Eat, Pray, Love: One Womans Search for Everything | Chapter 85 of 123

Author: Elizabeth Gilbert | Submitted by: Maria Garcia | 1525694 Views | Add a Review

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Two Poems from an Ashram in India


All this talk of nectar and bliss is starting to piss me off.

I don’t know about you, my friend,
but my path to God ain’t no sweet waft of incense.

It’s a cat set loose in a pigeon pen,
and I’m the cat—
but also them who yell like hell when they get pinned.

My path to God is a worker’s uprising,
won’t be peace till they unionize.

Their picket is so fearsome
the National Guard won’t go near them.

My path was beaten unconscious before me,
by a small brown man I never got to see,
who chased God through India, shin-deep in mud,
barefoot and famined, malarial blood,
sleeping in doorways, under bridges—a hobo.

(Which is short for “homeward bound,” you know)
And he now chases me, saying: “Got it yet, Liz?

What HOMEWARD means? What BOUND really is?”



If they’d let me wear pants made out of the
fresh-mown grass from this place,
I’d do it.

If they’d let me make out
with every single Eucalyptus tree in Ganesh’s Grove,
I swear, I’d do it.

I’ve sweated out dew these days,
worked out the dregs,
rubbed my chin on tree bark,
mistaking it for my master’s leg.

I can’t get far enough in.

If they’d let me eat the soil of this place
served on a bed of birds’ nests,
I’d finish only half my plate,
Then sleep all night on the rest.


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Great book, nicely written and thank you BooksVooks for uploading

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