Kaula Tantra

Tradicionalna tantriČna vidja


Vedeži in mistiki so bili pogosto osupnjeni nad veličino in neizvedljivostjo opisovanja resničnosti in notranjih izkustev, zato so se zatekali k pomoči poezije, ki jim je služila kot most do neopisljivega in sakrosanktnega. Šri Šiva Kaal Ugranand sprva ni bil naklonjen k javni objavi njegove poezije, vendar je ob našem vztrajanju na koncu le obotavljajoče privolil. Želeli smo malce (če uporabimo njegovo izrazoslovje) »zavrteti diamant« in ga prikazati še v drugačni luči. Tukaj je nekaj njegovih pesmi.

Birth of the Universe

The young child stops!
An old sentiment that is always prior.
The froth of pontentiality,
Just a child’s game to the child who gleams
That sentiment of before.

Before the before,
Not infinite this progression.
Though the heart which conformsv In infinite depth.
And the child stops.
There is dinner to eat,
Almost time for bed.


Shattered weeps of the unbecoming
Tailored sweat with common words
Typically delivered,
Predictable so.
The wild stream breaks forth
Into shattering scream.

The wild eyes
The mischievous glint sends the clever to hills,
They too turn red.
Seated there upon the life and limbs,
Authority calls to take head of protocols
Stumbling into the creek,
Fear comes forth
But squashed to a more forceful glint
There will be blood.
Return and show the face.
Ruthless and Pure.
It’s going to be a bloodbath.

Old road

The brick road clacked under the wheels
A travel bag and I, old road
Through the old town.
I will come back this same road,
When I return, to this place
A place not mine, which only makes the feeling
A feeling so lonely, that its coolness comforts
Like space, I let go knowing…unknowing.
A particular destiny which is forged by this,
Old roads and travel bags.
I will not come back the same,
But this road I will travel again.
As long as is must,
I must walk a lonely path
It’ll comfort that road,
And those who no longer must.


I was on the side of a well traveled path,
Naked and seated on a snow bank.
Much younger than I am now,
People jeered at me
Some became fearful

I was crying, deep sobs.
Frozen to the cheeks,
An old lady spat upon me.
With a toothless smile, she asked,
“If you are a shepherd, then where is the herd?”
Someone laughed.
Gold light reflected and burned my eyes.

A young boy seeing my distress,
Came and handed me a fruit to eat.
His parents scolded, and came to retrieve.
Undeterred, the boy picked up a stone
Hugged me, and gave.

I was on the side of a well traveled path,
Naked and dust covered.
Much older than I am now.
I hear a bird call overhead,
it provokes atear.
A lady approaches and asks,
“Can I sing something?”
With a sweet voice the words went,
“The Sages say it is Just This,
and a golden ray from the heart burns eyes”
The husband approached with shame,
Rushing the lady away.
But breaking free of his grip,
She picks up a trampled flower bud.
Hugged me and gave.

I sit this moment.
Naked and alone within a deep cave,
I hold a stone and a flower.
The bird of freedom,
making a call.
I leave the depths of myself,
To sing a song I heard long ago,
And to pour out golden rays.
When I do, someone sits naked,
They sob, and their eyes burn.
Someone will hug them.
I was a shepherd, and many I have brought.
But only two completely know me.
Their song is mine, and mine theirs.
And it is Just This. Though time without limit.
Just This.

I sit naked.

The rousing Ovation

The fresh face meets an unencumbered breeze,
How often has this happened,
Only to be forgotten.
Or remembered Thusly,
Without the time for reflection.

In the clear water of the mountain lake,
The water sees that reflection and beckons to Infinity,
Make retort.
Unencumbered, the holler back resonates
But yet not vindicated in the eyes of Two,
The one hand gives ovation.

Yama's song

Death come here,
Let us play once again.
Some run in terror,
But you are a friend.
A trusted advisor and counsel are thee,
When things seem bad, you say its not me.
Though doubted as real,
Most Real indeed.
To those unsuspecting,
You approach with glee.
(To the cries of “why me…how could this be?”)

So Death come here,
Let us play once again.
Take this head and perceive not another.
The heart untouched is the Peaceful Mother.

I remember you

I remember you,
When Infinity sent echoes in its infinite youth
We sang and danced and played as One.
And when we were tossed into the stream of myriad lives,
We said “I’ll see you there”

But forgotten in the crush of time,
And in the jaws of the memory destroyer.
A long journey with tangents of experience,
And so deeply heartbreaking when this separation
Makes its cosmic return
“How could we forget?”
And so deeply heart warming when those ancient echoes
Tell the true story that we’ve never been apart.

I remember you,
I know you well.


A smell of stale smoke and mildew
Broken dreams and hopelessness.
Shabby curtains
Not sure exactly of where’s and how’s
This blanket used by someone unkempt
Yet bundled beneath,
In surrender to the deep anguish invoked,
By dusty lamps and failed aspirations.
The signposts mudras of forgotten lives
While still lived.
And reposed within all this,
I take death in this.
And even here I find my victorious heart.
Untouched and completely touched.
Shabby and hopeless, still love,
Permeating it all.
I take this death,
How can it be refused.
And if refused, how could I take that love
Which dwells in sweet surroundings,
And living grace.
Taken in the grime, thus exulted
Take this death, it gives birth.
And I, I cannot leave behind the tampered remains.
But take it into this very heart,
Because I must.
I love you that much, and you love me,
To reveal yourself in shabby curtains,
Smells of mildew and in hopeless tastes
Broken dreams, and death.
I love you that much…I take this anguish,
And transmuted, without defense
see what this means
How utterly cold and heartbreakingly warm

