Siddha Song: Mad Dog Chūrṇam (not to be attempted by the uninitiated)

More about Siddha Song: Mad Dog Chūrṇam (not to be attempted by the uninitiated)

Do not grind this song with mortal teeth.
Do not sing it near the kitchen fire
or the well where names still drink.
This chūrṇam is not powder but pressure—
a howl reduced to ash by time.

They call it Mad Dog because it bites the hand
that reaches for power without silence.
Because it runs ahead of the breath
and drags the breath behind it.
Because it teaches loyalty only to heat.

First ingredient: attention without mercy.
Second: patience sharpened until it cuts patience itself.
Third: a mineral you cannot touch
until it agrees to be touched—
and it never agrees twice.

Pulverize the moonlight that falls on waste ground.
Triturate until thought foams and collapses.
Seal the vessel with humility
(the only clay that survives this fire).
Then wait—
not the waiting of clocks,
but the waiting of bone.

Symptoms will appear as clarity.
Ignore them.
Then madness will appear as insight.
Ignore that too.
What remains, after both flee,
is the medicine.

The uninitiated ask for dosage.
There is none.
The initiated ask for lineage.
It is written in scars, not books.

If you hear dogs at night while reading this,
close the text.
If you hear nothing at all,
close it faster.

This song cures nothing you can name.
It dissolves what names cling to.
Those who swallow it become quiet.
Those who sell it become loud.

Remember:
A chūrṇam is ground so fine
it forgets it was once solid.
So too the singer—
if they survive the singing.

Do not attempt.
Let the mad dog sleep.