A faith unequivocal
Years of obsessive pondering
upon the existence of God
and it seems I’ve yet to reach
the nadir of my ignorance;
the more data compiled
the more deeply mired am I
in a self-substantiated paradigm
where everything adds up
and nothing proves true.
My one remaining hope
is for a Friend, good and true,
in places so high
that He and It (and even I)
are beyond imagination and conception.
O child of God, dare to live without hope,
in the shelter of a faith unequivocal.
Work of art
Buddha upheld a flower,
the assembled monks straining
to grasp the meaning,
the venerable Kashyapa alone
smiling in a reciprocal silence.
A flower has no meaning, no explanation;
nameless like a river, a mountain, an ocean, a star;
like fish, beast, beetle or bird; like a human being
it has no designation or import not assigned
to it from the outside by the separative mind.
To move through the world without naming,
without assessment or identification
is to remain ever within the Oneness,
the suchness, of direct experience.
O child of God, unfolding existence is not
a signification but a self-validating work of art.
Wised up
I tried to tie things up in neat little knots,
no stone within my sweep unturned,
searching for that which I know not,
the oddities in my purse proving nothing
but contributing somehow to a hard won conviction
that the truth will one day be mine.
Taking solace in the premise that when the blinds
are at last drawn shut, I’ll be nearer to the goal,
having not realized as yet any truth
but having been wised up
more and more by that which is
illusory, valueless and untrue.
O child of God, explore your every conjecture
as you roam these hills so far from home.
drawing by Rich Panico
A fire beneath my ribs
I thought I heard Your handclap
halfway around the world
but, it turned out to be the sound
of Your fist pounding Your thigh
during those last, secluded years.
I hear it now – the strain and agony
of Your work pitched across time –
the severing blows, the opening of floodgates,
the sharp uncoupling of chains.
You’re with me now – a fire beneath my ribs,
Your universal work, whatever its immensity
and range, turning out to be, also,
intimate and interior, individual,
like the fitting of braces on a crippled child.
O child of God, Meher entered the timeless Beyond
to offer you in this moment, intimacy with the Ancient One.
