The weary ghost insists that the conversation continue…
You’re asking me for answers.
Being so conscientious, I’ll do my best
to stay awake and talk, but it’s gibberish.
I miss days of talking through an entire night – into oblivion –
until the sun lights a blue line across the horizon.
Babbling until the air flees into zephyrs and we snap awake….
only to slumber the entire day in borrowed repose.
We humans were made to be commanded by our hearts.
This shell I haul around was a consequence; a cloak with which to hide me among others.
True love is to remain hidden among the mysterious combustibles of the heart,
it’s sun-fire leaping upward casting light from the hearth of the eyes.
This is how we recognize love –
by the depth of deep of the hidden light, and the length of the reaching flames.
You say, “I like it when your consciousness is slipping away.
Your heart speaks and it spins silk
and only you can tie bows in the wildly flailing ribbons of flame!”
Leave it to God, the gift wrapper.
Who in turn leaves it to me to unwrap…like a child with shortened breath.
We cannot desire the gift of truth long enough,
before it comes to find us – bursting through the wrapping.
The great gnostics say when we take one step toward Allah,
He takes ten toward us; how am I to love a lover like that?
It’s all within … all within you.
Beauty outside comes from beauty within.
I’m not as bright as the moon, the closest we’ll get to the true light,
But beneath its glow, I too am a reflector of the sun.
Sunlight is all white, and the framework of atoms within the lattices of molecules
assemble and dance to bend such light into a spectrum of colors.
But there is a white light…so pure, which no prism can break into hues.
So white that ink flees the parchment of it’s pages.
Unable to describe with the mind of speech, we are left with unuttered replicas,
and seek and love our journey through others, while not holding them idols.
God wakes us from sleep, but not from dreams.
Hold these illusions wordless in your heart.
Life is a touch, a kiss, the draw of a bow…
A bottom flagon of dreams – overflowing the cup of reality.
I cannot touch the light which illuminates images
Nor touch the images themselves; only their matter.
We are shadows cast by light,
earth cast by breath into clay –
The moon is but a phantom without the sun….
a shadow of the earth.
All we have with which to love others,
is what God leaves us.
That you make it easy to speak, and do not hear my words as tricks of my mind….
makes me, hm, awake but dreaming.
God in everything I do suppose – O’ Hafiz who asks,
“where shall I go, from thy presence. Thou art everywhere.”
Love is a steady wind that erases what we know as soon as we try to grasp it.
It is pre-eternal wisdom, named by God, whispered only to the heart.
