Monday, July 20, 2015

the gateless gate

She wears the Veil as her garment
the Crown of Heaven on her head

She is the gateless gate into that which does not exist

Queen of my heart
she who is the Veil of the Mysteries

the womanly garment of love and protetion
the blue swathe of heaven folds
like a cape of eternity

I call on you my heart
to open your eyes
I beseech you to see

Dont be fooled by the pretty pictures
nor by the dream

She is the Mystery
that place which you call Home
In the middle of nowhere,
without any fences or gates
no front door beckoning

There in the midsts of her swirling
cape billowing into the borderless blue sky
there she waits for you, arms outstretched,
Heaven crowning through her
The mantle of Acceptance

                                                                           Hettienne Grobler 2015

Friday, May 9, 2014

Have you seen her?

Have you seen her?
behind the veil of the heart
in the dreamy fog of the story
she shimmers
Seemingly cloaked in subservience and sacrifice

Have you seen her?
 She wears the Veil of the Mysteries
a womanly garment of succor and life
Blue skies swathed into an eternal cape
growing the newly-lit flame into a fiery ladder
lighting the abyss of the mind

I call on you my heart, to open your eyes
I beg of you to stop looking
Don't be fooled by the pretty pictures

Nor by the fantastical dream

She is the Mystery, that place which you call home

In the middle of nothing,
Empty of desire
In the middle of nowhere
Devoid of fences or gates
No front door beckoning the way
No light shining brightly on the porch

There in the mists of her un-moving cape
Melting into the border less blue sky
Arms outstretched 
Heaven crowning
there she waits for you

Monday, May 5, 2014

I fall into the well of mystery,
arms, throat, heart, which is it?  I end only
to begin in your love, ending in myself.
Conceived by mystery, born in love, dying
in love, over and over, woven with the
unknown, a thread of fire holding
me up, drowning heart, throat, belly,
legs into the ghee melting on the
burning coals of existence in a body.  Can
you hear the sound which I
have become?  The eternal march of the
melted dripping self, on the hot fiery
road of bliss?  following an unseen drummer into
the invisible horizon?  My body lives in the
graveyard, with the indomitable Kali, ashes in
my hair, flowers blooming in every pore, paradise,
feeding all God's creatures.  I end as I begin, woven
with the mystery, an infinite thread soaked
in the bliss filled drum

Wednesday, September 25, 2013

This and That

That which looks like it will tear me apart,
- limb from limb -
That is exactly what ignites This fire.

Trying to stay safe,
Cocooned away from that,
Taking cover in ideas of happiness and perfection,
Wanting to love the safe darkness

This tears through the warm comfort
Of a mind that feels content
Retreating into hidden corners
Of not taking part

This sounds like a screaming banshee
Diving into the fires of self-destruct

My breath catches in my heart
That cleaves open the breast bone
Suffering set free to liberate the world
That love rips free this love

And all that is left is the hum
Of being in love with This and That

Sunday, July 14, 2013

Rooms of Love

The golden Sun radiates beyond
what is known and beyond the unknown;
The Presence comes quietly in the
darkness of the night.
Opens the door
and fills the rooms of love
illuminate the treasures that my heart holds.

The Secret

The Secret

The Mystery of the Heart is a secret.
Sometimes it is whispered to the moon,
or a crow.
My body holds the secret.
Never is it revealed to ears that cannot hear, or eyes that cannot see.
The secret of life is a mystery
only to be understood by the deepest self
It is the mystery that calls me;
It is the secret that takes me ever deeper
into the heart of love.
In my most vulnerable moments
I am totally free.
In my mystery I am most known.
In my deepest pain I am most whole.
In my aloneness
I am with it all
Living the mystery
is the greatest secret of all

Friday, March 8, 2013


I am the pigment of the paint
I am the stroke of the knife
I am the stretch of the canvas
That receives the paint
Like a Oliver's embrace
I am the seeing eye
Holding the vision
Giving birth to its form
I am the form birthing itself

In Bhakty