Don't Ask

     

Don't ask, "What is my work in this world?" Just make honey. Let knowledge ripen into wisdom. Let wisdom ripen into foolishness.

Only crazy people understand God. When this love drives you out of your mind, you will stop seeking and begin to dance.

At the heart of the dance, stand still, while many worlds spin around you. Reader, stop reading this dangerous poem now!

All right then, drink on. You alone, Nadimati, already tipsy with the vintage of emptiness, will hear a secret that you must forget when morning comes.

This is not the juice of the Guru gushing up your stem, blushing your bud with April, spreading fragrance over the garden;

nor is it the wine of Christ, bursting the wineskin, sweet Ruh from the suras of Mohammad, or the tears of Qwan Yin.

Enter the diamond chamber in the rose of your chest. Feel the tremor of pistil and stamen. Refuse to name them Jesus and Mary, Radha Krishna, El Shaddai and Shekináh.

For the nectar pressed by breathing from your Seed, the fountain of bee-wildered green, inebriating earth and many other realms, is You my friend, pure You.

No Other offers such a maddening scent, the feral musk of Darkness, prior to conception.

Don't ask, "What is my work in this world?" Just make honey. Don't ask, "What shall I name this perfume?" Just call it, Annihilation.

 

* Nadimati: (Arabic) a woman wine-drinking partner.
Hear a reading of this poem: LINK