Brian Darnell

The crux of embrace (Unpublished)

2012-02-24T13:34:00.007-08:00

The crux of embrace

As its fragrance is hidden in the rose,

my Beloved said,

so My presence is hidden in the human heart.

Under our noses, Lord – unobserved

within ourselves and others.

Only faith and desire keep us daring

the crux of embrace.

Yes, the heart gets tipsy at the first nip

of Your wine; dances in it’s cage;

deeper in the cup, it grows weepy and ponderous.

And when Your fire sweeps through –

first, a searing pain, then ... burned rubble

from which to look out sheepishly upon the world.

But, You promised us ... You promised Your presence

every moment woven into the heart’s delicate

warp and woof, so pervasively, the rose,

having never set tender foot beyond its vast dominion,

goes about wailing and weeping

at the absence of its own scent.

O child of God, turn from the world’s enticements

to discover within, the fragrance of God.

Your brush strokes (from The Garden of Surrender)

2012-02-24T13:32:00.001-08:00

Your brush strokes

O Beloved, tonight, as these prayers are being said,

looking out upon the bowed heads of Your lovers,

in my heart, also, heads are bowed.

Voices blending in arti; there are voices

and harmonies within me as well.

And, as I kneel for Your darshan,

in the tomb-shrine of my heart, there is, also, a kneeling.

On this nondescript hill, a small group of Your lovers

has gathered tonight from around the world.

We have come to bow down to the holiest part within us

and all human beings.

What a long journey to reach this humble abode!

O Beloved, in Your Tomb-Shrine I have found my refuge.

In the shrine of my heart, let me offer You refuge.

Paint the walls within it in Your lovely brush strokes,

scenes from a life of Purity and holy Love.

O child of God, garland the stone of your heart-shrine.

Prepare it lovingly for the arrival of the Guest.

2012-02-24T13:30:00.000-08:00

Song link -- I carry Your love

2012-02-18T10:34:00.000-08:00

I carry Your love

Invisible fingers (from The Garden of Surrender)

2012-02-18T07:08:00.002-08:00

Invisible fingers

O Beloved, the learned man came to You with a list

of questions

and tore them up when he saw Your face.

Let me come to You tonight without the burden of words.

Let even this poetry I write be a form of silence.

At the pool of Bethesda, the angels didn’t sing,

but with invisible fingers, stirred the water.

Jesus asked the afflicted man, “Wilt thou be made whole?”

That is not a question to be answered with the mouth,

but with a collapse of all interior obstructions.

O Beloved, I will be made whole when You and I are One.

Then, I will be full of words but with no one to hear.

For my mouth will be Your silent mouth;

my questions answered from the inside.

O child of God, long for a world of silence

with no need for words to bridge the gap.

Poltice (from A Jewel in the Dust)

2012-02-18T07:06:00.001-08:00

Poultice

I heard You, Silent One,

halfway around the world –

amazed to find my heart

had sprouted an ear.

Once a God-fearing man, God put on Your face.

Now where is my fear?

I turned immediately toward home;

love, the poultice my soul required.

The best wine and the fatted calf

for a wastrel’s return. Who could believe it?

Those terrible scales of Justice –

suddenly swung into balance

by the stone weight

of Your compassion.

‘It’s My Love that has drawn you here,’ You whisper.

Tears stain the coverlet on Your tomb.

O child of God, your Beloved has declared Himself

God in human form. Let the chips fall where they may.

2012-02-18T07:05:00.000-08:00

Under the straw (from A Jewel in the Dust)

2012-02-12T05:44:00.005-08:00

Under the straw

You’re being smuggled out of the country.

This is not a time for questions –

Why are we turning down this street?

How were these documents obtained?

Whose identity have I stolen?

How much farther to the border?

Pilgrim! You don’t need answers

nor is your advice welcome.

The only words coming from your mouth

should be, “Thank You. Thank You!”.

Keep low. Don’t give yourself away. Stay huddled

under the straw in the back of the truck.

When Jesus healed the blind man, do you think

the fellow looked around, admiring the landscape?

He gazed upon the face of his Savior.

What a sight for sore eyes!

O child of God, as promised, Meher Baba awaits you,

just over the line, arms opened wide.

Toward a rendezvous (Unpublished)

2012-02-12T05:34:00.007-08:00

Toward a rendezvous

Every moment I’m being ushered

into the presence of the King.

Abducted, heavily cloaked –

the horses gallop, the coach hurtles

toward a predestined rendezvous

across the river.

After millenniums, the tide is turning,

gaining momentum, sweeping everything out to sea.

