Childish
things
Maybe
we’ve outgrown our playthings;
the
borders of our fenced-in yard.
Maybe
our tastebuds have grown stale
with
sweetness, our treats no longer a treat.
The
swing in the backyard goes
back
and forth, up and down.
Our
stick horse takes us round and round,
round
and round – and we end up nowhere.
We
hesitate to try the latch on the gate
to
seek a new adventure.
This
is the only world we’ve ever known.
Everything
else is just a rumor.
Safer
to return again and again
to
our familiarities;
to
try to squeeze from our weathered toys
new
bits of joy and enchantment.
O
child, perhaps it is time (as the scriptures say)
to put away childish things –
to
step beyond the boundaries of your known world.
God
only knows
I
sign my poems child of God
having
no idea Who my Father is,
a
gnawing mystery all these years
and
yet, the one question
that
affords me purpose.
The
truth of God, I hope,
is
also the truth of me.
Meher
in His silence stated
He
is God in human form
and
that I, too, am God in human form.
Yet,
I am fated in this lifetime to ask
questions
that have no answers –
then,
ending each poem by declaring myself,
quite
boldly, a child of God.
O
child, o child! Round and round you go;
where you’ll stop,
God only knows.
Veins of ivy
You begin to long for a home you never had,
not know where home is, nor in what direction.
When the sun lifts from the ocean, there comes a moment
of parting –
from the blue depths to the pure white sky.
Veins of ivy cling to stones no longer visible.
This tender green wall is not what it seems.
Onward, weary traveler. Let
your heart sustain you.
Not your heart but His heart inside yours.
Let whatever rain my come, settle the dust,
scrub clean the
sky.
You’ve arrived at the last outpost. From here you continue
on foot.
Take heart.
There are markers along the way.
O child of God, dangers of the path are within,
as familiar as the veins in your hand.
The
Origin
When
you turn to face your Beloved,
it
is not to the right or left,
it’s
to the inside or out –
the
Tomb on the Hill
or
the tomb in your chest?
A
pinch of dhuni ash or the burnt remains
of
your smoldering heart?
What
a strange, obsessive adventure!
I
can’t remember when or where it began
or
foresee when or where it will end,
(Has
it been forty years . . .
or
forty thousand years?)
but
I have found the Friend
Who
accompanies me every moment
because
He and I are One and we shall
be
together until my self is no more.
O
child of God, turn towards the Origin
and
away from the Illusion of life and individuality.
