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.
In the drink
Everyone is in the drink --
laboring to keep their heads above water;
no piece of solid real estate
in this vast sea of illusion
upon which to make a stand,
gain a foothold -- a perspective, stability, bearings.
Some are swift and fancy swimmers,
others fat and lightly floating,
some sink like stones but,
everyone, everyone is in the drink,
paddling about, waiting for the One
Who walks upon water;
Who surveys the horizon and sets the course;
Who offers navigation, buoyancy, consolation;
truth, hope, explanation.
Be kind, o child, and dubious,
studious and soft-spoken;
be clear-headed, one-pointed, alert.
O child of God, everyone is in the drink
until they drown in the Ocean of Love.
Love Tokens
O child of God, your heart is a flower,
sometimes open, sometimes not.
Once again, the Sun walked the earth,
mankind ignoring the Light in its midst.
In twilight now, the stars peek out
and a moon of purest silver.
Sing, o nightingale, for me. I've lost my voice.
The Rose is silent, also, for reasons of Its own.
How could I have known, O Beloved, Your language?
Or what love tokens You would accept.
I was a stranger in Your court.
You threw open the doors of Your treasure house.
Eventually, this old heart will collapse upon itself.
In the ruins, someOne may build a fire.
O child of God, burnt by desire for union;
rejoice the day you come home - your whole house in flames!
(from The Garden of Surrender)
(Drawing by Rich Panico)
A shared life
The island in the zygote -
floating miniscule and fragile,
island in the womb -
so vulnerable, so vulnerable.
The island in my head -- so insubstantial,
so subjective; inside my skin -- so mortal;
the island in my chest -- so isolated, so lonely.
White dab of sand in the middle
of a dark blue sea until the Ocean Itself
leaves footprints along the shore.
Accustom yourself, its pattern reads,
to a shared life. And for years now,
my island has been shrinking
under the determined elements of truth --
wild winds, brutal storms, the heavy seas.
When every place you trust,
the footprints read, underfoot is gone;
everything you thought solid proven flimsy,
the truth will swim into view --
truth to drown in; truth vast as the Ocean
encircling your sad
and dwindling little island.
O child of God, every man is an island
until reclaimed by the Ocean of Love.
(Image by Rich Panico)