Our gazes meet as the water swirls

urgently around our ankles.

It matters little now if you are

beyond arm’s length –

we are bound for the same depths,

our fate sealed, our salvation assured!

In this last measure,

approaching those fabled gates,

I keep you in my heart,

souls interlocked, enfolded

into the turbulent embrace

of Arms Everlasting.

O child of God, Love has drenched you to the core.

For such Grace, your life is the only proper barter.

2012-02-12T05:28:00.000-08:00

Humility (Unpublished)

2012-02-08T14:25:00.001-08:00

Humility

Your face everywhere at the Center –

a photograph or painting in every room;

from the ethereal beauty of Your younger days

to the silent majesty of the latter.

Seeing Your face, Lord, let my gaze fall

at Your feet – where it belongs;

as I must one day – mind, body and spirit –

fall at Your feet,

to become the dust under Your heels.

Grant me the humility, Lord, to accept myself as I am

by accepting You for Who You are.

Even as my asking is a vain conceit,

I long for the poverty of such humility.

Exhaust my storehouse ... until there’s nothing left

that’s not a gift from You.

Fill my cellar ... with only Your wine –

that I might share a cup with everyone

who comes to the door.

O child of God, try to love those who you cannot love,

perhaps, beginning with yourself.

Confine yourself (Unpublished)

2012-02-08T14:22:00.000-08:00

Confine yourself

You confined Yourself –

in the table-cabin, the bamboo cage,

in sundry mountain caves,

in a hut atop Tembi Hill;

in the crypt before ... and after

it became Your Tomb.

You confined Yourself –

in Your great Silence; in a human body.

You confined Yourself

to show how we might be free.

O pilgrim, retire now to the narrow,

holy cell of remembrance;

fetter your mind and tongue

to the unyielding repetition of His name.

Confine yourself to God.

If God is not enough, what is?

O child of God, it’s Illusion that’s restrictive and tedious.

The Truth of Meher is boundless.

2012-02-08T14:18:00.000-08:00

Song link -- He chose me

2012-02-04T17:36:00.001-08:00

He chose me

Goodbye, cruel world! (Unpublished)

2012-02-03T20:44:00.000-08:00

Goodbye, cruel world

Holding tightly to Your damaan,

I’m losing my grip on reality.

Serving You and myself ... it’s like

straddling two horses at full gallop.

But, really, You’ve given me no choice.

For that I am grateful.

Boxed into a corner, fending off the blows –

You above me, battering me to my knees –

I glance into Your eyes and see ...

Infinite Compassion.

The fight goes out of me.

I’ll never again be the man I was.

I’ve received an inkling of Your love.

Your love – the whole world is drenched in it

as You labor to bring forth

from my recalcitrant body,

the true, the pure, the immutable.

Your love requires two

to slip through the ropes,

One to emerge ... Victorious!

O child of God, bid the world farewell

and see the compassion upon which it is built.

This rare mingling (from A Jewel in the Dust)

2012-02-03T16:00:00.000-08:00

This rare mingling

From a child’s downed back

sprouted wings of loneliness –

propelling me, through a lifetime

of distances,

randomly and erratically, to You.

Your stone brought me down –

wrestling like Jacob with the angel;

feathers dirtied, wine-stained;

collapsed upon the tavern floor.

Fiercely embracing You,

loneliness fled in a wash of tears.

After much doting and fussing –

my Companion whispered,

“Drink deeply this rare mingling of dust and wine.

Drink to honor your loneliness ....

It has led you to the threshold of God.”

O child of God, existence was built upon

the loneliness of the One without a second.

2012-02-03T15:43:00.001-08:00

Bread and wine (from The Garden of Surrender)

2012-01-31T14:21:00.001-08:00

Bread and wine

O Beloved, speak to me now.

Your words have become my bread.

Pour the wine.

I am Your son and I thirst.

The river is flowing, inside and out, and I am bewildered.

Soothe me with Your fingertips and fragrant rose-balm.

My restless heart wounds itself on the ribs of its cage.

O Beloved, offer the silence of quenched desire.

I asked for words and received Your haunting melody

and a wine-soaked poem that won’t translate

into any language.

Your voice sounds in the dark confines of the human heart.

Wine spills from its trembling vessel and drowns my thirst.

O child of God, rejoice in the wordless poetry of your Beloved;

the bread and wine that draws you each moment

ever closer to Him.

Where my heart used to be (Unpublished)

2012-01-31T14:15:00.000-08:00

Where my heart used to be

You left a ruby where my heart used to be.

There’s a fire inside that stone.

Now the world is a busy dream

on the periphery of its hard lucidity.

