Jungle

I don’t know this path to God
where the men are shirtless
and tattooed
the women wear long patterned dresses
and beaded earrings that hang
down to their shoulders
I’m afraid of the plants
and the strange assortment
of pipes
the reverence for the Mother
in all her forms
they take her into their bodies
willingly
invite her in
through the nose the mouth
the lungs the skin
how can that be good?
my yogi adviser
with the grey beard
said I needed to repair
with the Mother
he said I could plant a garden
but now I see
it’s a jungle
I can see that it’s a jungle
to repair the Both at once