The sun, His Self, has been planted in a thousand furrows across every soul's body. -Hafiz
Open Mic Of The Air: link to open mic reading of 'Other Than Love' episode #125
Back Into Love
I came across a caravan of words that were headed for Shiraz. Pen in hand, they had something to say to this lone traveler. ...Angry men cast aside the shadow and poke holes in their relationships. I came across a man just like that. He was tormenting the Moon and looking to pick a fight with Neptune. But because I am so clever, I offered my heart in service as a mentor. Cautious, though curious, he staged a full on interrogation. Kept hidden were tears of sorrow, and plenty of regret. But here's the thing, all movement is made beautiful, all things are one. When we left the room together, we came back to an indivisible self, at least for a moment, until we realize each outward movement is another journey from love, through love, back into love. |
Tapestry of Light
I once sailed a ship to the Netherlands
looking for a place to retire the mind.
The sea urchins looked suspicious when
I tried to teach them about telling time.
So I gathered up my things and sailed ashore to Spain.
They didn't look kindly on my wardrobe of informatics.
When I arrived in France, word traveled faster than my feet.
Without stepping foot, I went straight ahead to India
looking for some Guru to perceive my value.
I learned far greater luck could be had
retiring home and crooning with the stars.
The journey to create and form joy, can
take a lifetime of mismatches.
And all the while the seasons come,
reminding us of resilience, consistent patience,
and loves abiding tapestry of light.
I once sailed a ship to the Netherlands
looking for a place to retire the mind.
The sea urchins looked suspicious when
I tried to teach them about telling time.
So I gathered up my things and sailed ashore to Spain.
They didn't look kindly on my wardrobe of informatics.
When I arrived in France, word traveled faster than my feet.
Without stepping foot, I went straight ahead to India
looking for some Guru to perceive my value.
I learned far greater luck could be had
retiring home and crooning with the stars.
The journey to create and form joy, can
take a lifetime of mismatches.
And all the while the seasons come,
reminding us of resilience, consistent patience,
and loves abiding tapestry of light.
Dancing in the Darkness
It’s the old brag of ancient warriors,
fighting, complaining, calling you back into existence
causing you to weep again
for the Beloved of which we many-a-time parted.
“It’s all in you” she says.
But I can’t feel it.
“It’s all in you,
…we invite you to remember.”
Time escapes me in the drone of the locust,
a sanctuary created on the blanket of the old growth forest.
I can hear thunder, echo, from an old
cave you once belonged to.
But I can also see the light who’s been calling,
whispering of home, an offering of forgiveness.
…Dancing, as we all are, in the darkness,
until we can feel the light.
It’s the old brag of ancient warriors,
fighting, complaining, calling you back into existence
causing you to weep again
for the Beloved of which we many-a-time parted.
“It’s all in you” she says.
But I can’t feel it.
“It’s all in you,
…we invite you to remember.”
Time escapes me in the drone of the locust,
a sanctuary created on the blanket of the old growth forest.
I can hear thunder, echo, from an old
cave you once belonged to.
But I can also see the light who’s been calling,
whispering of home, an offering of forgiveness.
…Dancing, as we all are, in the darkness,
until we can feel the light.
Into Sky
A billion times God has turned man back into Sky
What do we worry for?
I chuckled the other day watching a chipmunk
dig at the roots of an old Cypress tree.
For are we not just this way?
Storing away our rarest possessions from the passerby.
And what would it be like for all to bring forth those hidden treasures?
For Earth would be laughing in daffodils and daylilies
from here,
to Dubai.
I tell you what,
I am willing to wager each Soul has hidden treasures.
And what would it be like? Or is this already happening?
A billion times our Beloved has turned us back into Sky.
What on earth are we worried for?
A billion times God has turned man back into Sky
What do we worry for?
I chuckled the other day watching a chipmunk
dig at the roots of an old Cypress tree.
For are we not just this way?
Storing away our rarest possessions from the passerby.
And what would it be like for all to bring forth those hidden treasures?