Now its heat and glow

is the gauge of my every endeavor.

The myriad paths of my calculations

peter out into sunlit fields and green woods;

wires cross and sputter; mechanisms derail.

Cause and effect – hoisted on their own petard.

The balladeer is a drunkard and a romantic,

yet, when he stumbles and injures himself,

he remains thoroughly intoxicated,

his Dulcinea ever more pure and wieldy.

Just so, the fire in the stone

draws my prodigal heart –

for what would deter it?

In joy, I burn. In suffering, I burn.

O child of God, nurture the flame within.

This burning is the foot path to liberation.

Brian Darnell -- Book signing for A Jewel in the Dust, November 12, 2011 at Sheriar Bookstore

2012-01-31T14:08:00.001-08:00

Song link -- Where would I be?

2012-01-28T11:50:00.000-08:00

Where would I be

One day to blur (from A Jewel in the Dust)

2012-01-26T19:26:00.000-08:00

One day to blur

There are all sorts of theories about You.

I don’t know what to believe.

So, long ago, I stopped believing –

beyond belief ... beyond disbelief.

Rain falls and I don gear to keep me dry.

Where is opinion and belief in that?

Mortar holds the bricks together.

Oil lubricates the mechanisms.

The eightfold path – a photo taken from space;

no conjectures there.

I take my Beloved for granted.

Didn’t He promise – He is always with me?

O pilgrims, I am a raindrop one day to blur into the Ocean.

My opinion is, my opinion is of little consequence –

using what works and discarding what fails,

I find my Beloved closer than the vein in my neck.

O child of God, drop that six foot pole,

sink to the bottom to find out where you are.

On parting (Unpublished)

2012-01-26T19:21:00.000-08:00

On parting

We wish each other the best ... but, really,

what might we hope for one another?

Our itinerant Lord, from the new life’s path,

spoke of hopelessness.

I begin to catch His drift,

many hopes and partings later.

To believe in Benevolence Eternal

is to eschew hope, to shake the dust

from our sandals every step,

tendering the apples of our eyes –

what our Lord tenders ... hopeless love –

not a thought for ourselves ...

or others – hopeless love!

No prayers but praise for the One

whose totality of Love and Mercy

allows not hope’s grip nor foothold.

O child of God, timid hearts hope.

The brave-hearted love ... regardless of outcome.

2012-01-26T19:14:00.001-08:00

Song link -- All the difference

2012-01-21T15:58:00.000-08:00

All the difference

Empty bowl (Unpublished)

2012-01-21T06:28:00.000-08:00

Empty bowl

With begging bowl, I roamed the streets,

unaware of the jewel sewn into my garment’s hem.

During my incarceration, You baked me a cake,

folding into the sweet batter a serrated file.

You showed me how my bowl might be used

as a chalice ... or as a ghamela

carting away stones of the wall

continuously being dismantled between us,

scattering them in the barren fields

from which they came.

Later, You turned the bowl upside down

to wear on my head like a crown;

like Quixote tilting with the windmills.

How great is the jewel of Your compassion!

Each moment the river deposits

it’s thick effulgence at the door of my hovel.

I have only to step outside to stake my claim.

I have only to position my bowl under the spigot of God.

O child of God, beware of the illusion of poverty.

Nothing is worth more ... or less ... than your empty bowl.

2012-01-21T06:26:00.001-08:00

Extraordinary forms (from A Jewel in the Dust)

2012-01-16T14:32:00.000-08:00

Extraordinary forms

So many masters in the world

promising liberation. I belong to the One

Who declared Himself

liberated from all promises.

Down to the bitter dregs,

now the real work begins.

Nostalgic for that moonlit garden;

the fragrance of His sanctuary ...

but, the artist sculpts in a studio,

far from the garden’s pedestal;

no slaughterhouse in a field of lilies,

nor butcher’s table beneath the pergola.

Love takes extraordinary forms –

disillusionment, grief, chaos, despair.

He gives us fair warning –

not for the weak, nor the faint-hearted.

O child of God, the One Who seems so far away,

is at your elbow, sword in hand.

Don't circle me (Unpublished)

2012-01-16T14:30:00.001-08:00

Don’t circle me

I’m a moth caught on fire.

Don’t circle me.

I’m a moon whose silver is stolen

from a hidden sun.

Don’t circle me.

I’m not the proof. I’m circumstantial evidence.

I’m a dancer who left the ritual

to circle a greater periphery,

to listen to a more distant tune.

The Maypole is back yonder.

Don’t circle me.

But, I can stand in the witness chair;

point to the One who made me like this.

