A Basket of Fresh Bread (2)

There is a basket of fresh bread on your head,

yet you go door to door asking for crusts.

Knock on the inner door. No other.

Sloshing knee-deep in clear streamwater,

you keep wanting a drink from other people's waterbags.

Water is everywhere around you,

but you see only barriers that keep you from water.

A horse is moving beneath the rider's thighs,

yet still he asks, Where is my horse?

Right there, under you. Yes, this is a horse,

but where's the horse? Can't you see? Yes,

I can see, but whoever saw such a horse?

Mad with thirst, he cannot drink from the stream

running so close by his face.

He is like a pearl on the deep bottom

wondering, inside the shell, Where is the ocean?

His mental questionings form the barrier.

His physical eyesight bandages his knowing.

Self-consciousness plugs his ears.

Stay bewildered in God and only that.

A Basket of Fresh Bread (1)

If you want to learn theory,

talk with the theoreticians. That way is oral.

When you learn a craft, practice it.

That learning comes through the hands.

If you want dervishhood, spiritual poverty,

and emptiness, you must be friends with a sheikh.

Talking about it, reading books, and doing practices

do not help. Soul receives from soul that knowing.

The mystery of spiritual emptiness

may be living in a pilgrim's heart,

but the knowing of it might not yet be his.

Wait for the illuminating openness,

as though your chest were filling with light.

Do not look for it outside yourself.

There is a milk fountain inside of you.

Do not walk around with an empty bucket.

You have a channel into the ocean,

yet you ask for water from a little pool.

Beg for the love-expansion.

The Qur'an says, And he is with you. (57:4)

The Far Mosque

The place that Solomon made to worship in,

called the Far Mosque, is not built of earth

and water and stone, but of intention and wisdom

and mystical conversation and compassionate action.

Every part of it is intelligent and responsive

to every other. The carpet bows to the broom.

The door knocker and the door swing together

like musicians. This heart sanctuary

does exist, though it cannot be described.

Solomon goes there every morning

and gives guidance with words,

with musical harmonies, and in actions,

which are the deepest teaching.

A prince is just a conceit,

until he does something with his generosity.

Deliberation (2)

Constant slow movement teaches us

to keep working like a small creek

that stays clear, that does not stagnate,

but finds a way through numerous

details, deliberately.

Deliberation is born of joy

like a bird from an egg.

Birds do not resemble eggs.

Think how different the hatching out is.

A white leathery snake egg, a sparrow's egg,

a quince seed, an apple seed.

Very different things look similar at one stage.

These leaves, our bodily personalities,

seem identical, but the globe

of soul fruit we make, 

each is elaborately

unique.

Deliberation (1)

Orthodox priest, by Bennett Hart

A friend remarks to the prophet, Why is it

I always make bad business deals?

It's like a spell. I become distracted

by business talk and get led into wrong decisions.

Muhammad replies, Stipulate with every transaction

that you need three days to make sure.

Deliberation is one of the qualities of God.

Throw a dog a bit of something.

He sniffs to see if he wants it.

Be that careful. Sniff with your wisdom-nose.

Get clear. Then decide.

The universe came into being gradually

over six days. God could have just commanded: BE.

Little by little a person reaches forty and fifty

and sixty and feels more complete.

God could have thrown full-blown prophets

flying through the cosmos in an instant.

Jesus said one word, and a dead man sat up,

but creation usually unfolds like calm breakers.

Who Makes These Changes?

Who makes these changes?

I shoot an arrow right.

It lands left.

I ride after a deer

and find myself chased by a hog.

I plot to get what I want

and end up in prison.

I dig pits to trap others

and fall in.

I should be suspicious

of what I want.

Meadowsounds

We have come again to that knee of seacoast

no ocean can reach.

Tie together all human intellects.

They will not stretch to here.

The sky bears its neck so beautifully,

but gets no kiss. Only a taste.

This is the food that everyone wants,

wandering in the wilderness.

Please give us your manna and quail.

We are here again with the beloved. This air,

a shout. These meadowsounds, an astonishing myth.

We have come into the presence of the one

who was never apart from us. When someone chews

sugarcane, he is wanting this sweetness.

Inside this globe the soul roars like thunder.

And now silence, my strict tutor.

I will not try to talk about Shams.

Language cannot touch that presence.