The Two Books

In a dream you went to heaven and stood

   in a room of light and mist

Nothing else was in the room

   but two tables of stone

Upon each table a thick book lay

   ready to be opened

The Angel of Truth came in and stood

   between the volumes both

‘What are these books you guard so close?

   and why are they bound so thick?’

‘They are books of truth. In them

   you will see events, none false!

‘All recorded exactly as

   they happened, as they are!’

Your eyes, they glowed—to see the truth!

   To understand what’s REAL

To know what had happened in the world

   untainted by man’s emotion

‘It is, however, given to you,

   to read but one, but one’

Hesitation. Only one?

   ‘What is the difference between?’

‘One book has every word

   of hate, of spite, of ill

‘spoken by men concerning you

   hid from your eye and ear’

The blood, it flowed into your neck

   Surely there’d been many

‘The other has every word of good

   men spoke of you in secret

‘The both are true, by my right hand

   inscribed. Now you may choose’

Your mind a swirling mess of thought

   If I open the first one at last

I will know the liars who smile to my face

   and scorn behind my back

Oh, the power! I would know

   those bastards for who they are!

Finally the covers would be removed

   And what’s in the second book?

Only the good? Why even bother?

   Yes, it would be lovely to know

the nice things they say. But how naïve

   to want to see only the good

‘Think well upon it,’ said the angel

   'Those quoted in each book

'may not be whom you expect

   the words to have come from

'For know! the human mouth is weak

   as is the human heart’

If I open the first, I will likely find

   my dearest friends, my mates

And know the words they spoke in shame

   but spoke none the same

But in this knowing my heart will turn

   each word a seed of angst

Planted in hurt and volatile ground

I will be turned against all I love

   and against all who love me

In the second the voices will be the same

   but quoted in moments of courage

For isn’t a kind word more difficult to speak?

   Their words will be food to my soul

To know that even the antagonists

   have stood up in my favor

But… your eye still lingered on the first

   will that tome not serve me better?

The angel saw your thoughts and strife,

   and spoke in gentle tone,

‘You want to know the absolute?'

   Your eyes said, ‘Yes, yes, yes!’

‘The problem lies in what thing

   you consider to be “true”.

'For in the mind-bound earthly life

   of inconsistency,

'of fractured thoughts and paradox,

   there is no WHOLE truth'

‘All is split in two, as you

   see these volumes twain

'The good is true, the evil is true

   to either you can subscribe'

‘The REAL truth is not forcibly

   that which happened so or not

'TRUE are those things which draw your heart

   to the Father of it all'

‘For to know the ill, it may be real,

   but, how does it serve you?

'It will cause only a further ill,

   and further evil still

‘But to know the good, if only half

   your heart will fill with strength

'to change even the other half

   into good for your own sake

‘In either book is power,

   the power of knowledge unknown

'But one of them will dry your soul,

   the other make it grow

‘Now choose.’

I didn’t see which book you cracked,

   the choice was terribly hard

But I hope you missed the things I said

   against you on the side

Though it is true, I said them all

   still somehow it is not

I spoke them in a moment of

   falsehood to me and you

The truth is that no matter what

   deep inside, I love you

Civilization

They never have
   the earth beneath their feet
And the sun
   above their heads
So sheltered are they
   by the cocoon of civilization
This egg of concrete
When will they hatch?

What is More?

And the human consciousness
so beautiful, so vast
Too great to be destroyed by a body
Doth hover over us
Like a great iceberg in the water
Inverted, where sky is water and water is sky

Peering out beneath the surface
Only a splinter of itself into the air
Concealing its wholeness above that filmy passage
In the thick and darkly waters above

So exists a splinter of the human being
inside a brain, inside a body
The rest, who knows?
The rest is more
And when one dies they are born into the more
And begin to live in that incomprehensible more-ness

And when THAT life is expired
They are born into even more
Further and further
As the universe
Self-creating
Unspiraling
Unraveling
Endlessly

And this is the mystery of infinity
This is the meaning of forever--eternal

"But shut up your pen, for it writes only emptiness"

"It tries to express what is more, the eternal"

"Has not religion done this?"

"All the sacred writings, how feebly they express this"

"Will man do better?"

"Never"

"If you know the secret, will you not pass it on?"

"Will I invent a new religion?"

"Will you?"

