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 mad, you will stop seeking and begin to dance.

 

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

 

All right then, you alone, already tipsy with the vintage of emptiness, drink on!

Welcome, nadimati.* I will reveal a secret that you must forget when morning comes.

 

It is not the juice of the Guru that gushes up your stem, Apriling your bud and spreading fragrance over the garden; 

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

 

Enter the diamond chamber in the rune-core of your heart; feel the tremor of your pistil and stamen; refuse to name them Jesus and Mary, Radha Krishna, El Shaddai and his Shekinah, Rumi and Shams.

 

This nectar, pressed by breathing from your Seed, this fountain of bee-wildered green, inebriating the earth, is You my friend, pure You.

 

No Other offers such a maddening scent, the feral musk You Are before 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.