WHAT YOU TRULY ARE NOT

Light
will not
catch
so trust
you are not caught
in the brambles,
you truly are not.
you did not stop going
toward God.
the thorns will remind you
of Him. they are just like angels.
you should thank them!
His Love is more than
any illusion.
God let you get stuck
on the lesson of the thorn.
are you praying?
are you patient?
are you sure
you want
nothing
more
than
God?

A SHAYKH IS REMEMBERED

ELEGY FOR LEX HIXON

in my heart,
you are an author
whose book
fills my mind
with pages,

questions
that we find at
every intersection,
you took the time
to answer,
Brother
on the Path of Light,
the Path of the Beloved.

do you smile at our tough shells?
do you wait to tell us the tool
is love? the hammer can't break us.
with gentle encouragement, we make friends
with the most fragile flowers in the Beloved's garden.

we all need Love to become buds
and more Love to be one with the Bloom.
one man's light stands by while we work
to reach the meat of our heart.
we drank the words
of the Quran
all night.

he showed the way
and it was just another november,
the first day, years after his ray went home,

we are here
tonight
not to fade.
for in heaven
there is no dusk
and it is always a new dawn.
the walls came down
when we learned
there was no need for them,
just the strength
of the Sufi, at home
on every holy route,
the wanderer,
the seeker,
the dreamer,
the song
you sang,
we are singing, too.

WANTING TO CHANT

(this is a very rough draft, but I wanted to post it here anyway)

tonight
at midnight
in the quiet,
i will pray
myself
into
You,

la ilaha ill allah

Heartbeat
of heartbeats.

la ilaha ill allah

there is no us,
no me, no not.
there is no you,
but You.

la ilaha ill allah

Divine Everything,
in the silence
after the midnight chime,

la ilaha ill allah

all that is here,
all that is caught up
for a while in time speaks.

la ilaha ill allah

hear all existence
in the stillness

la ilaha ill allah

worshiping
You.

la ilaha ill allah

there is no you
but You

la ilaha ill allah

IN DRAWING THE SPIRAL

Regarding my poem about The Goddess, most of us say there is no such thing as male or female in God. Yet when many people hear God or Allah, they think of "Him" in a masculine sense. I try to use a variety of names for The Nameless One in my blogs to loosen others and myself from the habit of making God into an image of a man.

IN DRAWING THE SPIRAL

the sound of The Goddess
appears. how does
the swirling of crayons
on paper become so obvious
a sign, so obvious
a melody?

when you can't hear
Her voice, take chalk
or pens or even a stick
and let Her sing you
into the sound,
pirouette
after
pirouette.

Her melodies
will peel away
our layers of doubt,
exposing the soul's gift
of harmony.
even in the silence,
She listens, tucking us
into Her Heart
where Light and Sound
and even Heaven and Earth
become at once every synonym
for Love and Peace in the realm of eternity..

(last revision: 11/9/07)

PEARLS

sorrow is not the cause of this.
my heart isn't heavy with this weight
because it is hurt. i chased
joy and now my hair is going gray
and being immersed in Your Love means more
than avoiding what i risk to yearn.
You are nodding. You give me a feather,
to put in the dream of my wings
and tell me to ache to fly
until the ache is joy and my cries
are hymns full of gratitude.
"tears," God says, "turn to pearls
when they fall for Me and Me alone."

when you're the one to smell the rose...

Salaam,

The other day I was wowed by something Lex Hixon wrote in the beginning of "The Heart of the Koran". His friend smelled roses when they made the spiritual pilgrimage to Mecca. It made me wonder what this might have to do with how often I "smell flowers that aren't there" in recent months. This morning, while listening to some great music, it happened. I smelled the rose. When stuff like that happens, I feel myself leaving this world and how hard it would be to exist in both worlds at once. God has helped me though to find a place where I can touch Love and have another drop of It spilled into my heart.

Probably not too many people expect to dance with God. We don't think God would choose us for a dance. Just like our first dances at school and our first cases of puppy love, we're wondering if we might not be special enough to be wrapped in His arms and led on the Dance floor. That's the only thing that stands between ourselves and God, thinking we're not special enough. We think God only goes to the prophets (Peace Be Upon Them) or the saints or the mystical poets like Rumi.

I don't mean the type of special that replaces humility with gluttonous pride. True Love of God fills the humble heart. The proud heart is my personal jihad. My pride, not my lack of it, causes the lack of self-confidence and self-esteem. I fight with it constantly, but there has been some tiny spark yearning to glow and grow inside my heart. This is the flame of Love that lives inside every heart. Sometimes it is buried under so much junk, it feels like it's not there.

But...God is...the most Merciful. If Allah forgives, we can forgive ourselves for the error of the junkyards in our hearts and start decluttering with a sincere desire to repent. This means to humble (not humiliate) ourselves before Allah who knows how hard we struggle. God made us; She knows what we are up against yet She also gives us the power to reject desires that lead us to sin.

Just ask; God will listen.

Know that even we , the average man and woman, can smell the rose that appears not to be there. Just one bit of advice: God knows even glimpses of pure Love could make us too drunk to walk for the rest of our lives. So God gives you and me what She gives us drop by drop until we can handle the amazing world as Muhammed (PBUH) described for God in the Beautiful Quran. Bury yourself inside the fragrance of the rose and praise God for leading you to it. You can do it. We can all do it!

Al-hamdu lillah! Praise God!

WHEN YOU'RE THE ONE WHO SMELLS THE ROSE

i don't know
what i'm saying,
but Allah does.
the mystery
of not knowing
is enough
when revelation
turns like this dance
with God on my tongue.

my BeLoved, why
does the essence
of the rose
shower me now
from the depths
of my soul
as if i dream
myself into a new
sense of being?

i could fade
into it,
couldn't i?
i am senseless,
changing with faith,
etched
on my heart,
leading me into
death of self,
the fragrance,
the dance,
the mystery
of this language
leads to death
of flesh.

i breathe the Language
to be made pure
with Your Love.
i chant Your Names
again and again
until i lose all
but my call to You within.

(last revision: 10/24/07)

*footnote: see Divine Remembrance for the experience that led to this poem