"That is impossible, for as feeble as it is
it is the highest form of expression of the secrets
It is the door"

The Dialogue

There are two versions to this story. A boy came to the city looking for a renown house of wisdom, but he was misinformed and wound up at an institution for the mentally unwell. Still thinking it a house of wisdom, and not having the courage to approach the great sages, he crept around the back and overheard two of the patients have the following conversation. He sat under the window long after the conversation finished, in deep reflection on what was said. He returned to his village and opened up a center for learning, and the masters he taught are still read and quoted to this day, while both the original house of wisdom and mental institution are long forgotten.

The second version is that a boy came to the city looking for an institution for the mentally unwell as his father was becoming feeble. He was misinformed and wound up at a renown house wisdom. Still thinking it a mental institution he crept around the back to spy on the situation there before admitting his dear father. Two of the greatest philosophers were sitting at a window discussing profound matters and he eavesdropped the following conversation. When they had finished he dashed home to tell his mother that they would never admit father to a place where people with such levels of dementia freely roamed and held conversation, it would certainly worsen his condition.

I'm not sure at this point which version is true, but I have reproduced here the dialogue in its entirety for your reference.

***

What is the meaning of life?

Ask not what is the meaning
ask, what is 'life'?

What is life?

Life is to live.
but what is 'to live'?

To live is to be
but what is 'to be'?

To be is to be seen
but what is 'to be seen'?

To be seen is to exist
to speak and be heard, to touch and be felt
but what then is 'to exist'?

To exist is to reach, to depend
but what is 'to depend'?

To depend is to be bound
to exist, to live, to be, all is bondage of the sight
but what is 'more'?

More is more-ness
more-ness is that which is not bound by existence
but what is freedom?

Freedom is existing beyond existence
freedom is invisibility, freedom is oneness
but what is 'oneness'?

Oneness is to come back to the breath
but what is 'the breath'?

The breath is the beginning
and the beginning is the end, and the end is the beginning
but what is both 'the end' and 'the beginning'?

The end and the beginning are meaning
but what is meaning?

Meaning is life, and all life is meaning
but what is 'life'?

Life is that which is different from the dead
but what is 'the dead'?

The dead is that which has no meaning
life is that which has

And those who ask 'what'?

Ask not 'what' but 'why'

And those who ask 'why'?

Ask not why but 'how'

And those who ask 'how'?

Ask not
simply be

The Children of God

We wept for an age that had
   gone by

We wept for a world of marvel
   lost

A door to paradise
   closed

A message
   forgotten

We mourned the loss of a culture
   our culture
   our nation

No longer. We, refugees
   among the people of the world

A race in extinction
   slowly fading
   like the day
   from minute to minute
   disappearing

We would not exist

Is that what we were born for?
To leave nothing to posterity?

We mourned the loss
   how will we be comforted?

Who will bring the deceased back from the land of spirits
   the land of whispers
   where exist the echoes, the shadows, the ripples
   gone out eternally
   into space
   who will bring them back?

Do no weep said the voice
As long as you are alive
It shall be alive
It shall be passed to posterity

How? I said

It shall

The Beloved

The Beloved came unto me
He spoke not a word
But what we shared was greater far
   and deeper, than words

I could speak naught but his name
I was in love with him but could not express it

He drew me into his embrace
And I was his
My individuality
Independence
Self-will
Free choice
All like dirty clothes
Were stripped away

This fixation on life
The fear of death
The desire to be
To achieve
To matter
It all melted away
In this moment of nakedness

He was life
He was desire
And I was in his arms

He left me, as he usually does
And all such earthly things came back
   slowly, greyishly
Like the dawning of a drizzly day
He left only a longing in me
He left in me the imprint of him

A deeper sense of separation, my love!
Why then did you come unto me?
To give one sip to a traveler lost in the desert?
I can't understand you, my dear

Why do you neither give your full presence
Nor take it away?
Do you taunt me?
Do you make me dance the dance of love unrequited?
What a bitter dance

Or do you feel the same?
The pain of separation
Of this something which severs us from each other
Makes us wonder in the back of our head
   if indeed the whole affair really took place
If we are real, or a dream one to another

A figure remains in my mind
I see the day when breath expires
When brain and flesh finally rest
When flies the soul
That day is called "THE RETURN"

I see me saying
"My love, I have been away for so long
I was lost and couldn't find my way back"

And I see you saying
"You have been gone for so long
I have longed for you every day of the journey
But now you are home
Come, leave no more"

That is the day of our marriage
I see it, and don't know if it's real
But I see it, and it lives inside of me

My words! I chew on my tongue
But still they don't come
The words to say what is between us
To say what your love is
My dear, I can't say it
My Beloved, I can only say your name
I can only say your name

Ransom

They said to gather material wealth
But it all seemed to vanish so quickly?

