Dynamic tranquility: the Buddha in contemplation.

Dynamic tranquility: the Buddha in contemplation. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)


The Guru kindles the Mantra
The Mantra draws me to the Breath
The Breath is the gateway to the Self
The Self is the God-essence within
This God is the source of much Bliss
He leads me to the Universal Consciousness.

*Sanskrit: The spiritual journey

© Millicent Danker
29 February 2004



fresco at the Karlskirche in vienna (by Johann...

Fresco at the Karlskirche in Vienna (by Johann Michael Rottmayr) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Do not fear the fire in your belly:
That shaft of flame rising
or the burning tongues on your head,
leaping, tickling;
It is the shakti that stirs –
the paraclete.
Who wakens the sleeping spirit
and warms the chakras?
Is that the chi I see
now snaking up like bolt of energy?
Where is my God in all of this?

He waits inside in secret.

© Millicent Danker
18 May 2013


Sacred hindu syllable Aum (Om) in Devanagari s...

Sacred hindu syllable Aum (Om) in Devanagari script. SVG version of Image:Aum.png. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

In a car with teenagers and a driver with a bad temper I propose a detour.
But no.
Everyone has their Ego;
Each one an agenda.
I chant my Mantra.
Quiet tears express silent anger,
While I say the words over and over;
Etched on my tongue, forever.

© Millicent Danker
4 September 1999



You called?

Your flash of shuddering electricity summoned me.

What do you say to me?

Your storm rages on, I hear only that constant hum.

I try to listen to your words. I close my eyes to make you come.

I hear only that constant hum

Of plentiful rain coming down.

Your messenger cries out,

wet feathers twitching on barbed wire

in exaggerated show from my window

Do you will that I turn away to find the words to say?

You roar some more and clap thunder

Your sky drones on and rumbles in anger

Shutting down the light; drowning out all sight.

What do you say to me, O master?

English: Roll of rusty barbed wire on a farm

Roll of rusty barbed wire on a farm (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

© Millicent Danker

17 May 2013

RIBBONS OF BLESSING [On Retreat in Nunspeet]


Nunspeet (Photo credit: *n*o*o*r*)

Saying the mantra you become the mantra
Believing the word you become the word
Then what am I? What is my word?
Who is my Shiva?

He is impish, frenziedly dervish
Spinning little ribbons of blessing
In the forests of Nunspeet
For a world of non-believers

He is grace flooding, river of love gushing;
The witness who sees and knows everything:
That is my Vijnana* after sitting in meditation
The result of much illumination.

*direct knowledge that comes from experiences

© Millicent Danker
4 August 2004 / 13 May 2013


When we have some white wine that we can bite into

We’d like green olives on the side:

A bit of bread, a violinist

A cobbled street besides –

Near tourists and a pigeon or two

Hearts in tumult, waiting

For a message from above:

Promises of the Word – a sign, a sighting!

Thanking him for breath and life

For food and drink, for sound and sight;

Sunday in ancient Covent Garden

Is where my body fades but my soul takes flight.

© Millicent Danker

27 June 2004 / 12 May 2013

Covent Garden Market by Balthazar Nebot, 1737

Covent Garden Market by Balthazar Nebot, 1737 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)


Monastery of Saint Anthony, Egypt Français : L...

Monastery of Saint Anthony, Egypt Français : Le monastère Saint-Antoine, en Égypte. Nederlands: Het klooster van Sint-Antonius, in Egypte. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

There was a pew into which I sat with a red missal in my lap

It lay open in my hands to the readings

The holy Anthony at my side, I found myself in a subtle place

At first there were the usual entreaties to God in my chattering mind

Then there were only words from the source

These:  Love, faith, hope, peace

My hands were a vessel into which they poured

And after a while I couldn’t feel them any more

I had only an awareness of self

I would have visited for a longer time

Had a tear not emerged from the inner recesses of my right eye

To explode down my cheek

It willed me to open that eye, to look for something to wipe it with

And only then did I realise how far I had gone into silence

Into that space which is short of me and the other –

And I noticed my book, still weightless

in the palms of my hands still open for more –

But the mass had ended.

© Millicent Danker
30 September 2012


They tell a tragic tale, flowing from fearful depths

They close out pain and shut the dark

They help you rest, refresh;

They silence life, cut me off, will not open, if they wish.

They transport you away

Eyes closed

Eyes closed (Photo credit: @Doug88888)

To garden of celestial play

Struck with searing flashlight

They show life with no sight.

Seeing and unseeing, stared into mine

Averted and distorted, they are sublime

Held, they bring you to your prime.

They filter your chaos and the drama of the world

*Shakti-filled, they liquefy, turn into gold

Blind to the faults of men, like Brahman.**

They are the Eyes.

The windows of your Soul.

The mirrors of your God.


*Vedic meaning: energy


© Millicent Danker

5 April 1999 / 7 May 2013