https://soundcloud.com/ghamela-yoga/depths-of-your-love
Saturday, September 28, 2013
Too dear a price
Too dear a price
Too dear a price, these moments of leisure,
standing chest-deep in the ungathered grain;
chilled by shadows, each sweet, brief pleasure,
autumn sun yielding, measure for measure,
a day never more to be regained;
too dear a price, these moments of leisure,
as swiftly the year now moves toward closure
while so many tasks for the soul remain;
chilled by shadows, each sweet, brief pleasure,
the donning of night, a humbling gesture,
as the darkness moves in over the plain --
too dear a price, these moments of leisure
in the dusk uncertain, exposed by nature,
the moon in the east to rise and wane,
chilled by shadows, each sweet, brief pleasure,
as yearning for Truth exerts its pressure,
registers in the heart embittered pain;
too dear a price, these moments of leisure;
chilled by shadows, each sweet, brief pleasure.
Too dear a price, these moments of leisure,
standing chest-deep in the ungathered grain;
chilled by shadows, each sweet, brief pleasure,
autumn sun yielding, measure for measure,
a day never more to be regained;
too dear a price, these moments of leisure,
as swiftly the year now moves toward closure
while so many tasks for the soul remain;
chilled by shadows, each sweet, brief pleasure,
the donning of night, a humbling gesture,
as the darkness moves in over the plain --
too dear a price, these moments of leisure
in the dusk uncertain, exposed by nature,
the moon in the east to rise and wane,
chilled by shadows, each sweet, brief pleasure,
as yearning for Truth exerts its pressure,
registers in the heart embittered pain;
too dear a price, these moments of leisure;
chilled by shadows, each sweet, brief pleasure.
Just shining
Just shining
You are the Light of the world
and light makes no sound. It just shines.
Those who couldn't see the Light asked for words.
You pointed out certain arrangements
resembling the Light and later wrung from the air
approximations that delighted Your lovers --
they printed up cards, pamphlets,
magazines and books. How sad for You,
at times, also, for the Mandali, Your flesh ablaze,
eyes aglow, the roaring fire inside
and Your lovers in their blind faith
praise and bow and plaintively beseech You
for descriptions of the Light. For evidence,
for instructions; for intimations,
for directions to the Light. O my Lord,
You are the Light of the world
and You took birth to shine Your Truth,
silently; silent -- just shining. Just shining.
O child of God, he who is blind, let him
muck about in the business of words.
You are the Light of the world
and light makes no sound. It just shines.
Those who couldn't see the Light asked for words.
You pointed out certain arrangements
resembling the Light and later wrung from the air
approximations that delighted Your lovers --
they printed up cards, pamphlets,
magazines and books. How sad for You,
at times, also, for the Mandali, Your flesh ablaze,
eyes aglow, the roaring fire inside
and Your lovers in their blind faith
praise and bow and plaintively beseech You
for descriptions of the Light. For evidence,
for instructions; for intimations,
for directions to the Light. O my Lord,
You are the Light of the world
and You took birth to shine Your Truth,
silently; silent -- just shining. Just shining.
O child of God, he who is blind, let him
muck about in the business of words.
Saturday, September 21, 2013
O faith of mine
O faith of mine
O faith of mine, o faith,
I run through you daily.
I run through you with feet of clay --
like running with a kite
over the hardscrabble landscape,
until the wind can catch it
and I can stop, stand my ground,
sufficient tension upon the string
to keep the kite aloft.
O faith of mine, o faith
of sticks and paper, string and wire,
I manage you warily, hands cupped in prayer.
You are my icon, my silent, bright relic.
You bind my life together at the end of this line --
my gathered, disparate, quavering self --
and keep my face turned upward
toward the floating, moon-like, bright-shining
kite above the hardscrabble turf.
O child of God, faith is the evidence of God's mercy --
the inward concern turned outward.
O faith of mine, o faith,
I run through you daily.
I run through you with feet of clay --
like running with a kite
over the hardscrabble landscape,
until the wind can catch it
and I can stop, stand my ground,
sufficient tension upon the string
to keep the kite aloft.
O faith of mine, o faith
of sticks and paper, string and wire,
I manage you warily, hands cupped in prayer.
