Monday, December 1, 2014

how does a universe fit inside a human being?

There is a voice inside me
with the patience of the sea
twenty six flowers rest on one branch
by day's end
each has blossomed into a thousand trees
worlds of forests, deserts
valleys and undiscovered peaks
By moon rise
their petals sway into the spiraling arms of a galaxy
and the vast empty infinite of the cosmos
is kissed with the cloying fragrance of evening primrose
moonflowers, nightshade, gladiolus, geraniums
and drunk, the great starry void inhales
and breathes out all the colors of the dawn
The Beloved arrives
the Beloved is here
the Beloved was always here
(and never)
There is nothing but the Beloved here
There is nothing but the Beloved
I thought I existed
I and the world
I and so many other I's
I and the sun and earth and ocean and sky
I and Nature and the cosmos and you
and you and you and you and you
But I have never truly existed
How can something have existence
when it is here one moment and gone the next?

How does a universe fit inside a human being?
It curls into the body in the fetal position
like a prayer
or a question
whose answer requires an eternity of now

the great starry void of the cosmos is within
the vast stretches of infinity
the endless desert of space
star nurseries, galaxy clusters
and all the empty space between
is here, right here
Heat death and the expansion of the universe
the beginning, and the final trails of light
the big bang, the apocalypse and the end of our sun
all the moments of the cosmos and the earth
from the birth of light and time
to the end of eternity and the shores of pre-darkness
how can so much time fit into so small a body?
It curls into it in the fetal position
Like a prayer
or a spark from a fire leaping skyward
trailing light in the shape of a question
whose answer requires an eternity of now
To the flowers that have not yet bloomed;

turn your face toward the sun
let the shadows fall behind you
and soak up as much blood, water and tears
as your roots and veins can hold

Thursday, September 18, 2014

The ancestry of language

They come and we break words
and wet tongue to speak to each
but you and I share something beyond words
a dance of light in the eyes
something rooted so deep in the seed of our being
that it precedes language...

What is the mother tongue of the Universe?
And what was its first word?

What were some of the earliest languages
of being and becoming?
And what was the first death
experienced by the Universe?

I think the Universe's first experience
of death, temporality and finitude
may be what preceded the birth of language

In coming face to face with its own mortality
did the silence of the cosmos
erupt with the ripples of language
each word a container
a souvenir from travels past
a glimpse into the untimebound for the timebound

Monday, February 17, 2014

confessions p 30

Mercy on mercy on mercy
Light on light on light
13 years in an instant
Then, now, always
The same question
At the heart of all I hold true
What did I do to deserve this?
I did absolutely nothing
I just am
And You love me like this
For nothing
With no reason 
 I just want to learn how to love like that

Letters p II "Faceless Lover"

Who are you?
Where are you from?
Why does your shadow haunt the horizon of my dreams?

Whose face are you wearing today?
Whose voice have you borrowed?
Through which word shall I find you tonight?
With what mask will you kiss me in the morning?
With whose eyes shall you peer into my soul?

Oh faceless lover
Shrouded in shadow and cloth
I have only ever heard your echo through the walls
Once, I thought I heard your voice
Over the din of so many others in the marketplace
So that even now, I can't tell which throat was yours

Oh faceless lover
Who are you that awaits me at every ending?
Who are you that began with beginning?
Through whose eyes are you looking at the world?
Who are you that wears the face
of every lover I have known?
The mothers with which I have grown
Sisters and brothers, born and unknown
The was and the will be
The yet to be formed
And the seeds of the unsown?

How many lifetimes of memory must I accrue
Until I can remember what is to be with you?
Again and again and again and again
Until every moment of wakefulness is doused
And drenched with your scent
Until every breath spent unequivocally in surrender
And every moment
Every surface and layer

Oh faceless lover
Who is it looking from beneath your hundred veils
That with such a thing as simple as one gaze
Can split a single instant into a thousand ways to say
I remember

Oh faceless lover
Strike me blind!
Strike me blind
So I may never put a face to love

Monday, January 27, 2014

Letters p I

Rumi, what am I supposed to be doing?
Where is Shams? Where is the sun of the sun?
To which direction do I turn when sight fails
And the horizon reveals only mirages?
What tongue do I speak when my soul's night
has chased the words out of my mouth?
To which constellation do I turn when my eyes
swallow light like black holes?
In what language would the words of love
not flee from me
after tasting the kiss of my faithless lips?
Through which window do I fly
when the house of my soul
becomes too claustrophobic for my dreams?
Where do awakened dreams find refuge
from this sleeping reality?
What is the soul of the soul?
Who is the spirit of the spirit?
"Who am I? Where is my soul from?
And what am I supposed to be doing?"


*quotes: Rumi