Speakers

There are some people who can speak to the prophets

Don't ask me how

Don't ask me what they hear

   or what they say

   or who they are

But I suppose they stand in a place of quietness

A place where beauty fills their face

A place where the majesty of the mundane

Erupts like a sunrise

And in that place they find them

   the ancient ones

The shepherds of the flock of man

The ones who gathered and fed and protected us

The speaker stands

And slowly they approach

Like whales coming from the deep

One or two, or more, will surface to meet this swimmer

Slowly, fully, they approach

And the speaker forgets who he is

Forgets THAT he is

All he knows is his stand

Like a bush rising from the desert

Then the prophet stands before him

And this is how they speak

By standing

The facing of one soul against the other

Is far more than speech

The facing is a merging

The presence, full and oblivious

Is all the talk that is needed

And then it all begins to fade

Consciousness returns

And the speaker, remembering he has a body

Will stretch out his hand

Do not leave me!

   he seems to say

Leave me with a sign!

   he seems to say

But he will not be attended

The apparition will fade

Like the receding tide

There was nothing you or I could do to keep it

These beasts from the deep

No one can tame them

They will return to the deep

The speaker is left alone now

In a deeper emptiness than before

The echo that comes when the hall is stripped of the last twig

HE is that echo

And his existence
   the empty hall

There are those among us who speak to the prophets

Who stand in that place of silence

Where majesty irradiates from the mundane

But what do they say?

If even they don't know

How can we?

Arise and face the world!

Stand, only stand

And open your spirit fully

   to that which faces you

And like a sail

   you will be caught by a wind

Now violent, now peaceful

And the world will open up unto you
   its hidden dimensions

And those great shepherds shall emerge

And speak to you in their speechless speech

And sweep you empty
   hollow like a flute

And like the flute you will weep

Like the flute you will weep

And this weeping will strike the hearts of men

Who mistakenly will take it to be
   a message from beyond

But you will know it was only an echo

Only an echo

   of your own abandonment

The Sacrifice

The blade of Yezid has pierced me and I

Clung to the robes of Ali

There was no place in the world to shelter

Our likes

No voice in the courtroom

To give witness

The hordes of Karbala descended upon us

And left us to dry in the sun

Violence and falsehood would prevail

And the men of God would ever fall, ever fall

Ever to their entrapment

They would fall

They were strong

And worthy! They were worthy

Goodness their only and fatal

Weakness

And like Samson to Delilah

They would willingly

Even desirously

Give themselves as a sacrifice

Perhaps if enough of their blood was spilt

The thirst of the world would be quenched

If enough of their bodies were slaughtered

Its hunger would likewise be filled

And righteousness return to the people

Like silence to a crying infant

Then take me by the ropes and lead me to the tent

There he awaits me

Oh Imam of the Imams!

Grant your slave the strength

To face his blade

To face his blade

I approach him gently, if not shyly

His eyes are delighted

And his hand is sure

Speak the name of God in my ears

Embrace me strongly

Like a father

And open the vein with your blade

Let my life now flow into the earth

It came from the earth

And now it returns

Now I cannot stand, I am going

Let me lay on the ground to rest

The blade of Yezid has pierced me and I

Am strewn as a feast for his guests

(The poem uses references which those unfamiliar with certain elements of Islam will not grasp. Lay explanation is provided.)

Ali, Yezid and the Karbala: A story from the “early church” of Islam. Ali was the nephew and son-in-law of the Prophet, and, some say, the rightful heir to leadership of Islam. The problem was that Islam was not only a sweeping spiritual revival, it also accomplished a near impossible socio-political feat—it united the tribes of Arabia. And in that unity, everyone knew, was power, power enough to overthrow the great empires of the day (Byzantium and Persia, which it did). People who had initially resisted the Prophet (in his days of poverty) now posed as fervent followers, realizing the immense psychological power they could tap by using religious rhetoric. They maneuvered, around and over many sincere followers of the Prophet, for a place of prominence in this young movement, or, more importantly, this budding empire. Ali, apparently incapable of the vicious manipulation which his opponents employed, eventually lost power and was assassinated as he led the morning prayers. His conniving political opponent had an even more conniving son, Yezid, who is passionately remembered by all Muslims. Yezid’s continued clash with the bothersome line of Ali led to the massacre of Karbala. Karbala, a desert region in Iraq marks the place where Yezid’s troops intercepted the caravan of Hussain (Ali’s son) and all his extended family. They held them hostage for a time, depriving them of water, and then killed them. Karbala is analogous to Calvary in Christianity, and arouses similar sentiments in many Muslims as the suffering of Christ arouses in many Christians (albeit they do not consider it a source of spiritual salvation). The writer proposes that the essences of Ali and Yezid both pre-date the actual historical figures, and endure past their lifetimes until today in all spheres of society. Religion, politics, economy,  business, science, art, anywhere you look you will find those with transcendental aims who consequently appear naive, and are massacred (literally or figuratively) by those with egotistic aims but who are more eager and willing to play power games. He at once mourns and takes courage in the struggle of Ali and his descendants, and here he finds meaning to the injustices of the greater world as well as his own world.

Imam of the Imams: Imam, meaning “the one who stands before”, can be used for the pastoral figure in an Islamic community. It is also used by some to refer to Ali and 11 of his descendants who guided the community in its early years. It is used in the latter sense here. The writer calls on Ali in the moment before his death, as Christ called on “Eli” in the moment before his. There is a suspicion than an uncanny pre-surgence and resurgence of certain great spiritual figures has been taking place (e.g. Abraham, Moses, Elijah, Christ, the Prophet, Ali); meaning that they appeared and interacted with the faithful both before and after their earthly lives.

The ropes, the tent, the Name of God, and the opening of the vein: Alludes to the ritual slaughter of the animal on the occasion of Eid ul Azha, the Islamic feast of sacrifice. The feast celebrates the substitution of a sheep which God made for Abraham as he was about to kill his beloved son. The suggestion the writer makes is that justice has a way of constantly running into deadlocks, and this calls for acts of counter-justice such as bailing, atonement, redemption, intercession, mercy, forgiveness etc., to undo the knots. A person who offers themselves knowingly and willingly as the sacrificial animal commits such an act of counter-justice. Only in the most extreme cases does it actually involve death. Usually it involves the willingness to offer oneself as an object upon which others can thrust hateful, angry or frustrated projections which they have not been able to resolve or express otherwise. The one on whom they project has done nothing wrong to them, but he allows them to use him as this “substitute”.

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