The Great Given

The Great Given

Until You entered the equation 
God was ever the unknown Variable.

Upon Your silent vow, Impeccable Witness,
God is now the Great Given.  The Great Given.

Has forever been the Great Given --
the Original, Irreducible Indivisible.

But, the problem remains -- how to reach God.
Only when the evidence piles up around our ears

does non-existence become a possibility.
When the spectrum through the glass

is strained into one explosive point,
when delight becomes distraction,

insight -- impediment; conclusions disallowed,
when every kiss is a sharp, bloody spur

and the analysis not worth the flesh
into which it is seared, then 

the Great Given might appear
in the footlights to sort out

and reclaim a piece of Itself
among the scattered and lost debris.

O child of God, if the problem is insoluble, why endure
this constant ache in your chest and head?

                            

The royal treasure

The royal treasure

The King is giving away the royal treasure,
thrown open, the doors of His palace.
How long must I roam the streets a beggar?

The worth of this gift beyond any measure,
(obtained only through His grace),
the King is giving away the royal treasure --

jewels of light and beauty forever.
So near to that unguarded place,
how long must I roam the streets a beggar?

The King's favor I seek; in truth, His pleasure,
grateful only to behold His face.
The King is giving away the royal treasure!

Impaired by some cruel, pernicious tether,
in penury, sordid and base.
How long must I roam the streets a beggar?

He's heard my plight, the earnest endeavor.
He encourages my desperate chase.
The King is giving away the royal treasure.
How long must I roam the streets a beggar?

                        (Unpublished)

Upasni Maharaj

Drawing by Rich Panico

Body language

Body language                                                                              

Men’s daily lives will be

the living precept (You promise).

The words I have not spoken

will come to life in them. 

Meanwhile, I study body languages

of myself and other lovers of Your seven bodies,

searching, inside and out,

for the birth of words for years unspoken  

yet, shaped a lifetime on earth, on earth,

o Emmanuel, Emmanuel.

Await the living, breathing words among us,

precepts sown by silence –

evidential change, redemption, salvation.

Your only miracle, You said – to change the human heart.

Scholars scour the words you left behind.

I search for words You left unsaid,

in myself and others – to become the words,

to become the words You left unsaid.

O child of God, let it be, let it happen.  Let it be,

leave it alone.  Undisturbed; undisturbed.

Try to try

Try to try                                                                                           

Two ways, my Lord says, to love God –

renounce the world; own nothing  (including yourself)

or live in the world, putting everyone else

ahead of you in the queue. 

That lets me out – no way for me

to love God.  Not this lifetime.

Eruch said, try to try.  Try to try.

That’s my this-time lifetime – try to try, try to try.

Splendidly flawed, perfectly dear

near ones ecstatically drawing tears

from my world-weary eyes – try to try, try to try.

Sparks of pleasure, joy may animate me

now and then but nothing can rekindle

the fire in these sodden ashes. 

Try to try, try to try.  The thorn in the kiss –

ubiquitous Shiva – time like water,

washing away, washing away

the smooth, black slate, running through my fingers.

Try to try, try to try, eternal soul in mortal breast,

doubting everything but the dilemma

and You say the dilemma is illusion.

Try to try, try to try.  To love God, try to try.

O child of God, your sword is made of fire.

Lay it at the feet of the Master.

more random photos

Daniel S. at Meher Center

Mom

Brother Ben

Music in the Original Kitchen

Tayla and Lily at Meher Center

SJ at Original Kitchen

Big Red

Katie G.

Sue Luddeke

Bryan West

Brian and SJ

Gus Darnell

Austin Darnell

Caleb Darnell

The play of love

The play of love

The angel gave Hafiz a choice --
beauty or, the source of beauty;

love's object or, its essence;
sensate flesh or holy spirit.

An ordinary man, without thought,
reaches, innumerable lifetimes,

flesh for flesh, breath for breath,
for fragile beauty and rides that swell

of pleasure until it perishes beneath him.
The extraordinary man tries for both

and undermines himself -- trying to swim the river,
pockets stuffed with gold.

A man of God (such as Hafiz)
gauges the price and is willing to pay;

chooses the source and the spirit --
sees through, sees through!

Forsakes the creation for the Creator --
the maiden for the Maker of maidens and angels,

light and death, universes, raptures, 
agony and the play of Love Itself.

O child of God, you know the rules of a game
you have not the courage to play.

                        

The heart I once thought mine

The heart I once thought mine

You stole the heart I once thought mine;
severed its bonds with your righteous axe.
Is that blood on your sadra or holy wine?

Hands in prayer bear a knotted bind,
as the platform I walk creaks and cracks.
You stole the heart I once thought mine

and lead me now to block and blind,
bereft of tenets, opinions, facts.
Is that blood on Your sadra or holy wine? 

Your smile before me, what lies behind?
Your sadra in the wind twists and tacks.
You stole the heart I once thought mine.

Solace and grief come intertwined --
ghee and sandalwood deftly stacked.
Is that blood on Your sadra or holy wine?

Is death the remedy for which I pine?
Only Your blade this illusion lacks?
You stole the heart I once thought mine.
Is that blood on Your sadra or holy wine?

                   (Unpublished)

The great disrobing

The great disrobing

Honor the sadra beneath the glass,
far from the flesh it touched,

the Reality, even farther;
beyond form and farther still 

until you reach your own immortality.
Honor the sadra beneath the glass,

flesh hovering gently without
the safe, smooth surfaces 

but, in the spirit, treat it roughly --
a stepping stone or, makeshift sail,

a knotted escape out the window,
a hastily wound turban in the noonday sun.

Taken from His body to aid in the great disrobing,
the nakedness it must all come down to,

a sadra should not only bend the knee
but break the heart and let the grace flow

from every deep and chambered encounter
with the One Who remains beyond ever

the reach of symbol, ritual, sanctification,
sentimentality and every palpable form.

O child of God, bow down to the holiness
within your own chest.

                      

The gathering gloom

The gathering gloom

In the gathering gloom, which path to take?
The woods are thick on every side.
Fate will determine the choice I make.

Embrace one course, the others forsake --
the autumn sun and the wind has died,
in the gathering gloom, which path to take?

Shall error cause a heart to break?
In which direction does peace abide?
Fate will determine the choice I make.

Will doom follow a guileless mistake?
The paths are narrow, the thick woods wide.
In the gathering gloom, which path to take?

Never knowing for sure the price at stake --
let not uncertainty break my stride --
fate will determine the choice I make.

My Lord is silent for a lost soul's sake.
His companionship requires no guide.
In the gathering gloom, which path to take?
Fate will determine the choice I make.

                   (Unpublished)

Baba - white suit, beret, onboard ship

Song Link -- Save me

Save me