I can reflect His gold-red majesty,

the raging furnace of His Being.

I can show the dirty hands that helped

roust Him up the hill to Calvary.

I can point to the Hub, again and again,

standing apart from the spinning crowd

and answer His beneficence

with all the grace, art and passion I can muster.

O child of God, Meher gives you the Light

no darkness can dispel.

2012-01-16T14:29:00.001-08:00

Spinning tales (from A Jewel in the Dust)

2012-01-11T17:19:00.000-08:00

Spinning tales

I hadn’t a clue – so You scattered a few about –

sandal prints under my windows;

sacred threads snagged in the hedgerow;

Your blood staining the cross within my chest.

People wonder why I go on about this!

It’s ancient history, they say.

I’m like the angler whose trophy fish is mounted

above the mantle –

I can’t stop spinning tales about it!

Especially when Your wine gets me drunk

and I feel again the excitement of finding You

on the end of my line.

Gone forever -- the despair of empty nets

pulled again and again from the sea of illusion.

My nets are bursting now, my vessel in danger of sinking

under the weight of Your bounty.

Jesus must have smiled when I turned down Your street –

He’d sent me that way years ago looking for You.

O child of God, the Avatar is the fisher of men.

It’s His hook causing that pain in your chest.

Lukewarm water (from A Jewel in the Dust)

2012-01-11T17:17:00.000-08:00

Lukewarm water

I once owned a tea set

of great delicacy and beauty.

Over the years, it became chipped,

stained, cracked and broken …

and there were episodes of destructive rage,

so that when You turned up at my door,

asking if You might trouble me

for a spot of tea,

all I had to offer,

in my extreme poverty,

was lukewarm water served in the cup of my palms.

You accepted my gift and I became Your slave.

O child of God, lament not your recklessness and ignorance.

Had you been prepared, His lips might never

have touched your fingertips.

Song link -- Don't let go of my hand

2012-01-06T18:17:00.000-08:00

Don't let go of my hand

Journey of constant failures (from A Jewel in the Dust)

2012-01-04T18:06:00.000-08:00

Journey of constant failures

Is this a straitjacket ...

or swaddling clothes?

the fruit immature ...

or rotten to the core?

This journey of constant failures –

a teaching story or a grinding wheel?

Should I try leaping across the river

or kneel on the bank and pray for angel wings?

Abraham whispered to his son, “I am an instrument.

I don’t know where my hands end and God’s begin.”

Suppose Isaac answered, “Everyone lives and dies

by the hands of God.

How fortunate if my last glimpse of this world

is the light in my father’s eyes –

“the light in the eyes of Love’s perfect slave.

Both under the knife, we have placed whatever we are

on our Father’s offering stone.

“Let us help each other now keep our appointments,

trusting to the benevolence

of That Which Is approachable only by dissolution,

sacrifice and utter surrender.”

O child of God, how did you ever come to the notion

that your life and death belong to you?

2012-01-04T18:01:00.001-08:00

The lost language (Unpublished)

2012-01-04T18:00:00.000-08:00

The lost language

You had Your chance

to speak but, held Your peace –

perhaps, because only a handful

understood Your language.

Later, Your silence became Gautama’s flower;

a sand grain, a moon and stars’ silence;

the noiseless marrow of our bones;

the pause between heartbeats;

the silence of the backs of our hands,

the napes of our necks –

a silence wrapped in dust; the kernel of the grain;

the hollowness in the horn of plenty.

You had Your chance to speak –

and Your Word flooded the planes,

reaching the smallest, most turbulent and severe

of all our dry places; sated the heart

and began our re-acquaintance

with the lost language of God.

O child of God, His dialogue, is continuous and pervasive,

how could you ever feel beyond its range?

Link to song -- Tonight

2011-12-24T16:11:00.000-08:00

Tonight

I love love best (Unpublished)

2011-12-24T07:31:00.000-08:00

I love love best

Gratitude roams the heart’s ruin –

the scales have tipped In Your favor.

I’ve an urge to run through the streets

shouting Your name.

Instead, I kneel and slowly burn.

Dawn bears the same fire on the eastern mullions.

It’s not so much that You love me

but that You give me love to give ...

more and more, more and more

and still yet more.

I know nothing of worthiness, except ...

it has everything and nothing to do with love!

O reader! What might we discuss

that you and I don’t already know?

Like the elephant in the dark –

everything is true at once!

I love love best as a fire in the chest – silently longing

for the whole house to become ash and cinder.

O child of God, what is there to say?

You are bewildered – inside and out.

