The malady of loneliness

The malady of loneliness                                                            

Alone with my thoughts providing

distractions and entertainments

to keep a rendezvous at bay.  Thoughts

creating the shell encircling a vulnerable ego.

We inhabit, perhaps, the same house but, lost in thought,

I never cross paths with my Companion,

(evidenced only by wistful glimpses, residual clues). 

Am I truly alone within this odd, familiar structure?

Fear keeps me from exploring the premises.

I take, instead, to the streets

or hole myself up in my fiction-lined attic.

I’m free to entertain, of course –

friends in the parlor, spooners on the porch,

lovers in the rooms upstairs, but, to uncover

whether or not I am truly alone,

I must descend into the dank bowels,

near to the crumbling foundations,

and in that darkling place, kindle a lonely flame

to expose or not, the cornered face

of my Beloved, my Companion.

O child of God!  For the malady of loneliness,

solitude is the only possible cure.

Love to love

Love to love

The Godman lives in two worlds; walks the razor's edge;
offers slavery and liberation.
Pledge your love to Meher -- love to Love thus pledge.

The fetters of devotion embody a sortilege
of freedom beyond imagination.
The Godman lives in two worlds; walks the razor's edge,

sharpening the fates of men and so the arrows fledge
for love's conflagration.
Pledge your love to Meher -- love to Love thus pledge.

Horse and rider one day beyond their safe menege,
through discipline find emancipation.
The Godman lives in two worlds; walks the razor's edge.

Effort moves the vessel homeward; tug the sunken kedge.
By His grace reach your destination.
Pledge your love to Meher -- love to Love thus pledge.

At the funeral of the self thus join the glad cortege.
Dance your way into exaltation!
The Godman lives in two worlds; walks the razor's edge.
Pledge your love to Meher -- love to Love thus pledge.

                                 (Unpublished)

Savored love

Savored love                                                                                  

I forgot that Love existed, Morrison sang.

When God reminds you of Who He Is,

no glib retort comes to mind. 

A cry of some sort might escape your lips

as your heart tries to leap from your chest. 

You wonder how your legs can carry the weight,

if your brain will ever jump back into gear,

when you remember; when you remember;

when your heart remembers – Love exists.

And if God is Love, Love is God.

The Almighty, as a concept, might be elusive –  

but, we’ve all savored love

and the deeper we’ve drawn from the well

the more precious and purer

we’ve found the water.  Debris brushed aside,

the heart begins to flow again

as a living source.  When Love is remembered –

profoundly remembered – existence is bathed anew

in the light and sheen

of pristine Truth and infinite possibilities.

O child of God, again and again we are returned

to our lost and forgotten heritage.

Taken with You

Taken with You                                                                             

You took me, Lord, to a place inside myself

where I’d never been before.  You took me –

and I’ve been taken with You ever since.

I picked up a copy of Your book

and I can’t put it down, wondering how it turns out,

how all the characters and plot-lines

tie together and reconcile.

You stuck to me like fly paper to some

comedic schmuck in the silent movies –

making an enraged fool of myself.

I can’t pry You loose.

I can’t get to the bottom of You.

You took me – and I can’t shake You

even as I tremble and waver

and pitch my prodigious fits.  You took me –

and I’ve been taken with You ever since.

O child of God, allow Your Beloved the last dance

and then allow Him to take you home.

Where do I go?

Where do I go?                                                                               

Where do I go to get my innocence back?

O fresh-cheeked, joyous, clear-eyed boy!

Shall I break the news to you? 

I sold you out – ages ago, for shining trifles. 

 

Innocence strewn and squandered,

compliance wheedled and coaxed –

secret indulgences, anonymous compromises,

a whisper and a hope and all for love;

all for love but, I lacked the courage.

Beaten up, pasted over, trampled under,

I betrayed you and failed you and here you are again,

forgiving me, begging me to come clean.

I have no promises to make. It will take courage;

all the courage I never had –

the countless moments of truth

that came and went and found me wanting.

Where do I go to find that courage?

To get my innocence back? 

Here, said my Beloved. 

Come here.  Come to Me.

O child of God, your pretenses worn threadbare,

let your humble, homely truth shine through.

Head over heels

Head over heels                                                                            

To indicate the effect breaking His silence

would have upon the world,

Meher Baba once cupped His hands

to form a globe and then, deftly, flipped it over.

Why shouldn’t I believe Him?

Secure within the predictable

and familiar orbits and juxtapositions

of various touchstones and landmarks,

well-accustomed to the daunting pattern

of stars spinning above my head,

the dependable earth beneath my feet,

my Lord, mercifully, upended my world,

set me upon a path through foreign territory –

everything new, strange and oddly out of whack.

Even today, years later, whenever I come close

to regaining my equilibrium, re-acquiring my bearings,

with a swift sweep of His hand, He clears the playing board.

He once formed a globe with His hands and then, flipped it.

Upside down, someone said, interpreting the gesture.

No, He wryly corrected.  Right side up!

O child of God, celebrate the moment you fell

head over heels in love with your Beloved.

                              

My story

My story                                                                                          

My story, my song, let me praise my Creator

all the day long; constant, deeper and deeply

in love with the depths and intricacies of the story;

praise to its Author, receiving His assurance, most blessed.

Let surrender become a way of life,

life becoming praise – walking, talking,

living, breathing exaltation!

God created Existence for each one of us! 

Separately unfolding before our senses.

This is my holy moment under the sun,

my incredibly crooked story, my off-beat,

out of kilter song, a gift from God! 

Awed and humbled, marveling in the joy,

enduring the suffering and returning praise –

the one gift I might offer God and fetch

the closing words, last page, final chapter.

O child of God, love the Story-teller and love the story

without attachment to outcomes, trajectories and purpose.

Jesus in disguise

Jesus in disguise

'They are all Jesus in disguise',
Mother Teresa said.
Let love unveil your eyes.

The streets echo their anguished cries.
The diseased, the dying the dead --
'they are all Jesus in disguise'.

No sin or ignorance justifies
the sacred blood they've shed.
Let love unveil your eyes.

Those grieving and agonized
suffer His fate in our stead --
'they are all Jesus in disguise'.

This realm eternally crucifies
His flesh of wine and bread --
let love unveil your eyes.

Those I will cast out no wise
for whom the Father's pled.
'They are all Jesus in disguise'.
Let love unveil your eyes.

                 (Unpublished)

                                                 Drawing by Rich Panico