11/20/2014

Song of Fire

If Moses, Jesus, and Mohammed had known
That men would etch their song of fire into a book
They would never have opened their mouths.

Each word of scripture begins as a cry in your chest
From that sacred calligraphy of arteries and nerves.

You need no map to return to these wild places inside you.
Your body is the garden where God walks
In the cool of the evening, among luscious vines.
Their entanglement is the dark story of your love.

Your grapes are round and full.
The Lord crushes each one with his tongue,
a lost pilgrim in your moonlit forest.
Feed his terrible thirst for you.

Could blood exile its beating heart?

Flesh and the senses have never fallen.
Your breath trembles though them like wine in crystal.


Only the mind has fallen, fallen into wanting.
Now go back to the stunning silence of original wonder.

11/19/2014

Thanksgiving



Think of the biggest problem
that fills you with anger or fear
and observe what happens in your chest...

Breathe a long breath out and let it go...

Now think of some little creature
for whom you are grateful,
a touch of fur, a hand holding friend,
a blossom in the snow.
Observe what happens in your chest...

Stay here in this sensation of gratitude
and dissolve...

You are infinitesimal!
Hardly anything at all!
Your body is less than an atom
compared to the sun.
Your existence is a photon,
1 millionth of a hair's width
in measureless galactic distances!
You are an afterthought of dust
in the wild spiral of flung stars.

Now surrender
to your insignificance...

And in the beautiful annihilation
of the next breath,
become aware of your ear.
Does the symphony of the cosmos
not ring its sphere bells
in the utterly free gift of hearing?
Could you possibly deserve such music?

Become aware of your eyeballs.
Do they not contain the god-gold
of ten million suns
performing the dance of angels
for you, for you?

Become aware of your nostrils.
The fragrance of Dante's rose!
Celestial hierarchies unfold
their pollen scented petals,
quasars of unfathomable propinquity
whirling in winds of time,
moment after moment,
just for your body...

No,
you cannot possibly deserve it...

Now feel your skin, the air's caress
of starlight atoms falling
into your pores...
Do you have edges?
Are you not a bursting pomegranate?
Have you ever touched the end of your flesh?

You give form to the radiance
of all Seven Days.
In your Sabbath center
God says, 'I.'

Take good care of your Heart.
It contains so much more
than what could ever be created.

Activate this miracle
by following one commandment:
Give thanks.
_______________

Photo: NASA’s Wide-field Infrared Survey Explorer (WISE) recently captured this image of Puppis A, a supernova remnant roughly 10 light-years in diameter and about 7,000 light years from Earth. But we can assume this rose also blossoms inside your body, and that is why you can see it.

Administration

Sometimes we need an organization, and sometimes we need a disorganization. Grace is beyond executive management. 

Shiva administers this vast business the way a crystal manages the sun: thousands of compartments for a single stream of fire, without separation or distinction. Kali Shakti's style is different: when she dances, her naked toes pulverize our bodies into stabbing slivers of subatomic delight.

The current that swirls us into a single massless particle is the entropy that flings us apart. Our minds cannot process such data. This is why confessing our confusion is a potent spiritual path.

Look at it this way, friend. We're dry leaves scuttling on a sidewalk, pretending to move our own feet. Resist the wind, and you become a 'me.' Surrender, and you become the wind. 

True, what whirls us can never be known, but its name can be felt as a quiver of seduction in the quim of silence. There are extravagant chocolate truffles like this. They melt 
on your tongue. Do you try to understand? No,  you simply 
let the flavor of love fill your breath with stars.



What Is Truth?



Don't look for the Truth. Just look at the Lie.

Implicit in the search for truth is the lie that you are separate from it. But if you just look into the lie, wherever it arises in the present moment, it will vanish like a mirage in a mirror. The lie cannot endure your gaze.

This is why, when Pilate asked Jesus, 'What is Truth?' Jesus did not answer. He simply gazed back.

(Painting by 19th C. Russian artist Nicolai Ge)

A Warrior for Peace


Just before sunrise this morning, I saw Jesus walking on the fiery waters of my heart, the glorious golden ocean of my outrage. He commanded me, saying, "Don't be a goody-goody! Do some mischief in this world. God loves roughhousing."

I said, "What shall I do, Lord, for I am a man of peace."


He answered, "Are you angry?"

I said, "No, Lord."

He answered, "That's funny, because I AM."

Then he breathed a pure smokeless blue flame of fiercest love upon me. And I felt long-lost anger rise up through my backbone, undulating like a graceful maiden with a body of lightning, wearing the thinnest veil of yearning, and brandishing a diamond scimitar.

I knelt down and cried, "Lord help me, I am angry! I am angry at the slaughterers of Palestinian children and the murderers of rabbis. I am angry at those who cry, 'Peace, peace!' when there is no peace. I am angry at the merchants of war and the presidents they buy with 30 pieces of silver. I am angry at the gray-flanneled pharisees of the temple mount on Wall Street, who fill their pockets with the bread of the poor. And most of all I am angry at me, for I know not what to do!"

Then the Lord said, "Stand up!"

I stood as if on solid ground for the first time, I felt so rooted in the divine wrath. The flame of his breath smelted me melted me molded me as I stepped from the Radiance, a warrior for peace.

"What shall I do, Lord?" I asked again, with passion.

And he answered, "Do what I did. Drive the fucking money-changers out of the temple."

Peace Through Ignorance

I profess peace through total ignorance. It's people who think they know the Truth who make war. We fight for what we believe in. We slaughter the unbelievers, certain that they're wrong. Knowledge begets conflict.  P.H.D.'s take sides. Disciples with a precise theology march off to the crusades and behead each other.

But we whose creed is, 'I don't know,' live in joyful compassion, armed with the blessed shield of uncertainty. This isn't about right or wrong, friend, it's an invitation to strip off your doctrines and take a bath with me. Dive in the pool of Unknowing, fathomless and dark among wild berries, somewhere in the sweet-scented forest to which there is no Way.

11/17/2014

Speak A Thousand Words


I speak a thousand words.
You speak a thousand back to me.
All of them are lost
in the whirlwind of voices
shouting, "I believe!"
But ha'Shem only speaks one word,

just One,
whose meaning is not yet known
for it is still being spoken.
Listen to the mountains.
Listen to the snow.
Listen to ice forming
around camellia nipples.
Listen to the drum of rocks in sod,
to rivers of air in stillness
just before dawn.
Listen to the robin erasing her song
the moment she sings it.
Don't mistake any of this for a plan, 

an order, a finished creation.
It is unending melody
played by its own breath.
Weeping, sighing and laughter
come closer than any name.