Love is a Lion (from A Jewel in the Dust)

2011-12-24T07:25:00.001-08:00

Love is a Lion

O pilgrim, you ask for illumination.

But why give a lantern to a blind man?

Give your hand to the Godman.

Grow accustomed to His gait.

Truth eludes your half-hearted steps.

Dark is the path ahead. Yes, faith is blind --

but, prick up your ears! Lick your thumb!

Follow that lingering scent of purity!

He was silent for a lifetime.

You keep silent now.

Or say the Name which leads to silence,

the Name of the Silent One, Meher Baba.

O child of God, You want to hold love

in your lap like a kitten. But, Love is a Lion.

2011-12-24T07:24:00.001-08:00

Utter stillness (from A Jewel in the Dust)

2011-12-21T16:15:00.000-08:00

Utter stillness

I have always adopted, in this human dilemma,

the rational approach,

but, secretly, I long for a love that makes no sense.

My every motive is self-preservation,

while my heart’s wings propel me, inexorably,

toward oblivion.

Let those royal falcons build their nests

in the clefts and crags of Your holy mountain.

I want only to throw myself over the edge.

Let them haunt the rugged peaks.

My fate is farther down the slope,

where Your ocean swallows me.

Below that rugged exterior lie

the quiet disintegration and utter stillness I crave.

O child of God, your longing is romantic and self-serving.

When will you see yourself as you really are?

The Qutub (from A Jewel in the Dust)

2011-12-21T16:13:00.001-08:00

The Qutub

Hafiz endured a trial beyond human bounds

to win the hand of Shakh-i-Nabat.

Yet, while gazing upon Gabriel, her name

got lost on the way to his mouth.

I want to be guilty of that kind of infidelity.

Abraham made a similar choice, leading Isaac

up into the mountains.

On the mere rumor of such an attainment,

Sakyamuni abdicated his throne.

Listen to me ... or let your mind wander

when these verses are recited,

but, if ever I fall silent, prick up your ears –

it means the Beloved has entered the room.

He leans in the doorway and nothing remains

unmoved – everything is all about Him.

Imagine how that’s true for the whole of creation –

the Qutub draws a newborn’s breath

and the wheel of Illusion realigns itself,

scattered souls instantly energized, attracted

and patterned toward the Hub.

That would explain this irresistible turning

of my head and heart toward You, my Lord.

O child of God, pray you stop loving your Lord ...

to become your Lord -- to become Love Itself.

2011-12-21T16:06:00.001-08:00

Ellora (Unpublished)

2011-12-18T10:12:00.001-08:00

Ellora

At Ellora, they started with a stone hillside;

carved out everything that wasn’t a temple.

A poem should be like that –

from a vast vocabulary, an eliminating

of words unconnected to one other

until the secret combination is found,

unlocking glimpses of Oneness, the inter-connection.

Words that tremble and hum

when placed together

belong to the realm of the Infinite.

The truth of a poem is in its transparency –

columns of words, sturdy as stone ... clear as glass.

O Lord, take my life. Make a poem from it –

chip away the awkward, the unrelated, the oblique,

the dissonant and obscure. Leave me ...

sturdy, connected, crucial and transparent.

O child of God, the Masters say Truth is not

an accumulation of wisdom but a paring away of the false.

Life's accumulations (from The Garden of Surrender)

2011-12-18T10:07:00.000-08:00

Life’s accumulations

O Beloved, the intellectuals among us

probe Your every word, seeking hidden compartments.

I wish them well.

For many years I tried soaking up the Ocean through

the sponge of my brain.

Now I’m afraid Your wine has seriously impaired

my cerebral abilities.

Spouting ingenious theories of God and man,

Your wave rolled in and left me gasping for air.

What’s a few consonants strung with vowels,

when the Ocean floods the lowlands and carries Your life’s

accumulations out to sea?

Where is sure footing in fathomless water?

Which directions matter when all I see is Ocean?

What is there to do now but float face up and wonder

what You have in mind for the rest of my life?

O child of God, words of the Avatar are like bread to his lovers

but it’s the Master’s wine that soaks you head to foot.

2011-12-18T10:06:00.001-08:00

Song -- Love changes everything

2011-12-17T15:25:00.000-08:00

Love changes everything

Elephant shapes (from A Jewel in the Dust)

2011-12-14T16:51:00.001-08:00

Elephant shapes

This spinning earth from time to time,

may turn my head

but, I dare not long neglect my duties –

too many who depend on me, eyes uncertain asking –

How are things on your side? Any news from up river?

Father shuffling toward another death,

mother befuddled with fear;

loved ones sent out daily to gather

fresh greens in abandoned minefields.