They said to accrue sums of knowledge
But no sooner it grew obsolete?

They said to acquire bodily beauty
But the body was eternally withering?

They said to pursue fame, acclaim
But the people were first to forget?

They said to find acceptance and love
To be given and taken on whim?

Then spoke one who had been quiet throughout
Find the wealth of the self, he said
All else will be lost to time and event
But when will you be without your self?

Money, mind, body, repute
All bandits
Waylaying the pilgrim
Holding him hostage

And all the while
He had the ransom inside
He just didn't know

A Prayer for the East

My Lord

They have not believed my words
I came only to serve
But the people rejected me
Because of the bitterness that was sown by my brothers

Have mercy on them my Lord
They are a strong and a proud people
Full of goodness
Caught up in the snares of the West

That insatiable monster from our lands
Arises again
Raises its hand against the East
In its mad, mad! lust for power
Deliver them, deliver us all

Give them strength to endure the test
Grant only that in this darkness we might behold thy face
My Lord!
Only one look would be enough

Grant that I be among this sturdy lot
Grant that I share their fate
If their blood is spilt, so let mine
That I might partake it all

That I might take on the hatred they would aim at me
What other vessel will they find?
That I might absorb the pain they would expel upon the enemy
I am built in the image of the enemy
I would count this thy blessing

That I might watch them, even from afar
As they enter into thy glory
That I might follow, even from afar
As they tread thy path
Lead us in the path of the righteous! (ihdina al sirat al mustaqeen)

Let my voice mingle with theirs
As they cry
Only thee do we worship (iyaaka naabudu)
Only from thee do we seek help (wa iyaaka nustaeen)

And in this world of festering injustice
While we may never have peace
If we can earn Your favor
That would be enough

Regrets

That there is so much life to live
And too little time to live it in

That there is so much to be learnt
And too little mind to learn it with

That there is so much to be seen
But never space to see it all

That there are so many to be loved
But not enough heart to love them all

That there is so much to be done
And not the strength to do it all

Wisdom
Judgement
Choice

The crutches to deal with our existence

Brief, rushed, sundered
Blind, fumbling, searching
Finding, rejoicing, losing
Weeping, returning, resting
Understanding, finally.

The Conference

My self conferred with all its fellows—the personalities—and lamented

“Brothers, we are no longer as simple as we once were

No longer as carefree as we would like to have remained

Why have time and constraint forced us to change?

To be so earthly?”

The personalities mumbled among themselves

They did not know

They could not say

To Fly

The moment when the impossible becomes possible
It is not enough just to say it
You must have the touch
To lay naught more than a finger on that thing called impossible
And watch it transform itself

Not a task accomplished by words or intellect
Not by thought or reason
It's in the touch

Christ said "What is easier, to say? 'Thy sins are forgiven thee'
Or 'take up thy bed and walk'?"
Then said both
Did both

Which was easier, the outer miracle or the inner?
The inner? It can't be proven.
The outer? Visible, but superficial.
Soon there will be a leg-healing device
But when will we get a forgiveness machine?

Which is easier?
To part the waters of the Red Sea?
Or to change the heart of Pharaoh?
Engineers can part those same waters
But where is the heart-changing tech?

Which is easier?
To walk on water?
Or to cast out demons?
Man walks on air these days
But still is not free of his demons

The visible is applauded
But it is the invisible that lasts

It is when the touch of the finger
And the gaze of the eye
Cause the material to dematerialize
And the real to un-realize

At that moment a wingless creature takes flight
That great and boundless entity
The soul
Possesses the body
Faith possesses the reason

Don't try it through effort, labor
No amount of positive brainwashing will do

It's all in the touch
When one touches
And is touched--simultaneously
And with the touch they are touched with
They reach forth

The Prophet

He taught me how to be a saint

Without being perfect 

How to be holy

Without being sinless

He taught me how to be both divine

In order to change the world

And human

In order to love it

David! David!

Kiss me with thy seven kisses!

