House of mirrors

House of mirrors                                                                                  

There’s a door at the back of my heart
opening upon a heaven-lit garden –
 
the moon:  the shining bow of a ship
plowing a star-glittered sea.
 
I stumble upon that door occasionally –
(an exit from this house of mirrors)
 
linger at the threshold.   
Your flute-music is on a breeze
 
scented with jasmine and neem.
When the music pauses, I hear a Voice
          calling my name.
 
But, always, always, I turn back
into the depths of my heart
 
where mirror upon mirror reflects
the image of the one I most love.
 
O child of God, how long will this enchantment last?
Find that door again and escape this house of mirrors.

Floating

Floating

You taught Peter to walk on the water --
until fear turned his feet to lead.

Now, You're urging me to float
this concrete body

upon a plane so insubstantial,
not grabbing or flailing;

not reaching back upon the empty
mechanics of swimming,

but lying gently
in the shape of a cross,

drifting towards infinity,
feeling at my neck's nape,

and the small of my back,
Your fingertips ...

until they, too,
dissolve into Ocean.

O child of God, trust the Sea.
Roll with the waves.

Jesus for adults

Jesus for adults                                                                                 

“Suffer the children to come unto Me.”

I was a child when I first heard those words.

‘Suffer’, it was explained to me, means ‘allow’.

Jesus for adults in our church

was the Lamb of God, but to the children

He was the Shepherd and we were His flock.

Later, from Meher, I learned Jesus was not here

to save me from the cross

but to show me the Way to hang,

shouldering that weight for me

as far up the hill as He could get.

Suffering real, unavoidable, bitter as gall,

heavy as those rough-hewn timbers;

sharp as spikes and thorns.

Jesus loved the adults from high on a cross

but He took the children into His arms, heart to heart,

teaching that our love for Him

is as important as His love for us.

O child of God, surrender is the way of liberation.

To suffer means to allow.

Private stock

Private stock                                                                                        

We’re not the kind of drunks who
engage in arguments and fisticuffs;
 
who climb upon tables and loudly hold forth.
We drift to the edges;
 
sink deeply into intoxication;
wonderment holds our tongue.
 
We know when we’ve had enough –
the wall we’re leaning against becomes the floor.
 
We might be coaxed into singing,
cheek to cheek with other drunks,
 
the timbre of some clear
with purity of intent,
 
others raspy from longing
and a lifetime of sorrow.
 
We’re the ones with sodden hearts;
sour breaths; befuddled brains. 
 
If we have a clear thought at all,
it’s how extraordinarily fortunate we are
 
to have found our way to the Tavern and been served
from the Winekeeper’s private stock.
 
O child of God, how rare is this gift of wine?
Few in all the world have ever known its taste.