Whistle while you work, my Beloved advises,

but, keep digging.

The stench of death is on the breeze;

crocodiles at the watering hole,

only their eyes visible above the surface.

I keep an ear to the rail; gleaning

what I can from the shimmering air –

for my own files, of course,

but also, for loved ones

who keep asking for the truth

of rescue and escape.

I’ve little time left for puttering about,

pursuing pleasure,

arguing in the dark over elephant shapes.

O child of God, everything is in His hands and yet,

there’s much work to be done before winter sets in.

Wild goose (from A Jewel in the Dust)

2011-12-14T16:47:00.000-08:00

Wild goose 
                                                                                         
I once had a future.  I gave it up
to pursue the ghost of love.

Your fault, my Dear.  
You’re the wild goose I chase. 

What’s to be done, when a flirtation
          becomes an obsession?
Pray for me, people of the world,

from your various rows and pews,
          prayer rugs and tatamis.
I’m lost data that can’t be retrieved.

O Beloved, You know my complaints are just love-patter
to draw Your ear closer to my hungry lips.

O child of God, remembrance is a method of liberation.
You can’t seem to get the Beloved out of your head.

2011-12-14T16:37:00.001-08:00

Rose from the ruins (from A Jewel in the Dust)

2011-12-11T13:59:00.000-08:00

Rose from the ruins

Did you hear about the fellow who swallowed the moon?

Don’t be silly. He didn’t swallow the moon -- it grew inside Him,

from a seed, there from the beginning – dark when new,

but after a time, waxing too large to hide.

Each time He opened His mouth, a wondrous light

appeared.

He decided to keep His mouth shut – for the sake

of everyone involved.

But the moon shone through His tousled hair,

the pores of His skin,

within the deep pools of His eyes.

He trailed moon dust everywhere He went.

And when the shell of His body broke under the strain,

the moon escaped, rose from the ruins

and graced the tender sky above His Tomb.

Now His lovers are known as lunatics,

who invite the world to join in their madness!

O child of God, if your Beloved is Who He says He is,

He’ll be around long after the moon has passed away.

Reading the label (from A Jewel in the Dust)

2011-12-11T13:58:00.000-08:00

Reading the label

The mystery can’t be put into words

but it can be written in blood;

shaped by the arrangement

of certain human bones.

Truth walked the earth; took in the view –

It’s rambunctious body upsetting the bullock cart –

pulses aflutter;

necks craned and blushing,

ears pricked up; heart-throats,

long empty, suddenly filled with song.

The blood of Jesus is precious

because it runs thick with the mystery of Love.

Reaching for Your garment –

(when You wore Your Jesus robe)

the infirm woman needed not scripture ...

but the soul-stirring presence of the Soul of souls

moving majestically through the pressing crowd.

O child of God, please understand – reading

the wine bottle’s label will never make you drunk.

Brian Darnell -- Book signing for A Jewel in the Dust, November 12, 2011 at Sheriar Bookstore

2011-12-08T15:20:00.000-08:00

Nonetheless (from A Jewel in the Dust)

2011-12-08T15:16:00.001-08:00

Nonetheless

Liberation? You offer servitude.

Attainment? Lowliness.

Empowerment? Helplessness.

Purity and bliss? Ghamela yoga:

pain, grime, exhaustion –

ground to dust under Your heel.

You drive a hard bargain, Sir! What sort

of fools signs up for that tour of duty?

Pilate thought to wash his hands of Jesus.

You make sure we get ours dirty –

graves deeply dug; Your garment’s hem

muddied and twisted in our fists.

Desperate, prodigal and impaired? Yes.

Apprehensive and imprudent? Yes ...

nonetheless, I love and am slave

of the Slave of the love of His lovers.

O child of God, servitude? You bleat

at each pinch of the fetters, each tug of the chain.

My heart's beatings (from A Jewel in the Dust)

2011-12-08T15:14:00.000-08:00

My heart’s beatings

I swallowed Your wine,

causing me to dance in the streets;

letting my heart slip out a bit

from under the heel of my brain –

the caravanserai licensed again

to traffic in the goods of companionship.

Your wine sings in my blood, years later,

not with the rough immediacy of tavern songs

but with the hymns and psalmodies of praise,

an influence to my every movement,

a blood-part of me, the strength of me,

the heaven’s sake of my heart’s beatings.

When this cup is crushed, when my blood is dust,

(judging the Infinite from the particular), I pray

Your wine will sing through me still,

filling my veins and throat, core and skull

with Your wine and light and song

on my wondrous way to becoming You.