I am thy slave,

As thou wast mine

And we are both

Slaves of the Eternal Love

Strange

It is strange being me, you know

At times in love with all of humanity

Even the most odious

At times, to even the most lovely

Averse

O soul!

Where will you find your rest?

Where will you find your place?

Do such things even exist as “rest” or “place”?

Or do you search for that which has evaporated

As soon as it was expressed?

I do not want to live

I do not want to die

I do not want to struggle

I do not want to rest

Neither being nor unbeing will suit me

Neither existence nor void

Thought or emptiness

Speech or silence

Nothing, nothing!

What DO you want

O, confounded soul?

What do you want?

Shame

We are ashamed

Of what we should not be

And proud

Of what we should not be

We conceal the natural

And display the waxen

We stamp out the light in our soul

And then try to light it with wires

What have we become?

What, oh what, have we become?

People

You will find that people
Are not as certain as they appear
Nor as uncertain

They are not as kind as they appear
Nor as unkind

They are not as attentive as they appear
Nor as distracted

Not as rich
Nor as poor

Not as busy
Nor as idle

Not as good
Nor as evil

Not as believing
Nor as faithless

Not as pious
Nor as pagan

Not as similar
Nor as different

People, people, my dear
How elusive they

Courage

Courage is not the absence of fear

But more often the absence of choice

All the great acts of bravery done

Not by the brave—who is brave?

If there’d been a chance to run, to hide

They’d have done it and been forgotten

No choice was given to these fate-chosen heroes

So the fear was faced

The feat complete

Their seal upon humanity

The choice was not to live or to die

(How easy would be so to opt)

Rather the choice was to die or to die

Die well or die ill (with remorse)

Then in one blurry moment of suicidal craze

Against the strangling odds

They struck out and offered their body as forfeit

To death, the first, the quicker

Then found him like fate

Strangely, strangely like fate

Erratically benevolent

To give it all back in one chilling blow

Their lives and their loves and their fame

Die with face full into the wind?

As proud as an old mountaineer?

Or die in shame’s flight?

Last moments frozen forever?

In a terrified, petrified fossil?

The stone of the past doth keep all things well

What tales! What tales it will tell!

Look Around You

Not all who smile

        are happy

Not all who don’t

        are not

The heart is deep

        even to its master

So deep that its master

        is servant unknowing

I went through my youth

        laughs and smiles

But did not know my heart

        distraught, disturbed

I went through age, my eye

        serious, serene

But down beneath, my heart

        joyful, content

Two Strains of Thought

Knowledge is outward

Wisdom is inward

Knowledge is awareness of facts

Wisdom awareness of their implications

Knowledge cold, hard, tangible

Wisdom elusive, intuitive, alive

The point on the page may be defined, limited

But the ray runs forth past time and space

Knowledge confines consciousness

Wisdom defies it

Knowledge is understanding the world

Wisdom the marriage between world and soul

O Muse! Pray give us no more knowledge

We are gorged with it

Give us wisdom that we might find some meaning

To this torrent of facts we are drowning in

Mom's Orders

You must be praying for me. I keep having these dreams with you. In this one I had arrived to visit, and everyone was living in a small, quaint little flat. It was just the second floor on a tight colonial cobblestone street—it reminded me of some of these cities I've visited in the interior, with that irresistible faded glory of the coffee barons.

Conversations, conversations. I had so many talks upon arriving. I went to a warehouse where things were being sorted, furniture, boxes, all sorts of things. I was with Terry. In the end she said she was going to a friend’s place, but that I shouldn't come along. Apparently she had been embarrassed about taking any of us along when she went to see this particular girl. I spoke with Dad, Mike, but then I remembered you. Funny how it had slipped my mind, something so important, like, “Oh, by the way, where is Mom? I haven’t seen her yet.”

When I came to you, you were sleeping on a narrow little couch on the porch. It had been raining the whole time and you were getting all wet on one side. I bent down and hugged and kissed you and you woke up. You woke up thinking it was someone else, but when you realized it was me, you gave me such a tight squeeze, and held me against your chest. I began crying.

You said you were so happy I had come and began telling me that there was so much to do, so many people I had to teach, so many people to reach.

I cried all the more saying there was no time. “When will I ever get around to it? There is never enough time.”

I just remember your voice, rasp from sleep, chiding me, telling me, “Of course there’s time, there WILL be time. You just need to stop worrying about what’s going to happen to each one. People will go their ways, some will leave you, others will stay on as a memory, like a picture you can hang on your wall, some will go off to the East. But you've still got to reach them.”

