythms to me!
The jewel in the mirror,
The dice in the church,
And those bad electric sumo devils
From the horrible blood place
That rocks the moon.
The people whispered
Like a sea of doves.
Rough in the yard of infinite light.
And I bled my love
into the church of granite,
In it’s sweet wordless day.
Sat Guru
Convicted as seekers
In the light of Great Wisdom
We have recourse to True Grace.
Who could reveal such a universal plight
Had they not transcended it?
Such Gurus are rare,
Not to be trifled with.
Fiery by their very nature.
Not bound to any form.
When they walk the earth
Karmas of great magnitude
Are made docile.
When a person can walk into a room
And transform the emotional consciousness
Of everyone in that room
Into Unspeakable Happiness
By their Mere Presence,
That One is a True Realizer.