The
Original Whim
After
a perfect sweeping and raking
of
the ornamental garden the old Zen monk
shakes
the limb of a slender maple tree until
a
few of its scarlet leaves fall upon the sand.
I
scroll across a video ad of two beautiful couples
in
an outdoor setting sharing a laugh together
and
sipping dark red wine. The video is AI –
perfect,
pristine and phony.
We
want our lives to be perfect,
often
to a point approaching farce.
That
sort of perfection is not for us mere mortals.
Life
is change, growth, discomfort and decay.
Perfection
is static. Perhaps the Original Whim
was
for God to free Himself
from
His own eternal Perfection;
to
shake Himself out of His habitual Exactitude,
to
know and witness Himself bit by bit
in
all His infinite aspects and permutations.
O
child of God, life is not a pond, it’s a river.
And God is the
infinite Ocean of Existence.
Abiding
innocence
I
know now that I loved Jesus
before
I heard His name
which
came to me as a recognition
rather
than an introduction.
Innocence
is a state of unconscious surrender.
It’s
the opposite of ignorance – a deeper understanding.
The
mind over a lifetime tends to become hardened
and
haunted while the heart remains unaffected.
Its
purity prompts the shaming of the mind.
I
loved Jesus as a child and Meher as a man
and
I know intimately now the illusion of time
and
the reality of abiding innocence.
O
child of God, embrace your true self
and return to the
purity of your birth.
My
gravestone
I
don’t mind being old.
It
makes me feel nearer to God,
although
death may come to anyone at any time.
The
door to the afterlife is always open
and
leads to a roundabout just off the cosmic highway.
I’ll
be back! You could put that on my
gravestone
but
I plan not to have one.
A
gravestone is too confining.
Not
just to one plot but to who I was
and
what I am not – an pile of old bones.
A
gravestone is much too small a tablet
to
carry the details of my long, odd life.
So
put me through the fire, collect
and
scatter my ashes anywhere you like.
Everywhere
and nowhere is home
and
I’ll be back . . . until I won’t be any
more.
O
child of God, escape the wheel of birth and death
and return to your one
and only true conception.
Under
God’s purview
All
shall be well, Julian of Norwich assured us.
And
all manner of things shall be well;
which
means that all things are well
in
the timeless now . . . and always have been,
the
anchoress relinquishing sin’s burden
for
God to shoulder and explicate.
All
our various beliefs confuse only the mind.
They
are reconciled neatly in the heart,
the
true crux of the Divine relationship.
Poets
who are given this heart-truth
try
to put it into verse. Musicians into
song,
sculptors
into stone. Painters onto canvas.
The
saints are given it and try to live by it.
Merwan
was granted it and became the Truth.
O
faithful ones, hurry down to the altar and bow
to
your particular Saviour; confess to Him your heart’s desire.
O
children of God! All manner of things are
well
under God’s purview and
always shall be.
