Buddha
and the Melting Flowers
I
believed Baba
that to be with You
to be a person of heart
I had to feel the agony
of all the melting flowers of the world.
it
broke my body in two
--the fight inside -
the longing for love
and the rage, the tempest
of heartless humanity.
You
have milked me now
of all knowing
so I've little philosophy
around this point of good and evil
but I do know now
I cannot hold all of either inside of me.
in
21st Century time,
we are pummeled
by save-the-children ads
how to turn our face away?
Eli
Wiezel (and others)
have said,
"Who am I if I do that?"
But
I will die, Baba
if I try to hold all the
dying Eskimos, dogs, flames, trees,
rivers, and children in my body
I am not You - my Buddha .
He
smiles sagely and answers,
"It is only when you live from that place "Yes I
AM YOU, my Buddha"
that you can have the heart-of-fire my love.
Look
at the child's eyes
and be the mountain of hope.
Gaze
upon the dying rivers
and reindeer bones
with a heart as wide as the horizon.
See
them for Me.
See them as Me.
Be Me. Be Me.
and
let me cradle you then
as you cradle them
and know that there's but one pair of arms,
one set of rocking wings
and seeds are planted
as forests fall
bones rot as food for dogs
to one day create
new nations.
that
cruelty that you see
is the chipping of the chisel on tree wood.
expand
your eyes bigger, bigger
and rest in Me
when you can bear to see no more."
I
asked the Buddha then,
"Is this really the path to enlightenment?"
He
laughed and said,
"You imagine enlightenment like you will pop through
the bubble,
But that being so, you remain separate, thinking yourself
to be free.
Know well that until full liberation is attained for every
drop soul,
we all remain bereft.
And every time one drop soul attains enlightenment,
the whole world is saved and transformed.
So do not pop through the bubble. Become it and it will rise,
light as a feather to the golden throne,
carrying all of creation with you,
a step closer towards eternal light."
Prepare for My Kiss
my
heart beat with Yours
as One-heart
expanding and contracting
like an air of bubbles
in the midst of a tidal wave,
we reached into ocean depths
drawing forth pearls
of many colors.
I
sought Your eyes
and You met me there,
first deep and sweet,
then we went dancing into the Universe
of sound and music
You
helped me back
when I slipped on the bath of thin-air
and with compassion
lifted my limbs
for walking
rightly,
You touched me then --
as You often do
but this time
the seep of it
went deep and through me.
Tonight
you said,
"I am your lover
as you are mine.
Tonight we rest in the whale of time together
and I will caress your heart
over and over
until the fears which run from it
turn clean and true
One
day I will kiss your lips
not with mine but with Time itself
so that an infinity of love will destroy you
and your dams and rivers will run together
into one golden knowing."
You
smiled, "My kiss --
is not like any other kiss.
Be prepared for it.
You
can prepare for thousands of lifetimes
and when I come at your door knocking,
turn me away, not realizing I, in the form of
a hag or a cripple,
am your lover.
I
live in everyone and everything,
come let me hold you now
and comfort you
for love you I may -
but for my kiss
you must long again.
long
deep into the canyons
and high into mountain peaks
long until you know no more
the distinction of lips and kiss
of that which you are longing for
and your own emptiness.
then see if I come."
ocean song ---- ocracoke 2003
night
whispers
through the blanket of blind sky
promises of my mother
while memories of my father
touch my cheek,
rosy-child,
resting,
nesting.
the
night expands now
opening and closing like a mouth
its mist making curls
of morning light
to touch my face in the same way.
and
the fog-cryer sings
like frogs chuckling
a kind of cry that yelps
like a puppy, and laughs
like a King.
prophecy
resistance
is a poison
which strangles the earth
nations argue ferociously
with one another
while the tears of the people
like the lava of the volcano
remain undetected
untouched.
but
those tears will rise
inexorably, with rose-water
washing through the heartlands
hot, molten, rich, full of
the
grief of mothers
and sisters reft of brothers.
all
resistance will be overcome
by the sheer heat
of human endurance.
and the shivering of faith which lives in bunkers
and in houses under siege.
Lions
will melt in the flow of the lava
and the moneys of nations
will be ground into dust.