You are my icon, my silent, bright relic.
You bind my life together at the end of this line --
my gathered, disparate, quavering self --
and keep my face turned upward
toward the floating, moon-like, bright-shining
kite above the hardscrabble turf.
O child of God, faith is the evidence of God's mercy --
the inward concern turned outward.
A twist in the plot
A twist in the plot
The simple truth -- a twist in the plot --
to His lovers Meher delivered this --
God is found where you are not.
The self with inherent grief is fraught --
by this impasse is the search amiss --
the simple truth -- a twist in the plot --
God is hidden by one small blot,
unattainable while you exist --
God is found where you are not.
O seeker, forsake this dusty clot,
this copper vessel, this verdigris --
the simple truth -- the twist in the plot --
the self by this dilemma's caught --
the seeker plants the Judas kiss --
God is found where you are not.
Your earnest search shall come to naught,
balanced above the great abyss,
the simple truth -- a twist in the plot --
God is found where you are not.
(Unpublished)
The simple truth -- a twist in the plot --
to His lovers Meher delivered this --
God is found where you are not.
The self with inherent grief is fraught --
by this impasse is the search amiss --
the simple truth -- a twist in the plot --
God is hidden by one small blot,
unattainable while you exist --
God is found where you are not.
O seeker, forsake this dusty clot,
this copper vessel, this verdigris --
the simple truth -- the twist in the plot --
the self by this dilemma's caught --
the seeker plants the Judas kiss --
God is found where you are not.
Your earnest search shall come to naught,
balanced above the great abyss,
the simple truth -- a twist in the plot --
God is found where you are not.
(Unpublished)
Saturday, September 14, 2013
Ottoman
Ottoman
I consulted a dictionary,
thick as any gravestone,
the meaning of each word
only given in terms of other words
whose meanings must also be
looked up and so
around and around we go --
illusory, inclusive world of words
created by barking, braying,
warbling and lamenting,
cooing, crooning, flesh-throated human beings --
our wordiness letting no truth in edgewise.
Your love I find inexplicable, indefinable, unutterable --
Your love -- all You ever talked about (in Your silence).
Silence I dare not keep -- the truth of myself
might shine forth for all to see. I dare not shine.
I dare not embrace, so I go home
and write a poem about shining, embracing --
a pillow made of my dictionary,
an ottoman of my phonebook.
O child of God, words never tell the Truth
yet, they are the only means at your disposal
I consulted a dictionary,
thick as any gravestone,
the meaning of each word
only given in terms of other words
whose meanings must also be
looked up and so
around and around we go --
illusory, inclusive world of words
created by barking, braying,
warbling and lamenting,
cooing, crooning, flesh-throated human beings --
our wordiness letting no truth in edgewise.
Your love I find inexplicable, indefinable, unutterable --
Your love -- all You ever talked about (in Your silence).
Silence I dare not keep -- the truth of myself
might shine forth for all to see. I dare not shine.
I dare not embrace, so I go home
and write a poem about shining, embracing --
a pillow made of my dictionary,
an ottoman of my phonebook.
O child of God, words never tell the Truth
yet, they are the only means at your disposal
God was born
God was born
God was born (as any lover will attest)
at David Sassoon Hospital in Pune, India
more than a century ago now. That is to say,
God entered the mortal realm an embryo in a womb --
vulnerable, dependent, minuscule and yet, growing
inexorably toward fruition. Nothing can hold back God;
His precisely scheduled manifestation.
Even Jesus (of the ascension and the miraculous birth)
began as a floating fish in a woman's belly.
O seeker of God, God is within you
right now -- (it's how He enters the realm).
Within you -- vulnerable, dependent, minuscule, yes,
but growing every moment, inexorably toward fruition.
And, in the course of His love and law,
He shall outgrow the flesh that encapsulates Him,
transcend the mind that ensnares and escape
forever the narrow, bedimmed, illusory confines
of your self. O seeker, nothing can hold back
the God within you nor prevent His destined,
precisely scheduled manifestation.
O child of God, happy birthday! Everyone --
says Meher Baba -- is destined for the supreme goal.
