Read my primary poetry blog - ghamela yoga
Saturday, October 29, 2016
Surrender by unhanding the world;
true humility, it seems, the perfect slave,
attained by embracing utter ignorance
and some sort of dynamic passivity.
Incapable of grasping the Truth, the mind
must be put aside, or by grace put itself aside.
Though it might lead, by negation,
to Truth’s threshold, for the pilgrim
to enter the Tomb-shrine, the discriminating mind
must resolutely and purposefully be discarded
like sandals outside the door –
feet bare and the world unhanded,
naked of any reactive defense
until it becomes dissolved in wholeness,
so They say, seamlessly forever unattached.
Ignorance embraced by faith,
nurtured and established until it becomes,
by grace, whatever True Knowledge is.
O child of God, Meher said, love Me;
do not try to understand Me.
(photo of Meher Baba's tomb - Meherabad, India)
Saturday, September 24, 2016
Garment of leaves
Heart like an apple core --
that’s where the seeds are.
People take you for a lunatic
but it’s just the inner thunder
giving you that far away look,
(as Adam must have looked,
gazing back across the garden pale),
impeding nimble strides and coherent speech.
What’s a man’s gait anyway,
but a limping away from his destiny?
Or smooth talk if his seeds are stone?
The crooked path he follows
can only lead back to where he began –
the garden in the chest.
It’s all there in the core – root, leaf, bark, fruit;
soil, water, sky. Time makes us think
the apple in our hand is ripe and ready
to sink our teeth into.
O child of God, shed that garment of leaves.
Venture naked into the new world.
(image by falco @ pixabay)
Tuesday, August 30, 2016
Where the day will take us
Harder each year, becomes the routine –
folding and unfolding myself;
reach, stretch, bend and arch.
Harder still to flex that not-the-body
pertaining to me – to keep it vital –
generous and receptive.
Jesus said, become as a little child –
when I went about
where the day would take me,
shedding a life in time
of hierarchical impositions;
exploring the outposts and wild purlieus –
nameless and unruly; heroic and detached.
It’s not that unmarked tablet
(lost on the way to school)
we must recover but, our flexibility,
our susceptibility, slipping out
of our tendencies, our utterly crushing contexts,
young and vigorous, lithesome and nimble,
adventuresome deep in our bones,
as we go about exploring the vast,
Godly paths of where the day will take us.
O child of God, are your own arrangements
superior to your Father’s intentions?
(photo by Dassel/pixabay)