Sky blue coat

Sky blue coat                                                                                
 
I followed a map of the world.  It led
down a narrow path to the ocean.
 
From there I could see -- nothing matters
but the folding of myself into You.
 
Let love be my measure ... and my guide.
I’ve known love enough in this lifetime
 
to know it’s not blind,
but wide-eyed and vigilant;
 
not intoxication but an unearthly sobriety
penetrating the chronic delirium of the false view.
 
How wondrous the heart – at the same time
an encrusted anchor and a fluttering bird;
 
bruised rose and captured hare;
a torch, a goblet;
 
an upraised fist and weathered valise.
The pages where my story is written –
 
fold and tuck them away – into the pocket
of my Beloved’s sky blue coat.
 
O child of God, drop your bags and run
headlong into the Master’s arms. 

Spinning tales

Spinning tales                                                                                
 
I hadn’t a clue – so You scattered a few about –
sandal prints under my windows;
 
sacred threads snagged in the hedgerow;
Your blood staining the cross within my chest.
 
People wonder why I go on about this!
It’s ancient history, they say.
 
I’m like the angler whose trophy fish is mounted
          above the mantle –
I can’t stop spinning tales about it!
 
Especially when Your wine gets me drunk
and I feel again the excitement of finding You
          on the end of my line.
 
Gone forever -- the despair of empty nets
pulled again and again from the sea of illusion.
 
My nets are bursting now, my vessel in danger of sinking
under the weight of Your bounty.
 
Jesus must have smiled when I turned down Your street –
He’d sent me that way years ago looking for You.
 
O child of God, the Avatar is the fisher of men.
It’s His hook causing that pain in your chest.

(drawing by Rich Panico)

My heart's beating

My heart’s beatings                                                                          
 
I swallowed Your wine,
causing me to dance in the streets;
 
letting my heart slip out a bit
from under the heel of my brain.
 
Years later, Your wine sings yet – in my blood –
not with the rough immediacy of tavern songs
 
but with the hymns and psalmodies of praise,
an influence to my every movement,
 
a blood-part of me, the strength of me,
the heaven’s sake of my heart’s beatings.
 
When this cup is crushed, when my blood is dust,
(judging the Infinite from the particular), I pray
 
Your wine will sing through me still,
filling my veins and throat, core and skull
 
with Your ethereal light and song
on my wondrous way to becoming You.
 
O child of God, wine loosens your tongue and sends you
rambling beyond the bounds of propriety.

Fish out of water

Fish out of water                                                                              
 
That which is beyond imagination and conception –
call It the Ocean of Love to get a handle on It.
 
I am drawn to the Ocean –
where there’s no friction;
 
no property, no boundaries or partitions.
I’m weary of the animal coming out,
 
in myself and others, barking,
snarling through bared teeth.
 
I’m ready for the flood
to leave us paddling about
 
until we exhaust ourselves
and sink to the bottom.
 
You, of course, were a Fish out of water, a Pisces,
showing us how to be Piscean –
 
moving through this here-and-now
Ocean of Love gracefully strong,
 
lithe, colorful,
eyes unblinking to the Truth,
 
going about Your business –
the silent expression of Who You are.
 
O child of God, the Beloved, closer than your breath,
invites you to drown in His Ocean of Love.

A host of angels

A host of angels                                                                                     
Billions of souls afloat in the cosmos
and I’m on my way home.
 
Like the brother in the field,
I dropped my scythe where I stood.
 
There’s another harvest I must attend –
where I’ll be cut off at the knees.
 
My horse has gotten a whiff of the barn.
Nothing can keep me now from my Beloved’s gate.
 
My name in His throat, the name He gave me,
ages ago, when I was first sent out --
 
a host of angels over my shoulder
and the highway rising up to greet me.
 
Billions of laboring souls lost in the maze,
          tossing in feverish sleep
and my Beloved has come to awaken me;
 
billions of souls drunken from rage, lust and hate
and my Beloved offering His sobering elixer.
 
O child of God, look beyond this ephemeral existence
into the ageless face of your Beloved.

Heart of mine

Heart of mine                                                                              
 
Heart of mine, be a dark rose
pleasing in scent and shade;
 
an anchor around which
my puttering boat circles;
 
a house left to seed, wisteria
growing through every crack;
 
the fruit of a cactus,
a beast of burden, caked with sweat and dust;
 
a banked fire under soil and snow,
a valley floor below the mountain ridges;
 
heart of mine, become a flame 
to devour this crumbling dream of self.
 
O child of God, you belong to the Beloved,
Who will shape your heart as He pleases.

Another empty cloak

Another empty cloak                                                                    
 
Gool Rukh, where did you go?
Gool Rukh, rose-cheeked princess
 
buried in the sands of Rawalpindi,
reappearing as One-with-God;
 
a nightingale serenading the Beloved,
until your feathers turned into rose petals.
 
Grown in your Poona garden – the Heavenly Rose,
brow-kissed, christened by Tajuddin,
 
seated on Narayan’s throne; the Sacred Rose,
tossed at Sai’s feet, bruised by the stone of Upasni.
 
Gool Rukh, where did you go?
Yielding to God, to snow-haired Babajan,
 
showing Merwan the secret place
to yield his life to the great Rasool.
 
Merwan joined you there, Gool Rukh,
another broken cup, another empty cloak.
 
O child of God, when you find that place,
who you once were will be no more.

A chain of islands

A chain of islands                                                                          
 
For years, I’ve searched, inside and out,
for the mighty bird of Love.
 
All I’ve found is a feather, here and there,
from its brilliant plumage.
 
My concern for the world has been reduced
to a chain of islands
 
with my name and the names
of my loved ones on them.
 
O Beloved, let this fist of my heart
loosen its grip, open and stretch. 
 
The gesture for love takes two hands –
Your heart and mine in perfect unison.
 
There are other gestures we could make.
You could dig my grave here in the soft sand
 
or I could sail from this island out into the Ocean –
spread Your name to the New World.
 
O child of God, even half-hearted gestures are preferable
to the bitter clench of fear and faithlessness.

House of mirrors

House of mirrors                                                                                    
There’s a door at the back of my heart
opening upon a heaven-lit garden --
 
the moon:  the shining bow of a ship
plowing a star-glittered sea.
 
I stumble upon that door occasionally --
(an exit from this house of mirrors)
 
linger at the threshold.   
Your flute-music is on a breeze
 
scented with jasmine and neem.
When the music pauses, I hear a Voice
          calling my name.
 
But, always, always, I turn back
into the depths of my heart
 
where mirror upon mirror reflects
the image of the one I most love.
 
O child of God, how long will this enchantment last?
Find that door again and escape this house of mirrors. 

Floating

Floating                                                                                            
 
You taught Peter to walk on the water –
until fear turned his feet to lead.
 
Now, You’re urging me to float
this concrete body
 
upon a plane so insubstantial,
not grabbing or flailing;
 
not reaching back upon the empty
mechanics of swimming,
 
but lying gently
in the shape of a cross,
 
drifting towards infinity,
feeling at my neck’s nape,
 
and the small of my back,
Your fingertips …
 
until they, too,
dissolve into Ocean.
 
O child of God, trust the Sea.
Roll with the waves.