Horse-hoofed knowledge

Horse-hoofed knowledge

A lifetime of wandering here and there

among the trees looking for the forest.

A plastic sequin on a cheap gown –

such it is that snags the mind –

spangles not only worthless but pernicious

for they divert us from the real and the true.

At ocean’s shore the galloping horse stumbles,

unable to enter deeply where it can neither

stand nor swim or float; rear or whinny –

do anything other than drown

in wild, flaring confusion.  We cling

to the shore and the horse that got us there. 

Numerous lifetimes it takes to know

we do not know, can never know

anything of the ocean, anything of where

the horse is a foreign, ineffectual creature;

anything but the dust-ridden,

horse-hoofed knowledge

that keeps us ever on the scent, ever

following one false trail after another.

O child of God, the mind reigns in duality

but can never leave itself to reach beyond.

The unfolding answer

The unfolding answer                                                                           

A man of deep faith, just as a man

without faith, asks nothing of God.

Life itself to such a man 

is the unfolding answer to all prayers.

Pain, fright is there – but not anxiety;

loss but not grief;

failure without disappointment;

solitude without loneliness;

death (we are told) without termination.

Perched on the tip of the bow,

a man of faith is serenely poised

to receive, to pass along

only what he’s given; responsible

for nothing but vigilance and acquiescence.

He gets the big picture, the ocean view,

recognizes the nuances, though as yet,

is unable to grasp the details.

Less than a hair’s breadth (the Masters say),

separates heaven from earth –

it requires an unhanding,

an atrophy of judgment,

a relinquishment of presumption.

O child of God, life itself to a man of faith

is the unfolding answer to all prayers.

Cross yourself

Cross yourself                                                                                   

Cross yourself – routinely

(in whatever form customary) –

puja, zikr, mea culpa; yarmulke,

psalter, kusti, damru, suf.

Don’t look for trouble; let it find you – 

keep it between the shoulders,

o good neighbor. You’ll find dear enough,

familiar faces around the corner,

down the street, in need of heartiness

and a gentle hand.  Cross yourself –

quietly, discreetly; apply deeper wisdom,

a farther vision, visceral caution. 

Keep your balance to help

balance the world around you.

Cross yourself, o traitorous one,

and you may find after so long a time

crossing yourself befriends the Friend –

befriends the One, befriends your true Self.

O child of God, give only advice gingerly

gleaned from the words of the Master.