O child of God, wine loosens your tongue and sends you

rambling beyond the bounds of propriety.

2011-12-08T15:11:00.001-08:00

Song -- One more cup (from Ghamela Yoga CD)

2011-12-01T13:29:00.000-08:00

One more cup

Heart of mine (from A Jewel in the Dust)

2011-12-01T13:25:00.000-08:00

Heart of mine

Heart of mine, be a dark rose

pleasing in scent and shade;

an anchor around which

my puttering boat circles;

a house left to seed, wisteria

growing through every crack;

the fruit of a cactus,

a beast of burden, caked with sweat and dust;

a banked fire under soil and snow,

a valley floor below the mountain ridges;

heart of mine, become a flame

to devour this crumbling dream of self.

O child of God, you belong to the Beloved,

Who will shape your heart as He pleases.

The burden of Love (from The Garden of Surrender)

2011-12-01T13:22:00.000-08:00

The burden of Love

O Beloved, You say God is Love.

Before I met You, I had trouble believing in God.

You know the story –

How can God exist with so much suffering in the world?

so much cruelty and injustice – with death separating us all in the end?

But after many years with You, my question is:

How can there not be a God?

With so much suffering, injustice, cruelty and death?

How can there not be God to ultimately balance the scales of Justice,

to restore Love and Mercy, to reunite us with all the loved ones

we have so innocently lost?

The doubters say religion is a crutch, but I ask them,

‘Who do you know who is not crippled?

Show me one heart that has not borne the burden of Love.’

O Beloved, I believe in the Eternal because You became flesh.

When the body of Zarathushtra was discarded, You entered

the Sacred Flame.

After Rama and Krishna, You blended into the totality of existence.

At the appointed hour, Buddha ate the mushrooms and disappeared into

Nothingness.

Mohammed flew to Paradise; Jesus ascended into Heaven

This time, as Meher Baba, You dropped Your perfect body only

to reappear within the human heart.

How much closer to us has this incarnation brought You!

O child of God, Jesus is not hiding somewhere behind the moon.

His sandals can be found outside the door of every humble heart.

2011-12-01T13:21:00.000-08:00

True disciple (from A Jewel in the Dust)

2011-11-25T06:41:00.001-08:00

True disciple

They didn’t know You from Adam –

those who hanged You from a cross,

but Thomas fingered Your wounds,

made sure You were

Who You said You were.

I would touch Your wounds, Lord ... if I might,

to know the depths of Your sacrifice,

thrust my hand into Your side –

to explore the nature

of Your compassion and surrender,

but I haven’t the heart of a true disciple.

I garland Your stone, praise You

to high heaven, endure

the small prices You ask me to pay ...

You, knowing and forgiving the fragility

and cowardice of a heart so shallowly pledged.

That’s why we call You Father of Mercy.

O child of God, ... whosoever will, let him come

and take freely the water of Life.

Garment of leaves (from A Jewel in the Dust)

2011-11-25T06:38:00.001-08:00

Garment of leaves

Heart like an apple core –

that’s where the seeds are.

People take you for a lunatic

but it’s just the inner thunder

giving you that far away look,

(as Adam must have looked,

gazing back across the garden pale),

impeding nimble strides and coherent speech.

What’s a man’s gait anyway,

but a limping away from his destiny?

Or smooth talk if his seeds are stone?

The crooked path he follows

can only lead back to where he began –

the garden in the chest.

It’s all there in the core – root, leaf, bark, fruit;

soil, water, sky. Time makes us think

the apple in our hand is ripe and ready

to sink our teeth into.

O child of God, shed that garment of leaves.

Venture naked into the new world.

2011-11-25T06:36:00.001-08:00

'Til spring (from A Jewel in the Dust)

2011-11-24T15:23:00.000-08:00

‘Til spring

I thought wine was the gift, so I complained

when the intoxication wore off.

Now I find seedlings of Your mercy

scattered everywhere –

roses along the spine, their scent,

years later, reaching my nostrils

and the still, quiet pool beneath my ribs,

the grassy meadows, the web of rills.

I’d packed for a long journey. You motioned

for me to set down my bags

and share one last cup.

Becoming inconsolable, drunk and unruly,

the taxi left without me.

You led me back inside.

There’s a garden in my chest

and You’ve invited me to stick around ‘til spring.

O child of God, whatever the Beloved has planned for you,

be sure it’s nothing like what you imagine.

Song -- Someone like You (with Beverly Smith and Carl Jones)

2011-11-23T15:39:00.000-08:00

02 Someone like You

Darkness gathers (from A Jewel in the Dust)

2011-11-23T15:33:00.000-08:00

Darkness gathers

I used to panic not feeling Your touch,

but now I know – You’re only adjusting Your grip.

