The Peregrine Muse

The Secret

After I died and the angels

nudged me back onto earth,

I spent my time trying on

dresses and scarves, a silk

blouse, corduroy pants,

praying the right garment

would re-teach me how

to live, to be inhabited

by something human,

as if a wool skirt stroked

could unravel the fabric

of what breathing meant.

I ignored jewels

for there are no adornments

to equal Heaven's.

The mohair coat

was useless, swaddling

quivered flesh and bone,

yielding no answers

to this mysterious, clumsy

habit: inhale, exhale

while the angels sang

their mournful tune,

"miss you,

miss you,"

or was it my own

cherished melody?

until it was time

to undress, to unbutton

yearning, unzip

all wishes, and lie

down again on

the sweet grass

and embrace this mess

of skin and thought

and burrow under

surfaces to reveal

the heart of hearts

pumping love

into every surprising,

welcome breath.


To lie down next to him

Once more

In the dark

A charm of stars

At the open window

His arm astride

My hip

His skin melting into mine

Like a warm blanket

His lips lost in the ocean

Of my hair

As my breasts rise and dip

On the tide of his breath

To feel the wet marriage

Of our parts,

Blood and flesh

Limbs entwined

On a blossoming vine

His love spark nesting

On my thighs

Our hearts become

One song

As we lie together

In peace, in light

Grateful, wedded

All night long.


When it started,

I lay in the grass

And watched the stars

Spinning wildly

Around me

And I spun

With them.

Standing on a bridge

Made me nauseous.

Then it passed.

For years, the world remained steady

While I swirled in circles inside.

Then last week,

It came back,

The mad dizziness

This time it seemed

A movie revved up

To high speed.

At first, it took

My breath away,

This twirling of images

In vibrant hues.

It longed to suck me into it.

But this time,

I made it my bride

And stayed still.

Let the world spin out

Its crazy carnival.

Kaleidoscopes no longer


I am going


I am the light

With the pictures refracting

Off it, the slip-sliding

Mirror that once

Made me hide.

Nothing can touch the stillness.

Can you taste it now,

Pure and eternal,

In every blooming

And dying thing

Until even that


Like you, I have taken

My seat on His holy throne

Of royalty, to rest

In what is unmoving.

Tell me, where else

Could we possibly sit?

The Answer Lies Within

Today I am folding everything I perceive

Into my heart. Its bounty is enormous.

The wilting larkspur on the altar,

The fire alarm at 3 a.m.,

the brother who spurned me.

Welcome, I say, come on in. There is

Room for everyone. To the dead squirrel

On the road, his paw bloodied crimson,

Hello, I say, come home. To the writhing

Snake beneath my car, I say, old

Friend, don’t be a stranger.

And those feelings that bubble up

As I sit are cream rising to the

Crest of awareness. I love you,

I say, think what you will,

Nothing is being turned from


And the lips on their own

Wing up in a smile, a half

Moon that feels ready

And ripe for whatever words

Are exchanged, the hug offered,

The arm pulled away, oh dear

Beauties, you are me, I am you,

I say.

And I bow to the bitter email,

Words flung back at me from

My reflection, a brilliant boomerang.

What can I do but prostrate

To the wonder of love seeping

Through each creature, mirrors

Of light blasting the dark?

How can I resist the beauty

In what once wounded me?

Each breath is a surprise.

What could be more alive

Than this?


- after seeing A Late Quartet

The quartet folds into

The cream of the One,

A lyric symphony.

The sad cellist,

The misguided violinist,

Nothing can stay separate

As the music rises.

So it is in the dream world:

The mother who didn’t know

How to love,

The father who lost his way,

The wandering girl,

Her heart broken

Melt into the melody

As they begin to play.

They must give up

Their sad past,

Relinquish all sense of other.

These islands have been

Lonely long enough.

How else can the celestial

fugue ever happen?

One chord of me against you

And the song of the heavens

Is off key.

All sense of knowing

Must die

So they can fuse

On the tide of the tune

To great heights

Never known in this

Mad fantasy of life

So they can play

Their part with passion

And love without need

And explode in a starburst

Of light,

A rare composition

That can rock

The heavens

And make even

The stubborn gods



Softly they fold me into me,

These waves.

The moon is a white sheet

In the sky.

I breath deep and more deeply

Until I become the sea, until

I become the air, the sand,

A grain ground into nothing

Until I flower into

Every single thing.

I have become the sun,

I have fallen into light.

More true is that

The ‘i’ has simply

Taken flight.

The dream world is

A silver sheen of dust

Where I used to live

But now the heart has exploded

And wants to give and give

And give itself

To what truly is.

The answer to every question

Is the same.

It removes all that separates.

It is everything that seems small

And all that is great.

It is love pure and free

And is undeniably your true nature.

Lover Come Back

He saunters in,

a phantom in bronze

and silver. It’s been

so long. The heat

in his lips burns

my tongue. He watches

as I shimmy out

of black lace,

his shirt a pool

on the floor.

Sun sifts through

the afternoon shades,

highlighting his face,

tired after the long

journey. He lays

his head on my

belly, a willing

pillow, as I trace

the swirl of his hair,

each strand a memory

so distant, it takes

my breath away

and so close

I can exhale

for as long

this time

as he can



A shifting tide floating, rising, dissolving

on this amoeba of life, all sense of me

melting back into the source where separation

is meaningless, where meaning sinks

into one exquisite thing, a pulse of changing

shapes, sky, air, trees become nothing

but an endless sea. Who remains

to place a name on anything? It is a perfect

throbbing dream, freed of owning, a space

without a center, without beginning, where

you and i fold seamlessly into That,

every sense, every contraction dying

into the light of our origin, which is constant,

timeless, silent, which is pure essence,

the wordless, love drenched family

of I AM.


Rest in the haven of your own heart.

Melt in the honey of your being.

Feel the creamy warmth of your essence

gushing through what was once claimed

to be you.

Give up your claim on believing, on doing,

my beloved. Just Be.

And watch it softly unfurl - your birthright -

the pure heaven of Eternity.

After a profound accident and near death experience, Ana Ram Callan’s ground of being was shattered and, through the cracks, Indian mystic Ramana Maharshi flew into her heart. Apart from Ramana, her passions include poetry, silence, and swimming. Her latest book of poems is entitled The Boy Who Would Be Sage – a chronicle of Ramana’s life. Originally from Ireland, Ana now lives in Mt. Shasta, California. More here:

Poetry of Ana Callan