A scarlet bird

A scarlet bird

O Beloved, my heart is a scarlet bird,

pinioned and trembling in my chest.

You unlatched the cage – my heart soared

above that wine-soaked valley;

sang for You along the tree-lined path.

Returned by Your hands, neem-scented and breathless,

it built a nest among the tangled briers.

Perched now and singing from my chest,

it awaits the second coming.

O Beloved, my heart is a scarlet bird,

aflame and trembling in my chest . . . .

O child of God, your heart is a mystery –

deep as the silence of the Lord Himself, Meher Baba. 

Outrageous love

Outrageous love

The teabag has broken.  How will the scattered bits

of leaves ever be returned to the bag?

After I let You into my heart, You produced a key

to long-locked door.  It led to a cellar filled with wine.

O Lord, those are my teardrops on those dusty bottles!

My tongue is too drunk to speak properly

but I will moan for You.

Moonlight pours through a small window just above the street.

Let’s drink to Hafiz – to his outrageous love.

And what of Rumi? – his poetic, methodical breaking down

of the barriers between lover and God.

O Beloved, my heart seems so spacious when You are there,

sweeping through the house in Your flowing gown;

Your arms fluid and graceful, Your birdlike hands

making gestures for love, grace, forgiveness, mercy.

On Your head, Your hands form a crown – the gesture for a king.

O King of my heart, establish Your throne there.

O child of God, prepare your heart for the day

King Meher arrives in full regalia never again to leave.

 

 

The dark-red goblet

The dark-red goblet
 
This morning the wells at Meherabad overflowed,
threatening to drown all inhabitants.
 
My little boat was swamped by a great wave.
Can my heartsong be heard above the ocean’s roar?
 
When the truth of His rain reaches our ears,
we’ll be drenched, o pilgrims, inside and out.
 
The Beloved is pouring His wine!
Offer the dark-red goblet of your heart. 

Nothing to cling to; nowhere to go
but down into the vasty blue depths.
 
O child of God, drown in the Ocean of Love,
leaving not a trace of yourself on this rugged, illusory shore.

Your wine has the power

Your wine has the power
 
Your wine has the power to obliterate my world.
Yet subtle and delicious is Your wine.
 
Tonight, my chest is soaked red from the heart’s goblet
that tilts and spills whenever You draw near.
 
Have You come in response to my morning prayers?
Or to my wailing and weeping in middle of the night?
 
Or have You come of Your own accord,
to work with the clay You find?
 
It doesn’t matter.  You’re here now.
Take liberties with me while I’m drunk and helpless.
 
Fashion me into a deeper vessel, o Lord,
then fill my throat with Your wine until I drown.
 
Let me go out of this world oblivious to everything
but Your stranglehold, Your blade lodged between my ribs.
 
Fear not, child of God, once True Love comes to the door
obliteration is the only possible result.

Hope, sturdy beast

Become hopeless, You say, instilling hope

in a pilgrim's heart -- paradise within reach

and power.  Hope, sturdy beast of burden,
bearing souls and suffering

toward the gates, must be abandoned,
You say, reinless among the dunes --

a fly in the ointment, oil in the lamp
whose flame prevents our eyes

from growing accustomed to the dark.
Tiny circles of illumination

to which we cling (except where we are --
our shadows deeper than the vastness beyond).

When the desire to know the Truth
pales before ecstatic wonder,

surrender gains a foothold, truth darts
from the window, a winsome bird.

Only the moment exists, every moment
sliced thin and quick enough to hold no hope,

nor truth, no angle of light -- only love.  Only love,
You say.  Only love, You say.  Only love.

O child of God, exchange the emptiness
of hope for the fiery annihilation of Love.

Crushed

Crushed

O Beloved, You are infinitely and eternally free
and yet, You are bound to us ... and bound by our limitations.

You laid aside the garb of Infinite Power
to walk among us in the flesh.

The harvest of an entire vineyard, crushed and poured
          into one bottle,
and then, that rare wine is handed around among the multitudes.

O Ancient One, You put on yet another lovely coat
          to roam this dusty world!
Patched and threadbare after a time, You discarded it.

Countless ages ago, a naked God put on the garment of Illusion.
One day, Illusion will be cast off, like a threadbare coat.

Then, Your lovers will find their way home,
surrendering in one last, unencumbered embrace.

O child of God, drink from that ageless bottle
and cling to the garment that veils the Essence.

                           (from The Garden of Surrender)

The good thief

The good thief

On Judgment Day, who will your theories

and opinions impress?

O child of God, will you stand before the throne

as a devout believer or as a man of faith?

Beliefs are straw a desperate man stuffs into a suit of rags,

hoping to keep at bay his dark, circling fears.

A man of faith is empty.  His strength comes from another source.

His coat flutters loosely from the crossbeam.

The soldiers gambled for Jesus’ robe

while the real treasure hung nearby, naked and vulnerable.

From another cross, the unrepentant thief railed against heaven

          with a bitter tongue.

His logical assertions condemned him to hell.

But, at the last possible moment, the good thief stole paradise.

He called out to his Beloved from a point of utter helplessness.

O child of God, will you go to your Beloved stuffed with worthless notions

or become a man of faith, empty and unafraid?