You have Your hand on me!

That’s the rare kernel of this odd, random life;

my comfort in this dreamscape

of impairment, bewilderment and fear.

I’ve gladly forked over all my cash.

The truth will come out in the end.

Someone will be by to collect my ticket.

I’ll give him the one You purchased.

Authorities will ask for my papers.

We’ll find out who I really am.

Darkness gathers as the train hurtles

toward the outer provinces;

the cold sharpens; tongues become stranger

and more raucous.

I panic when I get the notion I’m a lone traveler.

I don’t know where I’m going! But Your valise is by the window.

Your scent lingers in the narrow compartment.

You’ve just stepped out for a bit of air.

O child of God, you want freedom from pain.

Love is an acid that dissolves everything you hold dear.

Crossroads (from A Jewel in the Dust)

2011-11-23T15:24:00.000-08:00

Crossroads

A drop in the ocean exists only

when removed abstractly from its milieu;

then we may put it under a microscope –

assign it innocence or guilt.

At the crossroads of a dreamscape,

which way is valid? East or west? North or south?

Of what use is an elaborate tea ceremony,

if the drinking water is contaminated?

Truth concerns not Itself with choices.

Eruch said, ‘True love is no sacrifice.’

Suppose Abraham’s terrible freedom

was established in the raising of his knife;

Isaac’s freedom in the trust of his father --

one surrender tucked securely within the other.

And perhaps there was another mutual surrendering --

beyond imagination and conception,

union requiring some sort of reciprocal dissolution --

the illusory drop absorbed into the oceanic whole.

O child of God, free will is cutting you to bits.

Only those who have no choice are free.

2011-11-23T15:22:00.000-08:00

Song -- Spirit and the Bride (with Beverly Smith and Carl Jones)

2011-11-23T10:40:00.000-08:00

01 Spirit and the Bride

Song -- Thank You, Lord

2011-11-22T14:54:00.000-08:00

Thank You, Lord

Book signing at Sheriar Books November 12, 2011

2011-11-21T13:33:00.000-08:00

The good thief (from The Garden of Surrender)

2011-11-19T12:55:00.001-08:00

The good thief

On Judgment Day, who will your theories

and opinions impress?

O child of God, will you stand before the throne

as a devout believer or as a man of faith?

Beliefs are straw a desperate man stuffs into a suit of rags,

hoping to keep at bay his dark, circling fears.

A man of faith is empty. His strength comes from another source.

His coat flutters loosely from the crossbeam.

The Roman soldiers gambled for Jesus’ robe

while the real treasure hung nearby, naked and vulnerable.

From another cross, the unrepentant thief railed against heaven

with a bitter tongue.

His logical assertions condemned him to hell.

But, at the last possible moment, the good thief stole paradise.

He called out to his Beloved from a point of utter helplessness.

O child of God, will you go to your Beloved stuffed with worthless notions

or become a man of faith, empty and unafraid?

A house for starlings (from A Jewel in the Dust)

2011-11-19T11:11:00.000-08:00

A house for starlings

Bit by bit, my love grows –

through the stone, thorns and tangle.

Spellbound by the moon

in the lake, I can’t lift my eyes

toward the true moon,

but I feel it in my blood.

By the way ... those stains

on Your sadra, are they wine ... or blood?

You brought out a rare vintage,

then shattered the bottle with the hilt of Your sword.

Grapes must be crushed before wine

can be served in long-stemmed glasses.

Thread is twisted and pushed through a needle’s eye –

now the mending can begin.

Once the gourd is hollow, it proves useful –

a musical instrument, a dipper at the well,

a house for starlings ....

O child of God, it’s a process and a journey.

Impatient one, you are right on track.

A mutual sobriety (from A Jewel in the Dust)

2011-11-19T07:44:00.000-08:00

A mutual sobriety

Ages ago I was stone. You began

shaping me into a human being.

With that same great chisel and hammer,

I’m now being reduced to dust.

O Lord, it’s hard sometimes, to keep my chin up

under the rain of Your blows.

We have to stop meeting like this!

A few hours of carousing –

I’m hung-over, despondent for weeks.

This morning, I found

bits of clarity at the bottom of my cup –

I have no right to desire,

nor should I expect to stumble through

every hour, drunk on Your bliss.

We have work to do

that demands a mutual sobriety.

You, the sculptor with Your careful dismantling;

me, the stone – holding steady.

O child of God, the Beloved serves His wine

for medicinal purposes only.

His hammer blows chisel away the false.