The
same fire
Become
a dust mote, the Mystics suggest,
or
a flake of ash stirred up
in
the wake of the Beloved’s stride,
just
as the universe is ashes and dust
stirred
up in God’s wake
as
He moves through the Void.
God
is both inside and outside
this
briefly-lighted cinder known as me,
parted
by a thin partition of illusion,
continuously
attempting from both sides
to
reunite and shatter beyond resurrection
the
charlatan between.
O
child of God, you and the stars,
declare the Mystics,
are made of the same fire.
The
real work
For
a number of years, I have been engaged
in
the solving of a large jigsaw puzzle.
When
completed it will contain
no
enduring image, merely
an
empty surface of pure reflection.
My
captivation with this puzzle’s
construction
and solution
lies
not in its ultimate completion
but
in the certitude
that
this is a holy assignment
granted
after a lifetime
of
aimless cross-purposes –
an
ordained inducement to explore
(in
full faith) the underlying truth
and
the hidden-in-plain-sight revelations
of
this puzzle’s mirroring, enigmatic surface.
O
child of God, the real work begins when you
see the futility of
every other move.
God,
God, God, God
Words
of elucidation on one level
tend
to obfuscate meanings on another.
To
say, I love You, God, for example,
might
be translated in a deeper realm
(word
for word) as, God, God, God, God.
O
pilgrim! One day (we are promised),
We
shall ardently, truthfully say,
I
love You, God,
and
know then the truth full well –
that
there is no I and no You.
And
Love is God.
And
God is Love.
O
child, make your every verse
a
psalm to the ancient, holy One.
My
deepest mystery
Don’t
try to understand Me, said my Lord.
Just
as well! After all these years
You
still endure as my deepest mystery
and
thus remain the very source of my faith.
I’ve
never been able to explain You away!
Self-declared
Highest of the High
with
Your love-indentured mandali
and
a worldwide following
bent
upon Your every word and what did You offer?
Forty-four
years of Silence, numerous broken promises,
unkept
appointments and discarded plans.
A
lifetime of teachings (which You insisted
You
hadn’t come for), discourses, formal prayers,
and
the offer of a nothing that might prove
to
be everything. And what did You
in
Your Mastery take upon Yourself?
Servitude,
reclusion, itineracy and pain,
leaving
me to ponder what was Your motive
and
where was Your reward? Whisper
the
answers to me, Lord, at Your leisure
when
my restive mind no longer probes
the
odd, esoteric details of Your Majesty.
O
child of God, seek not explanations
but a wordless
quenching of your every query.
