Back to the Garden

Back to the Garden

These are the heart tears, tinged with blood;
my Beloved knows every hidden grief.

I try to be strong for You
but we both know how crippled I am.

Won't You carry me for a ways?
That I might bury my face in Your throat.

That I might be held, body and soul,

nearer to You. O Beloved,

 

stay within my sight –

Your pink coat, sheer sadra, flowing hair.

Keep glancing over Your shoulder to make sure 
I am there – in earshot of Your handclap.

My heart, Lord, is Yours to range freely, until the day
the whole realm of my being lies under Your chappals.

O child of God, the heart is a mountainous country;
             beautiful valleys to cross.
Your Beloved walks it with you; back to the garden
              from which you came.

Crushed

Crushed
 
You are infinitely and eternally free
and yet, You are bound to us . . .
 
and bound by our limitations.
The garb of Infinite Power, You laid aside
 
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.
 
Ancient One, You donned 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.

Beautiful souls

Beautiful souls
 
You bathed the feet of lepers,
rinsing away centuries of accumulated dirt.
 
Then You touched Your holy forehead
to their distended stumps.
 
Beautiful souls in ugly cages, You called them.
Only You could see their true beauty.
 
In the years I have been with you, Lord,
parts of me have atrophied and fallen away.
 
Through the eyes of the world,
I now seem disfigured; crippled and useless.
 
I am a beggar at Your door, desperate to remain
in Your good graces.
I am slowly dying, one appurtenance at a time.
 
O Beloved, let the beautiful flame of a bird within me
sing fervently among these ruins!
 
Let me serenade You as the cage that entraps me
cracks and rusts away.
 
O child of God, rejoice within your ugly cage.
Your Beloved is that beautiful bird that flares and sings
          brightly within you.

Your brush strokes

Your brush strokes
 
Tonight, as these prayers are being said,
looking out upon the bowed heads of Your lovers,
 
in my heart, also, heads are bowed.
Voices blending in arti; there are voices
          and harmonies within me as well.
 
And, as I kneel for Your darshan,
in the tomb-shrine of my heart, there is, also, a kneeling.
 
On this nondescript hill, a small group of Your lovers
has gathered tonight from around the world.
 
We have come to bow down to the holiest part within us
          and all human beings.
What a long journey to reach this humble abode!
 
O Beloved, in Your Tomb-Shrine I have found my refuge.
In the shrine of my heart, let me offer You refuge.
 
Paint the walls within it in Your lovely brush strokes,
scenes from a life of purity and holy Love.
 
O child of God, garland the stone of your heart-shrine.
Prepare it lovingly for the arrival of the Guest.

Bread and wine

Bread and wine
 
O Beloved, speak to me now.
Your words have become my bread.
 
Pour the wine.
I am Your son and I thirst.
 
The river is flowing, inside and out, and I am bewildered.
Soothe me with Your fingertips and fragrant rose-balm.
 
My restless heart wounds itself on the ribs of its cage.
Offer the silence and stillness of quenched desire.
 
I asked for words and received Your haunting melody
and a wine-soaked poem that won’t translate
            into any language.
 
Your voice sounds in the dark confines of the human heart.
Wine spills from its trembling vessel and drowns my thirst.
 
O child of God, rejoice in the wordless poetry of your Beloved;
the bread and wine that draws you each moment ever closer to Him.

Life's accumulations

Life’s accumulations
 
O Beloved, the intellectuals among us
probe Your every word, seeking hidden compartments.
          I wish them well.
 
For many years I tried soaking up the Ocean through
          the sponge of my brain.
Now I’m afraid Your wine has seriously impaired
          my cerebral abilities.
 
Spouting ingenious theories of God and man,
Your wave rolled in and left me gasping for air.
 
What’s a few consonants strung with vowels,
when the Ocean floods the lowlands and carries Your life’s
          accumulations out to sea?
 
Where is sure footing in fathomless water?
Which directions matter when all I see is Ocean?
 
What is there to do now but float face up and wonder
what You have in mind for the rest of my life?
 
O child of God, words of the Avatar are like bread to his lovers
but it’s the Master’s wine that soaks you head to foot.

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?

The burden of Love

The burden of Love 
 
God is Love, You say.  Before I met You,
I had trouble believing in God.  You know the story –
 
How can God exist with so much suffering in the world?
so much cruelty and injustice –
 
with death separating us all in the end?
But after many years with You, my question is:
 
How can there not be a God?
With so much suffering, injustice, cruelty and death?
 
How can there not be a God
to ultimately balance the scales of Justice,
 
to restore Love and Mercy, to reunite us
with all the loved ones we have so innocently lost?
 
The doubters say religion is a crutch, but I ask them,
‘Who do you know who is not crippled?
 
Show me one heart that has not borne the burden of Love.’
O Beloved, I believe in the Eternal because You became flesh
 
then dropped that perfect body to reappear within the human heart.
How much closer to us has this incarnation brought You!
 
O child of God, Jesus is not hiding somewhere behind the moon.
His sandals can be found outside the door of every humble heart.