The Inner Workings

The inner working of a human being

is a jungle. Sometimes wolves

dominate. Sometimes wild hogs.

Be wary when you breathe.

At one moment gentle, generous qualities,

like Joseph's, pass from one nature

to another. The next moment

vicious qualities move in hidden ways.

In every instant a new species rises

in the chest--now a demon, now an angel,

now a wild animal, now a human friend.

There are also those in this amazing jungle

who can absorb you into their own surrender.

If you have to stalk and steal something,

steal from them.


Thank you to Lorenzo for such a fine finger pointing toward RUMI DAYS.

Father Reason

The universe is a form of divine law,

your reasonable father.

When you feel ungrateful to him,

the shapes of the world seem mean and ugly.

Make peace with that father, the elegant patterning,

and every experience will fill with immediacy.

Because I love this, I am never bored.

Beauty constantly wells up like the noise of springwater

in my ear. Tree limbs rise and fall like ecstatic arms.

Leaf sounds talk together like poets

making fresh metaphors.

The green felt cover slips;

we get a flash of the mirror underneath.

The conventional opinion of this poetry

is that it shows great optimism for the future.

But Father Reasons says, No need to announce the future.

This now is it. Your deepest need and desire

is satisfied by this moment's energy

here in your hand.

Again

 Again, the sharp new moon blade.

Again we walk a garden

with the lily's clever talking around us.

Green satin no tailor sews,

trees putting on their hats.

A drumming begins, and we play along

on the drums of our stomachs.

The lake that was ice and iron

now is ridged in the wind like David's chainmail.

A voice says to the herbs, Rise up.

The mystic crane returns.

The humiliated ones dress and show

their heads in windows again.

There is a public concert on the tomb of January.

The willow shakes its head.

Those we thought were lost are back.

How the sun is with plants

is evidence enough.

No Need to Ask

The one who brings wine pours again,

no need to ask.

Do you ask the moon to rise

and give its light?

When ranks of soldiers dissolve,

dismissed for a holiday,

when a lost hand reaches

to touch the rescuing hand,

when a candle next to a mirrored

sconce gets lit,

your presence enters my soul.

Up to the Neck

I sat long enough in fire.

Now I am up to my neck

in the water of union.

You say, Up to the neck

is not enough.

Make your head your foot

and descend into love.

There is no up-to-the-neck union.

I say, But for the sake of your garden

I sat up to my neck in blood.

You say, Yes, you escaped

the alluring world, but not yourself.

You are the magician

caught in his own trickery.

Cut the breath of self and be silent.

Language cannot come from your throat

as you choke and go under.

As a Wick Does

There is nourishment like bread

that feeds one part of your life,

nourishment like light for another.

There are many rules about restraint

with the former, but only one rule

for the latter. Never be satisfied.

Eat and drink the soul substance

as a wick does with the oil it soaks in.

Give light to the company.

A Great Wagon

When I see your face, the stones start spinning.

You appear. All studying wanders.

I lose my place.

Water turns pearly.

Fire dies down and does not consume.

In your presence I do not want

what I thought I wanted,

those three little hanging lamps.

Inside your face the ancient manuscripts

seem like rusty mirrors.

You breathe, and new shapes appear.

The music of a desire as widespread as spring

begins to move like a great wagon.

Drive slowly.

Some of us walking alongside are lame.