The
strangled land
which is left
after the rape of earth
will turn over on itself
and for many generations
the reparations will be on -
the
love, which trickles through the lava
is the one thing that will endure
when the fight of men is over and long forgotten.
you
do not laugh (2004)
lurching
into your arms
I throw my packages at you -
I have carried them as far
as I can.
but
my surrender is so far from graceful
as to be laughable.
you do not laugh though.
your eyes caress me
as if my thrusting offer
were a bowl of good dahl
or a festoon of flowers
I had arranged
with utter care
for your pleasure.
----
gratitude wells up in me
meeting the ache
you have stirred
and their meeting
is an alchemy of tears.
darling,
how can I ask you to forgive me
when our oneness has erased the blame, the act and
even the remembrance of the sin?
no one but Me
Your
eyes were dark
with the grief of nations
and the red of the earth-core shone through.
I
raced towards You
to comfort, to hold -
but You receded from me like the shoreline
slipping away as I stepped in Your direction.
I begged You to wait for me
and I saw the beauty of Your eyes
like a volcanic substance flowing in and out of the ocean
until the sea became molten black
and even the fishes screamed in agony.
In
horror, I backed away, falling on the sand
then suddenly You were before me
smiling like always.
"You
see what I have to put up with!" You said lightly.
and
I bent over double in my shame and remorse
for when You had shown me a patch of Your reality,
Your true suffering - I had recoiled.
so
now You were light and delightful with me
and I cried tears like rods of iron in flame,
thrusting into and out of me
and into the sand.
You
held me gently and said,
"No one but Me can bear my suffering in this world.
The fact that you wanted to try brings me closer to you,
Like the eyelid to your eye."
I
surrendered to Your kindness
in spite of my insane desire to support You
and again, as so many times before,
let You hold and support me.
But my heart still beat quickly
from the shock of the pinpoint
that You had shown me
of Your grief.
and
You stayed with me
until my breathing was easy
and the natural rhythm returned
opening and closing, opening and closing
upon the sky.
Whose Voice is Singing Your Song?
The
torch of my heart sings songs
born of the hail-fire of Your love.
I
have borrowed Your flame
to put a song in my eyes
and wildness in my step.
Now
I do nothing but wander
in search of the fire that birthed me.
I dance like a madman, never realizing
that I am dancing on the gravestone of my life
and the very point of the creation
is beneath my feet.
Whatever
way you look at it,
I am Yours Beloved.
Meher, You are the divine fire which birthed the universe,
spewed forth the humanity and all of the creatures of the
world.
You
fed us with Your nectar in Eden,
and triumphed with the angels
when we collapsed into darkness in Sodom and Gemorah.
Our defeat is Your triumph
and good and evil win
when we lose and You hold us in the Victor's palm.
Oh
God, whatever You wish from me, I will obey,
My only thought is of translating these humble tears into
some drop of true longing
which may cause You to pity me
while I walk aimlessly
through this house of cards called time.
--------
Yes
sweet angel friend,
You speak with a voice that's true,
But do you forget whose voice is singing your song?
While you admire your great skills and talent
do not forget what you really are -
a sham, a dream,
a single card in the house
where the whole deck is destined
to collapse and die.
Child
Without a Home
I
dreamed I was doing
something with my life
that these 4 walls
were sturdy actual things
I dreamed a summer of roses
and a sea of grief
and before I knew it
I dreamed my death
the dust of my body mingled with earth
yet, while raiment decomposed
soul was singing
and for a brief
perfect moment
I knew the truth
before the dream
fell over my eyes again.
like
a child without a home
that will have one,
I dreamed again,
even as the wind reached
into my mouth
to call out demons
and the sky unbuckled
itself to me
and entered me like the perfect lover.
such
heavens and hells
rolled across my bed
as I sported with the danger
of living
while totally blind.
this
time though,
there was a vague recollection
of awake
like a night owl
calling from across
a still night
while the moon slept
in the reflection
of a stream.
a
home for feeling (2002)
a
feeling is trying to get through.
it takes hold of me
but at first it is like trying to
grasp a doughy woman
and the feeling is as mute
as the vessel is dull
the profundity cannot ripen
in so blunt a field.
so
the feeling returns
each time creating an irritation
at the edge of the swamp
and the irritation begins a shaving off process:
the self becomes leaner,
more ready to acknowledge
its utter helplessness
less padded with the poison of platitude
less avoidant of the sun.
then
like a pebble,
a scratch,
a single ear of corn shows itself
and becomes a field,
a mountain,
a gaping wound.
the
feeling stretches
gracefully into the wound
for that's what wounds are made for
(the wound is a home for feeling)
wounds
are like ears
they receive feeling
much in the way
an ear can receive
the sound of God's voice.
