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 wine.
 
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.

Three garlands

Three garlands                                                                            
 
Each morning now I climb the Hill; offering
three strings of rose-scented prayers,
 
standing just northeast of Infinity
with a view of Your lying-down darshan;
 
lift my eyes to wonder at the vaulted structure
under which I pray –
 
the muscular, veined roof
of the cavern of my heart;
 
Your sun, also, rising over my shoulder,
my heart's walls turning translucent,
 
thinner and thinner like beaten gold
to one day burst and flood
 
the parched valley below.
Each morning I awaken in Maya,
 
climb this Hill, wherever I am,
garlands pressed to my chest,
 
delivering to the stone divan
of Your lying-down darshan,
 
three garlands – the rose-scented passages
of Your everyday, holy prayers.
 
O child of God, you dream of India.
The Samadhi's path begins at the doorsteps
      of your own heart's abode.

 

A gold coin

A gold coin

You asked me to follow You.
Like Jonah, there were places I'd rather be.

The belly of a fish can be made comfortable
if the foreign shore holds enough dread --

darkness can be soothing to the eyes;
that constant stench can carry

the solace of familiarity.
You said, 'Get naked.'  When I didn't

shed my clothes quickly enough,
You took matters into Your own hands.

These days, I go about repeating Your name
like hammering nails into a coffin.

Make me a gold coin, Lord, glittering in the sunlight,
when You finally slit the fish's belly.

O child of God, the Beloved is pointing out,
with His graceful fingers, the land of milk and honey.