For Earth would be laughing in daffodils and daylilies
from here,
to Dubai.
I tell you what,
I am willing to wager each Soul has hidden treasures.
And what would it be like? Or is this already happening?
A billion times our Beloved has turned us back into Sky.
What on earth are we worried for?
The Hand that Weaves Us All
I see you standing there in your polka dot dress,
looking into the eye of every passerby,
‘does he see me?’
‘has she the eye to witness the beyond?’
Shift of head, maybe this angle,
‘where is the door in?’
Ah, to listen more deeply, to be still,
and reach deeper for another ounce of Grace.
An invitation to be not the only ones at this performance.
There, the candlelit doorway, in you? Or is that another room in me yet explored?
At any rate, the invitation to take a journey through you, to me.
When we part, I bid you well, and trust all threads will continuously interweave
by the Hand that weaves us all.
I see you standing there in your polka dot dress,
looking into the eye of every passerby,
‘does he see me?’
‘has she the eye to witness the beyond?’
Shift of head, maybe this angle,
‘where is the door in?’
Ah, to listen more deeply, to be still,
and reach deeper for another ounce of Grace.
An invitation to be not the only ones at this performance.
There, the candlelit doorway, in you? Or is that another room in me yet explored?
At any rate, the invitation to take a journey through you, to me.
When we part, I bid you well, and trust all threads will continuously interweave
by the Hand that weaves us all.
A Magician’s Hat
Light pours out of a Magician’s Hat.
the mathematician subtracts and divides,
and calculates using algorithms learned in France and the Netherlands.
The Artist paints a picture cast
against the landscape of the inner eye.
the banker keeps an eye and a finger on the
inflow and outflow of all his deeds and rations.
The Dreamer, paints across a canvas
the landscape he and God built one summer’s eve many, many eons ago.
and while the officer attempts to keep every loving minstrel in line,
the Mystic moves and weaves through guarded walls,
an invitation, requesting all to break ‘way,
paint the inner sky,
and dance the unexplored rhythm.
You ask me what I know.
I’ll tell you,
I know this,
God resides in a vessel,
at the center of my being,
Light pouring in and out,
as if from a Magician’s Hat.
Light pours out of a Magician’s Hat.
the mathematician subtracts and divides,
and calculates using algorithms learned in France and the Netherlands.
The Artist paints a picture cast
against the landscape of the inner eye.
the banker keeps an eye and a finger on the
inflow and outflow of all his deeds and rations.
The Dreamer, paints across a canvas
the landscape he and God built one summer’s eve many, many eons ago.
and while the officer attempts to keep every loving minstrel in line,
the Mystic moves and weaves through guarded walls,
an invitation, requesting all to break ‘way,
paint the inner sky,
and dance the unexplored rhythm.
You ask me what I know.
I’ll tell you,
I know this,
God resides in a vessel,
at the center of my being,
Light pouring in and out,
as if from a Magician’s Hat.
Dance with Me
The Sun told the Moon today, that he loved her.
And now she braids her hair with the golden threads of Lakshmi’s loom.
She awoke, just past midnight, for a moment,
just to feel her own forgiveness,
and settle back into the home she left so long ago.
No wonder the Moon doesn’t tell time,
what kind of Moon would she be if she put a curfew on
our courting her.
I like her guest appearances during the daylight,
taking attention from the Sun
in a whimsical, yet subtle fashion.
The Sun is now making rainbows with the mist,
and all I see in your eyes is kindness.
Anything less than that, is not a reflection my dear.
Anything less than ‘Come, come dance’
is not the prayer I ask of your feet.
So please, lay down your shield, your badge, your logic,
and come, come dance with me tonight.
The Sun told the Moon today, that he loved her.
And now she braids her hair with the golden threads of Lakshmi’s loom.
She awoke, just past midnight, for a moment,
just to feel her own forgiveness,
and settle back into the home she left so long ago.
No wonder the Moon doesn’t tell time,
what kind of Moon would she be if she put a curfew on
our courting her.