Your beauty has ruined me
yards
of skyway
reach out to hold me
expand around me like
yarn of the softest tresses
oh! It is Your hair!
Tickling the heart of my soul with song
embracing my every doubt or fancy
with a humbling yawn
of infinity.
a
touch on my breast --
songs of birds
approach the rhythms of angels
oh! It is your hand!
containing me with a touch so rare
that millions of children crave it's
mothering care.
an
ocean of untold truths
certainties, promises, knowings,
an ocean of knowledge
where the heart rests by the dove
truth's beauty throbs
and dove's wing-breaths
meet in ultimate
Union.
oh! it is Your eyes
tracing my life into fine threads
and throwing them into the fire
now there is nothing left of me
but ash.
oh Beloved,
Your beauty has ruined me,
destroyed the garden of my existence*.
Now
there is nothing left for me
So You must have mercy
and finish me off
once and for all!!!
*from
"Song of the New Life" by Dr. Ghani, written at
Meher Baba's order
Yet
Another Moment (April 2002 - in the hospital)
yet
another moment
has come to call
thought I didn't ask it
even may have shirked it…
yet
another moment
has met me at the gate
with arms shining wide
and the domes of Jerusalem
in her eyes.
so
close to death
we fly we fly
and court the heavens there
a golden light is shining through
like a canopy of golden hair
and we feel You so close
there - so close
recklessly
we beat our wings
upon the canopy sky
death seems inviting
release from earthly travail
and the burden
of body form
the agony of the
human mystery…
but
yet another moment
reaches into us
out of us
winds its way around
us like vines at play
(and
all that is Your hands, Your hands, my Beloved)
when
You are done with us
You extend Your hand over Your courtyard.
another form, another life,
yet another moment
has come to call.
Herdsman's complaint
oh
Beloved, my heart is a stampede of wild horses
I cannot still the wild beat of love which pounds through
me.
Sleep eludes me and my days become the dreams
my nights once held.
How can I awake from this endless life?
It
is love which creates oceans and craters of my emotions
Moonscapes reach across my days,
the coastal regions hold cues and keys for me.
Can't You see I'm dying Beloved?
Won't you come at least to say good-bye?
Embrace
me in Your eternal hello
and let the horses do what they will.
They listen to no herdsman,
they seek something higher than earthly grazing and saddle
So
I am tending them the best I can Beloved
but my arms ache from this long embrace
and the reaching of my arms to make room for
the trembling and expanding of my heart.
Oh
Gabriella,
Life is pretty much what you expected.
My gifts are causing you pain
and that is the real surprise.
Make room for my gifts
through laughing your heart big and friendly
and I myself will come manage
those mares and stallions
with my tender whip.
no mirrors
tonight
I wonder who have I become?
what happened to the young girl
who lived in the shell and
treated the sea like her mother?
where is the misery that used to consume
and the fear that contracted the heart?
You
have made me a warrior, it seems
and I do not recognize myself.
You have made me joyful and firm
and I cannot recognize myself.
I
never liked mirrors much -
(an illusion within the illusion)
they appear to lay you bare
while actually offering a veil
to the soul.
But
I depended on mirrors without knowing
and now with no mirror at all, I stand
diffuse like all the atoms have taken
flight and are circling backwards in their orbit
the air shivers around me
and sucks my separateness into the wind.
who
am I when the very ache of body
and wrenching of heart
and collapse of mind
feel borrowed
and temporary?
as
if I am living the philosophy
that seemed so distant for so long.
and
yet I love.
how I love.
It's
like I'm one aching love
-- that has no heart -
a love that reaches into me instead of from me.
that consumes me as I extend myself
that extracts from me a delight
and shares it with a voice I know is from
some other place.
The
only time I feel a little like myself
is late at night
when I am alone - like now -
and the quiet of the night fills me like a giant song
and whispers to me the secrets of forever
and the pain of love
for the sweet ones I know
and for the spirit of God within them
rests on the waves gently
like a cork bouncing
up and down, up and down
upon the sea foam.
truly alive (India Oct. - Dec.
2002)
your
love - how to write of Your love?
it is an arrow which quivers
while still in the quill
promising everything
in the silence of the indrawn breath.
