About the poet
The poems Being, Between, and Father were written by Duncan Reddington (Swami Devam Prabodhi) from Cambridge, UK. In his words:
The event of real significance (in my life) was picking up the Darshan Diary of the mystic Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh in the library at Leyton, East London, in 1982.
Reading, I found the Nirvana Meditation Centre off Edgware Road, also in London, and I walked into the meditation room for the first time.
I took sannyas from Bhagwan’s people at the Medina Meditation and Therapy Centre in 1983, becoming Swami Prabodhi. I even made it to the Ranch, the U.S commune in Oregon County, in 1986.
The closest I got to Bhagwan, soon to become Osho, was about a hundred metres – that was way close enough. What energy!
My abiding guilt trip dragged me back into the world in 1987 – seduced again by the perpetual and phony ‘success’ trip.
It cost me two breakdowns – even the dreaming spires of Cambridge proved toxic.
Returning to Cambridge a second time, about five years ago, Osho appeared in my consciousness again – this time for keeps.
My real growth has begun. He blossoms to this day, and these words are part of my response.
At last, I walk the Path.
It is not the having
It is not the doing
It is the being.
It is not the image
It is not the personality
It is the energy.
It is not the following
It is not the leading
It is the devotion.
It is not the form
It is not the line
It is the space.
It is not the word
It is not the phrase
It is the silence.
Sailing in the darkness between lives
In the company of a billion souls
Drifting toward their destinies
You know what you will do
You know, but it is hidden from you
Let it be done, then move on
A trillion stars glitter in the gloom
Their stories within them, emerging from karma
Some will move forever
Some will become eternally still
Beyond all force, all human will
Amazingly sentient, in the eye of the storm.
All those things you never said
Echo deep within.
Your vibration is my soul
Your masquerade my burden.
Father, fathered by Creation
Ruined by the world’s imagination
Longing to the grave.
I gave you what I could give you.
Such theatres enacted
Behind high walls.
I play you, I display you
In my unconscious moments.
Did you know I loved you?