The Awakener

The Awakener                                                                                       

I know well by now Your method of interrogation -

sleep deprivation; the slapping of cheeks, prodding of ribs,

shouting my name every time I close my eyes,

the inexorable grilling, the demanding of answers  

from the dim reaches of the past,

from the darkness out of which I have emerged, 

wanting the information, the information, the information –

commanding me to divulge Who I am and Who sent me.

O child of God, the ultimate infinite and eternal

requires more than soft gloves and sweetened tea.

The illusion of forward momentum

The illusion of forward momentum                                                                 

Understanding has no meaning, said my Lord. 

Perhaps, I misunderstood,

refusing to lie down quietly in the fallow field

or step in any direction

without an established reason,

while the ground shifts steadily under my feet

creating the illusion of forward momentum.

Love has meaning, said my Lord. 

What meaning has Love? 

Understanding has no meaning. 

But I don’t understand –

Obedience has more meaning. 

What meaning has obedience?

Understanding has no meaning.  

But I don’t understand –

Surrender has most meaning. 

What meaning has surrender?

Understanding has no meaning.

O child of God, understanding will not release you

from the terror that separates you from God.

My partaking

My partaking

They're singing songs of love
but not for me.  I'm outside the queue;

in the Tomb bowing; quavering;
down the hill I wander, a sightseer.

Awaiting my partaking, my partaking.
I don't get it.  A smidgen shy,

a hovering or the opposite -
too broad, perfunctory for love

to grasp, penetrate, permeate;
too awkward and ashamed

to breathe it all in and let it all out.
Nothing is going to shake me

down to my alien roots, from the daze
and back in the States, the usual

empty-handed clasp and regimen.
I don't get it, the way I was hoping

to find that magic penetration, participation
at Meherabad in the gathering and dispersal,

in the rosy, broken open Tomb
of the Holy Assimilator.

O child of God, spurn and love, impatience and longing,
are sometimes, in the great scheme, indistinguishable.