And I cried as you held me. I don’t really know why, but I cried.

(21/08/11)

I Must Not Let Him Pass Me By

I must not let him pass me by

I am weak and the sun is so harsh

The crowds are so pressed, but still I must not

I cannot let him pass me by

My face is pale, my vision blurs

my head is sick and spinning

My hands sweat cold, but I must go on

I cannot let him pass me by

One foot in front of the other I place

one stumbling step at a time

But this is my chance, my only chance

I cannot let Him pass me by

I’m coming close, but the closer I come

the crowds push and throng all the more

They scream and tear me from the path I have set

I cannot let him pass me by

The hands are violent, crude and rough,

they come from every which side

They grab me and push, my strength will give way

I will fall like grass before the scythe

I will meet my end, surely I will

‘neath the feet of this cruel crowd

But as long as I can, I must go on

I cannot let him pass me by.

So long have I been afflicted

so long in this gauntlet of ails

Nothing has worked, if I die here amidst

the embrace of this vulgar crowd

Better than dying alone, my dear

than dying in the bed of regret

I have no other choice, to reach him or try

to not would be death just the same

He’s coming near, I see his face

I see his sweaty brow

Now is my chance, the last of my hope

I need not more than a touch

His hands are too holy for one filthy as I

I do not deserve to hold

His eyes too bright for my darkness

I do not deserve to look

His feet too pure for my mouth to approach

I do not deserve to kiss

But his garment, just the hem that drags on the ground

surely this could not be wrong

As lowly as I am, as despised as disgraced

just the hem, please find in me no fault

For I like that hem, have been dragged in the dust

soiled and threadbare and torn

I am the hem of the garment of the world

so let me now touch what is mine

My hand reaches out, but I am thrown to the ground

and the crowd begins its mad trample

Still my hand reaches, over miles it seems

of bare and hot dusty road

Only the hem, only the hem

as I stretch every bone toward that figure

Hundreds and hundreds of hurried sandals

beat me into the ground

But all that I see is my hand reaching forth

for that hem, for that hem, for that hem!

And then I lay hold, and I wish you could feel it

like a pilgrim who at last sights the shrine

I grasp it with much more than merely my hand

with my heart, with my soul, with my mind

My whole body grasps with all that it has

to that piece of rough woven twine

And then comes the flow, the virtuous flow

a rushing and tingling peace

It sweeps my body like a torrent of strength

burning, cleansing my frame

So strong is this feeling I finally let go

as it sweeps every nerve every vein

From the tip of my hands, to the tip of my feet

I shudder again and again

The tears fill my eyes, and wonder my heart

as I lie still prostrate on the ground

I do not notice the crowd’s eerie hush

and the feet that before me do part,

But soon I’m aware of the presence that stands

and gazes upon me with love

None other knows what between us has passed

save me and the one in my eyes

The people are puzzled as they see him draw near

and stoop before my wounded hands

Slowly and crouching I sit myself up

but carry my head ever low

My eyes wander round the foot trodden sand

ever avoiding his gaze

“Was it you who touched me?” says the gentlest voice

“Yes,” I slowly reply

I don’t know if I’m wrong, I don’t know if I’m right

but this miracle? How can I deny?

“Daughter” he answers and touches my face

And the touch calms my innermost fears

“Your faith has saved you, now go in peace

and may you be every whit whole”

The tears again flow down my bruised beaten face

as it lingers in that tender hand

I kiss it and thank him in sob muffled cries

I pour out my gratitude full heart

And then with a smile as warm as can be

he lifts up himself and he goes,

But his presence within lingers on still

the part of himself left in me

And soon I’m alone, the throng is all gone

alone on the side of the street

Reliving, reliving the magic exchange

that until today touches my life

I cannot explain what happened that day

only that one weak was made whole

One with whose last strength stretched out her hand

and was washed and delivered and redeemed

I sat for a long time on that street’s crumbly edge

before I could make my way home

I stumbled along, this time with relief

like walking through hills in a dream

Oh what a wonder, oh what a miracle,

I found in his hem that blest day

That even the unworthy, the downtrodden, the scorned

can reach for that garb and be saved

And though I returned dirty and bruised

my soul would ever rejoice

In this day that I sought him and reached for that hem

this day that I strove for his grace

I will ever be grateful for his mercy divine

this day he did not pass me by