Your
love - how to touch Your love -
with song is the only way
I come close
The song which breaks over and over on itself
like the wave at shore.
Your
love, how to absorb Your love -
I drink Your voice without meaning to -
whether I sleep through prayer
or stay at focused attention
whether I sin or do well by others
I am guzzling Your Truth like a drunkard
consciously or unconsciously
You, as Voice become one with my cells.
Your
love - how to measure the immeasurable,
how to describe death?
I
die many deaths as I am
slowly enfolded in Your arms
the sky like a cape closing over me
for a final farewell to the world -
Each
death stings --
nettles from the bowstring
and tears connect me.
people race to comfort me
when in truth these are the only moments
I feel truly alive.
Almost
sitting
outside Your Samadhi Beloved
I chose to sit outside
because I wish to write a poem
though what shred of beauty could I write?
--could I derive from
the arcs of silent water
streaming from Your face
and bathing me
in silent giggles and
love-beads of Your devotion?
still
I like the visible
audible proof
that I have been here
to You Beloved -
and a poem can sing
promises of Your existence
later -- on a day that the caves of despair
suck the life and memory
out of us,
strip-mining our soul.
So
this is my memento
my postcard of heart
as the breeze comes now
to touch me with forever
and the sweet pearls of Your gaze
harbor me
and sustain me
for another season.
how
could I choose to be
so near and so very far?
But now in Your mercy
I enter Your real physical abode
and am released
from this oppression
ALMOST!
Jai Baba!
Cinnamon
Grandma
- it is peaceful now
You are in your fragrant rest
like you've really gone on
through that portal we opened yesterday
after you danced in ecstasy.
now
I am with Him again
and the taste of you like
cinnamon across my chin
(like your delicious cinnamon toast)
the
taste of you
will linger for some time
how I love you
Grandma.
the
peace is palpable
I say Baba's name 180 times
for Chai - Life
and the music of you
lingers in me.
After
the pain
After
the pain seared through me
and You put your gentle hands on me
through the heart of an angel,
I went to the center of me
and saw I was crystal,
and smoke,
I
said, "My body does not exist.
I am energy and fire."
Later
waves of bliss poured through me
and consumed all fear.
My
body felt new and fresh
as if bathed in Your blood
and carried in Your bag of
tears and hay.
On
These Journeys
Courtesy
you do not ask for, Lord.
You want me rare and ragged,
pretention, an object dropped long ago
when the pack was too heavy
and the load must be lightened.
Honesty
that goes without saying
But Your honesty, oh King --
that was what I had not reckoned for.
your honesty goes beyond my stinking laundry
and into the bed of time
deep in the riverbed of my history.
frogs,
squirrels, rats, goats -- I have been these
their sounds flood my dream-voices
and awake my fear.
Must
we go here Lord - and here too?
Did You always promise You would be with me
Didn't You?
You
waste not a moment on these journeys -
the word "please" is a luxury
so we sit in sacks and silence
and await the train.
I
am ecstatic then
within all of it --
You've given me a treasure
which seeks a word beyond treasure
and takes me all the way to the grave
in suspension
because
in the silence the ecstasy sings like a peacock
or an exploding sunrise.
Human Love (Detroit 1/03)
human
love
just back over my shoulder
i gasped, looked back
an eagle over the
baldness of
desert sky.
remembering something else
or was it just the contents
of a promise
someone made long back
(now jeering at me with
a hint of pride
that they predicted my blind eye
and peculiar inabilities)
human love
sheltering a shadow
of pain, like a second self
I carry around with me
like a gun - or shield
the names of lovers melt into one explicit
sigh
and I realize in this life
I have utterly failed
to experience
human love
loyal, royal,
selfless,
melting -
poetic, ecstatic, refreshing,
lasting.
so I move on
down this other road
exquisite dream
where all the children
have wings
and every insect
seems to have joined God's choir
where rain comes as an extreme
cleansing sheet of
divine
love,
divine
love.
Baba
Tells Me,
"whether
you touch me
by your will
or by your reason, by your habit
or by your confession,
the journey connects our hearts
for centuries to come.
whether
you lie down within me screaming,
bleating like a sheep or with
stars and moons in your eyes,
the child will be the same
ultimately.
trust
me
that is all you need to do
wherever you let me love you,
it is like a flock of birds fly by
and the sound of their wings
is the beating of our hearts
together with the tide of the
universe; the Ancient One."
