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

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!