I like her guest appearances during the daylight,
taking attention from the Sun
in a whimsical, yet subtle fashion.
The Sun is now making rainbows with the mist,
and all I see in your eyes is kindness.
Anything less than that, is not a reflection my dear.
Anything less than ‘Come, come dance’
is not the prayer I ask of your feet.
So please, lay down your shield, your badge, your logic,
and come, come dance with me tonight.
Honeybee
I am a honeybee
and I need to make some honey.
But my beekeeper, lets call him God,
is asking me to make honey from a rare orchid that you
do not have on your property.
I know the fastest route to the purple cone flower,
and the swiftest way to the clover patch,
and how I love to spin ‘round the paper bark maple.
But oh, how I long to taste the bitter orchidaceae
of the old growth forest,
and feel the cool mist of the hidden stream.
Beyond the beauty, this wondrous land of Awe,
there is something, somewhere calling,
‘pollinate me.’
I am a honeybee
and I need to make some honey.
But my beekeeper, lets call him God,
is asking me to make honey from a rare orchid that you
do not have on your property.
I know the fastest route to the purple cone flower,
and the swiftest way to the clover patch,
and how I love to spin ‘round the paper bark maple.
But oh, how I long to taste the bitter orchidaceae
of the old growth forest,
and feel the cool mist of the hidden stream.
Beyond the beauty, this wondrous land of Awe,
there is something, somewhere calling,
‘pollinate me.’
Back Into Herself
Feel yourself embrace the earth again,
and remember how sweet it is to be Home.
The nightingale has chimed the hour
a silent tone opening the evening’s curtain.
We rest in this spacious abode,
sensing as every cell, every molecule,
every particle of your soft body
beckons you back into Herself.
When our journey commences, when we fall
to sleep,
when all your children turn in their caps and sashes,
tucking them into their cubbies;
we gather everyone up
for evening primrose oil, lavender tea,
and a bedtime story by the hearth.
You see, here, all our days work,
all efforts, all unfinished tasks
unfold into Him.
Met with a smile and a beckoning to come near,
draped in Creation’s hand-knit shawl,
a loving reminder:
Dear Ones, all efforts, all choices,
every skinned knee, is of no lesser or greater value.
Up here, Darling, We love you just the same,
always have, and delighted we always will.
Feel yourself embrace the earth again,
and remember how sweet it is to be Home.
The nightingale has chimed the hour
a silent tone opening the evening’s curtain.
We rest in this spacious abode,
sensing as every cell, every molecule,
every particle of your soft body
beckons you back into Herself.
When our journey commences, when we fall
to sleep,
when all your children turn in their caps and sashes,
tucking them into their cubbies;
we gather everyone up
for evening primrose oil, lavender tea,
and a bedtime story by the hearth.
You see, here, all our days work,
all efforts, all unfinished tasks
unfold into Him.
Met with a smile and a beckoning to come near,
draped in Creation’s hand-knit shawl,
a loving reminder:
Dear Ones, all efforts, all choices,
every skinned knee, is of no lesser or greater value.
Up here, Darling, We love you just the same,
always have, and delighted we always will.
Painterly
The Sun and I paint pictures together
and we wonder, Him and I,
how to make the world a brush stroke or two more lovely.
A touch of crimson blue here,
splash of lavender there
and golden arches cascading over the meadow.
Why so glum, when he holds the same hand you hold up to the canvas my dear?
Paint a picture that awakens the angels from slumber
and begs the gnomes to come out and play.
Creation and I,
we like to paint together.
Light, pouring out of flower petals,
onto our mind
canvas,
and into our day.
The Sun and I paint pictures together
and we wonder, Him and I,
how to make the world a brush stroke or two more lovely.
A touch of crimson blue here,
splash of lavender there
and golden arches cascading over the meadow.
Why so glum, when he holds the same hand you hold up to the canvas my dear?
Paint a picture that awakens the angels from slumber
and begs the gnomes to come out and play.
Creation and I,
we like to paint together.
Light, pouring out of flower petals,
onto our mind
canvas,
and into our day.