The bruising rose
You told the story of an
innocent woman
accused of adultery –
tied to a post in the
marketplace,
everyone who passed
required by law
to cast a stone or some
filth upon her ...
which she endured with a
noble dignity;
her daughter was brought
forth, throwing
not a stone nor filth
but, a simple rose ...
and the mother shrieking
in agony
as it brushed her cheek.
Let he who is without sin
cast the first stone,
You told the crowd in
another marketplace.
You, of course, could
have cast that stone,
but You have come down,
bound Yourself
among the stones and
filth
of our marketplaces to
endure unjustly
the fateful punishments
of being human
and to weigh in Your
innocent hands
the culpability of each
stone-and-rose-wielding
patron, each laboring,
fearful heart.
O child of God, the
Beloved is ever merciful.
Protect Him from the
bruising rose of your infidelity.
The prayer of Immensity
I used to crawl through
the Universal Prayer
on my hands and knees,
entering through a hatch
in the O before
Parvardigar.
By lying flat, twisting
myself here and there,
I could inch my way to
the last word of worship.
But, one morning, midway
through, I tripped
a hidden switch or
brushed a secret lever,
or, perhaps, it was the
power of one word
spoken with heartfelt
sincerity –
the whole prayer expanded
to the dimensions
of the descriptions
within it.
Not just the firmament
and the depths,
but on all planes and
beyond . . .
the three worlds and
beyond . . .
the source of Truth, the
Ocean of Love,
beyond and beyond and
still yet beyond . . .
time and space,
imagination and conception.
I found myself in an endless
void as the words
of the prayer rose to my
lips and faded in my ears.
O child of God, this is
the prayer of Immensity –
the Immeasurable, the
Unnamable and Incomprehensible.
O child of God, recite
faithfully the Universal Prayer.
It’s about you and who
you really are.
Grace intruded
Grace intruded upon my
habitual sorrow
and marked me for its own
like a pattern of ink
under the skin,
like an imperfectly
minted coin,
a misprinted postage
stamp
or a raw diamond selected
for its flaws.
Plucked like a flower
for a vase on a bedside
table;
like a wild colt culled
from the herd –
lassoed, corralled and
broken;
like a shell found on the
beach
or an injured bird unable
to pursue
its migratory route,
I left the broad path
for the narrow and the
crooked
and now – no path at all
. . .
making my way as everyone
must
who tramps toward the
gates –
without precedent,
yet, with a Companion who
by turns comforts,
inspires, fortifies and
illumines the way ahead.
O child of God, Grace is
beyond your ken.
To whom much is given much is required.
The crux of embrace
As its fragrance is
hidden in the rose,
my Beloved said,
so My presence is hidden
in the human heart.
Under our noses, Lord –
undetected
within ourselves and
others.
Only faith and desire
keep us daring
the crux of embrace.
Yes, the heart gets tipsy
at the first nip
of Your wine – dances in
it’s cage;
deeper in the cup, it
grows weepy and ponderous.
And when Your fire sweeps
through –
first, a searing pain,
then . . . burned rubble
from which to look out
sheepishly upon the world.
But, You promised us, You
promised Your presence
every moment woven into
the heart’s delicate
warp and weft, so pervasively,
the rose,
having never set tender
foot beyond its vast domain,
goes about wailing and
weeping
at the absence of its own
scent.
O child of God, turn from
the world’s enticements
to discover within, the
fragrance of God.
