Climb through the ropes

Climb through the ropes                                                                          

I can almost grasp it – how the sword

must slice itself into pieces.

And blood must be used –

to wipe away the blood.

You are a boxer in the ring

and then the referee between the two

and then an intimate spectator expected

to absorb the blows without wince or cry,

bleeding at the violent end of a leather glove

yet also from a nosebleed seat

just over the county line. Yes, I can almost grasp it,

as it slips through my gloved hands –

I’m being circled in the ring,

unencumbered of any defensive pose,

facing the impossible with a daunted inadequacy,

rushing forward to catch the punishing blows

and offer a bare, bloodied neck    

to the melded shards of the original sword.

O child of God, to resolve the soul’s intrinsic quandary,

courage and forbearance must climb through the ropes.

Only the witness

Only the witness                                                                                         

Each of us bearing sole witness to our dreams,

often the main character until we awaken and see

we never really were a participant; only the witness. 

As in this waking dream, the Awakener adds.

When roused from sleep, once and forever, says He,

we shall see, we shall see – we never really were

the participant we think we are; only the witness

to an insubstantiality, suffering its illusory bindings

yet removed from any real peril,

having never left our very own beds. 

Only an intimate witness are we

to this waking dream beyond

anyone’s choosing, design and control

with only one dreamed-up character

a willing participant; only one,   

sowing with perfect equanimity

this hardscrabble dreamscape

with the insidious seeds of irrepressible truth.

O child of God, auspicious is your dream.

This time you envisioned the Avatar.

Eyes divine

Eyes divine                                                                                                         

We are all looking through God’s eyes

which is to say God is looking through our eyes

if only we could climb back

into our original face before it became

encrusted with the journey’s dust.

Everyone we meet is just Who we are

under the dust-caked makeup – spooked ghosts

treading the boards rather valiantly in our assigned roles,

looking up rarely from the issued script,

too obliged, too immersed, too stage-frightened

to look beyond each clay facade or within our own;

nor project ahead to the God-directed,

neatly-tied plot resolutions

and the deep, heavy curtains sliding closed.

O child of God, o stage-struck one, imagine that!

You are destined to see your Self.

Divest yourself

Divest yourself                                                                                          

All roads lead to Rome, the saying goes.

All paths lead to God, we are similarly told –

not just the broadly tramped swaths of traditional religions

but the narrow, individual windings through the rocky wilds.

There are as many paths to God,

the Sufis say, as there are the souls of men.

The Zen Buddhists put it more succinctly –

comparisons are odious.

To look down upon another’s path means only

that you have diverted your eyes from the Goal;

let another soul into your sacred relationship

with the Divine Companion;

assumed a height which you have not attained.

Perhaps, you are looking backwards,

judging your own path –

the bruising episodes, the cowardice,

the sins and betrayals from an authority

and perspective you do not possess –

not from the helplessness and hopelessness

you profess to acknowledge.

O child of God, to reach the Goal, divest yourself

of everything you once thought you knew.