Tuesday, July 17, 2018

These earthen fingers

These earthen fingers           

I’ll never be allowed to enter the gates.
Saint Peter will ask for my ID.

If the photo bears any resemblance, I’ll be turned away. 
There’s no one sitting at the feet of Jesus.

The Father is the house of many mansions.
Jesus is the only One home.

Reaching the human stage, I can rise no higher.
Earth was built for humans.

Shed my sanskaras?  I am my sanskaras.
Working frantically for the balloon to rise,

I find myself a bag of sand, no way
for these earthen fingers to unknot the rope.

O child of God, you must become a child,
one who has not yet been given a name.

Thursday, July 12, 2018

Red herrings and wild geese

Red herrings and wild geese             

Neti, neti . . . neti, neti –
the process of elimination and negation. 

Not worthiness but honesty required. 
Adherence to vigilance.  

No choice, really, but a seeing through
and once seen through, unhanded,

unimaginable anymore as valuable
or desirable and so life narrows down –

the passion, pain and pleasure of it.
We exist apparently only through

an attachment to a medium of expression molded
by our past particular sanskaras and general hunger.

One day (I’m told) we will see the whole as neti, neti,
nothing of any value to attach ourselves to

having run out of red herrings and wild geese
and then we can’t go back there anymore,

the only choice left in the Oneness being
all or nothing – Truth or illusion, God or self;

not a choice really but a seeing through   
our non-existence to God the everything.

O child of God, treasure the pristine view of the dream –
empty and momentary, dependent, signifying nothing.

Saturday, July 7, 2018

Chronic homesickness

Chronic homesickness             

I’ll face my fears one day (I’m told),
a steady gaze dispelling them at last,

not to prove myself worthy
nor to please the Lord of Bliss,

not with the intention of becoming
Who I reportedly already am

but merely to settle the outstanding debt.
To offer in obedience and good conscience

the only mite of currency I possess,
returning what belongs to Him

and in the process becoming
empty enough to be

wafted gently back to the now
foreign shore of my origin.

O child of God, for your lonely, chronic
homesickness, surrender is the only cure.

Monday, July 2, 2018

The illusion of autonomy

The illusion of autonomy             

Rather than say, forgive me, Lord,
why not say thank You, thank You?

Not only for the pointed-out errors
but for the standing apart from them,

the by-His-grace opening of the eyes,
mind and heart, at least in retrospect,

to the sins that doom; that once went
undetected and unchallenged;

that once were deemed necessary,
even taken to be virtues.

Thank You for the ripening –
the slow gentle pull of the pure soul

up from the muck of illusion;
the ageless apparent journey

from stone hardness to fruition to dissolution.
And thank You, Lord, thank You,

for being the one witness to my battle,
my only gauge, my helpmate,

my guide, my only companion;
my one source of encouragement.

O child of God, let go of everything
by letting go the illusion of autonomy.