Saturday, December 24, 2011
I love love best
I love love best
Gratitude roams the ruins of my heart –
tipping the scales 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
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.
(from A Jewel in the Dust)
(from A Jewel in the Dust)
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Utter stillness
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?
(from A Jewel in the Dust)
The Qutub
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.
(from A Jewel in the Dust)
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Ellora
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 elimination
of words unconnected to one another
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 acquisition but a paring away of the false.
Life's accumulations
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.
Saturday, December 17, 2011
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Elephant shapes
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
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,
your prayer rugs and tatamis. I'm lost data that can't be retrieved.
O Beloved, You know my words 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.
Sunday, December 11, 2011
Rose from the ruins
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
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.
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Nonetheless
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
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.
(from A Jewel in the Dust)
(from A Jewel in the Dust)
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Heart of mine
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.
(from A Jewel in the Dust)
(from A Jewel in the Dust)
The burden of Love
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.
Friday, November 25, 2011
True disciple
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
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.
Thursday, November 24, 2011
'Til spring
‘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.
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Darkness gathers
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.
(from A Jewel in the Dust)
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