Sweet Anguish

I was racked by sobs
older than the Universe.
And like a parent,
Never wanting to see their child go,
Seeing it all born and die.
Sweet anguish
Familiar faces unrecognized
a tender gesture of a forgotten time.
All weighed upon the lightness of the heart.
only seen in a wind wisp.
So I knew not for whom I wept,
yet so dear to me
which pained a longing so deep,
so hurtful and yet was so beautiful.
And I could only watch it be born and die,
and in loyalty and trust.
Dissolve into it.
Watch over me,
And rest in the assured that it will love you
now that I am gone

Friend of the path

The spot on Jupiter,
Three times the size of Earth.
Raging before noticed.
If I can take a hand,
I’ll surely try.

What’s that worth,
The spot on Jupiter?.
Does it rage to be noticed,
Or does it just rage three times the Earth.
Does it care?
If it can grab a hand
It will surely try.


Grace, you plucked it straight from my playbook,
How can I be angry.
Condensing time and increasing intensity,
With a swift ruthlessness which forces hands
And revealing faces in spontaneity
The unknown…orchestrated chaos.
Fast, swift…not lingering
Striking at the mind,
Revealing the heart.
Such opportunity to shine,
And those heart peddles sing
Weights drop, bliss expands
In ways others take no account
But in those secret caverns
Lonely mirrors, a laugh unheard.
Wink..grace nods.
I arranged it all,
And grace plucked it from me.
Though unknowingly,
It is my greatest play
the coup was mine..
But I won’t tell, and that sweet energy
Embracing and dancing
Let us take a defeat
And celebrate our victory where eyes can’t see.


In a remote spot I found off the beaten track,
Has anyone sat here before?
Not a person to be seen,
Aspen leaves in symphony with breeze
A rock, a mountain puddle
Have they ever been touched
By glance, by hand, a footpath in times gone.

And just sitting, so silent and still
That the landscape is unobserved
No witness to it…not I
Nothing outside of it, pure seeing
Pure being. Without proximity.
We are nature also…how arrogant to forget.
Has anyone seen us before?
Have we been touched?
Or has this life been a symphony of a breeze
Ultimately, unobserved outside of the completeness of itself.

Leaving that spot, I do not go back,
I will never go back…


Red blood marks the forehead,
I danced when they saw me- without concern
And giving the nectar, spit back to me
To innocent for shame.

And they danced, but I sat still.
I marked their heads-it was white with awareness.
We touched mouths and pressed foreheads

With a deep breath held-the bliss came forth.
I said something truly profane and crude,
And they smiled and laughed.
I spoke something sweet and tender
And they smiled and laughed.
Then I laughed…and vanished into a moment.
They laughed again, but I could only hear it as a sentiment
Lost and forever present.


Only the pureness can touch now
The debt fair, debt foul
In raw experience exposed
Come for offerings
Blood and guts
Ambrosial and Mahaprasad
And this life breath soma
Never compelled
Only in love
Eat, drink, be merry
Satiated, Then go
And come back empty and pure
Thus indivisible: relishing, ravishing
This joy yours,
Your joy mine,
But never ours, on this razor walked
Murmured vowel sounds
Saying come back tomorrow
But stay all day
Rise up and fall down
Something lifts this hand holding
The vessel of skull, not sure whom
And why is only a sentiment
Unbecoming of true moments, spirit,
And heart.
Poured over, poured onto
Drowning not sorrow, just drowning
And breathe in sweet gasp held
The substance of passion on the tongue
Elevated in touching its tender essence
effulgence rains down, spills out
To a secret smile, to unbent convictions
To a swagger in a step
Wind wisdom whispers are gentle of touch
But stoke fires which rage
Burnt not dry, but boils to the liquid core
That holds all tastes, elements, the tune they hum
Mysterious singer, un-locatable
Seated upon two corpses named birth
Named death.
Above, in a union of,
All that Is and Never Was, whose sum
Is Beyond all conception
and unspoken
This revered patra
Can’t be held, but it is taken up


With something too tender for jerky barbs,
Loaded truths and unconfirmed conventions.
Too soft for words that don’t match action,
And contrived functions
Called a naïve inclination,
Boyish wonder and friend means friend
Love means love
And it need not attention.
Nor confirmation
Sun shines son,
And home means home

And something too sharp for fickle wanders,
And fuzzy experience which shifts in the sands.
Solid and straight
Razor cut blood in the primordial spark
While undifferentiated flow
In both this and that
Never lost and needing not,
be found.

Stranger here though it’s all ones own,
And having not even the refuge of indignation,
As it requires a pity that cannot generate
To differentiate or not, even anger speaks
A delicate touch.
To speak or not.
Without solace in “I tried”, plumbers plumb,
Birds fly,
And tigers growl. To have choice or not,
Is a dichotomy untenable with the unrestrained
Heart of compassion.
Sitting tender and sharp, willing to be a stranger
And to own it all. 

In the noise reign regal in silence
In the silence speak culture and vulgarity
And laugh with strangers,
Who have been cut, to whom love means love
Who bleed willingly into a spark
Creating flames to die with
Who are quiet and growl,
Solid and straight
Who are stranger here, and own it all.
Just done, and can’t “try”.
Thus done, there is nothing left
But to do it.
Stainless. Taking stains without fear.