God was born (as any lover will attest)
at David Sassoon Hospital in Pune, India
more than a century ago now. That is to say,
God entered the mortal realm an embryo in a womb --
vulnerable, dependent, minuscule and yet, growing
inexorably toward fruition. Nothing can hold back God;
His precisely scheduled manifestation.
Even Jesus (of the ascension and the miraculous birth)
began as a floating fish in a woman's belly.
O seeker of God, God is within you
right now -- (it's how He enters the realm).
Within you -- vulnerable, dependent, minuscule, yes,
but growing every moment, inexorably toward fruition.
And, in the course of His love and law,
He shall outgrow the flesh that encapsulates Him,
transcend the mind that ensnares and escape
forever the narrow, bedimmed, illusory confines
of your self. O seeker, nothing can hold back
the God within you nor prevent His destined,
precisely scheduled manifestation.
O child of God, happy birthday! Everyone --
says Meher Baba -- is destined for the supreme goal.
Saturday, September 7, 2013
Over the jasper walls
Over the jasper walls
If this was paradise, I would want out --
over the jasper walls one night
or ducking back through the pearly gates.
If pleasure reigned, every heart's desire
quelled and answered, suffering eased,
death overcome, I would still want to know --
to know -- not the truth but, Who. Who.
I believe, anyway. I feel as much.
If everyone on earth were angels of mercy --
wore wings of kindness, generosity,
I would still be missing a stone,
an aching hole in the wholeness. O Lord,
must my wanderings take me back
all the way, all the way, beyond, beyond?
Beyond, beyond, is that home? That unimaginable,
perfect silence and stillness before the journey began;
before the imaginary bits of Yourself were gathered
and scattered and pressed into service?
Reaching down into myself, I yield, probe and open --
What is the essence of this longing and Who,
o Lord, o Lord -- no names or descriptions --
Who is my Beloved? Who is my Beloved?
O child of God, let the tide of mystery within you
rise and swell then, inexorably, sweep you away.
If this was paradise, I would want out --
over the jasper walls one night
or ducking back through the pearly gates.
If pleasure reigned, every heart's desire
quelled and answered, suffering eased,
death overcome, I would still want to know --
to know -- not the truth but, Who. Who.
I believe, anyway. I feel as much.
If everyone on earth were angels of mercy --
wore wings of kindness, generosity,
I would still be missing a stone,
an aching hole in the wholeness. O Lord,
must my wanderings take me back
all the way, all the way, beyond, beyond?
Beyond, beyond, is that home? That unimaginable,
perfect silence and stillness before the journey began;
before the imaginary bits of Yourself were gathered
and scattered and pressed into service?
Reaching down into myself, I yield, probe and open --
What is the essence of this longing and Who,
o Lord, o Lord -- no names or descriptions --
Who is my Beloved? Who is my Beloved?
O child of God, let the tide of mystery within you
rise and swell then, inexorably, sweep you away.
In the clenches
In the clenches
A half moon floats almost directly above,
silent in the blue morning sky --
you have to crane your neck to see it.
O my Angel, I'm left dim-witted, spent and sore --
I've been grappling with You
for ten thousand years (!) --
ceaselessly seeking explanations;
inexorably drawn to the Inexplicable.
The cross I'm nailed to -- stretched in two directions --
is the intersection of the mortal and the divine.
When I entered the ring, someone took the stool --
there's no corner in which to rest
and in our brutal circling there's a loveless strategy
even in the clenches -- biding my time,
gathering my strength and resistance,
fending off your unrelenting blows.
O child of God, dance earnestly around the ring,
dutifully engaged in the battle for your soul.
A half moon floats almost directly above,
silent in the blue morning sky --
you have to crane your neck to see it.
O my Angel, I'm left dim-witted, spent and sore --
I've been grappling with You
for ten thousand years (!) --
ceaselessly seeking explanations;
inexorably drawn to the Inexplicable.
The cross I'm nailed to -- stretched in two directions --
is the intersection of the mortal and the divine.
When I entered the ring, someone took the stool --
there's no corner in which to rest
and in our brutal circling there's a loveless strategy
even in the clenches -- biding my time,
gathering my strength and resistance,
fending off your unrelenting blows.
O child of God, dance earnestly around the ring,
dutifully engaged in the battle for your soul.
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