Inside This River

Inside this river there is a moon

which is not a reflection.

From the river bottom the moon speaks.

I travel in continuous conversation

with the river as it goes.

Whatever is above

and seemingly outside this river

is actually in it.

Merge with it, in here or out there,

as you please.

This is the river of rivers

and the beautiful silence of endless talking.

The Verge of Tears

You make our souls tasty like rose marmalade.

You cause us to fall flat on the ground

like the shadow of a cypress still growing at its tip.

Rainwater through a mountain forest,

we run after you in different ways.

We live like the verge of tears

inside your eyes. Don't cry.

You trick some people with gold ropes.

You tie them up and leave them.

Others you pull near at dawn.

You are the one within every attraction.

All silence. You are not alone, never that.

But you must at times become distracted,

because look, you have taken the food

that you were going to give to Jesus,

you have taken that out to the stable

and put it down in front of the donkey.

Behind Each Eye

Spring overall. But inside us

there is another unity.

Behind each eye

one glowing weather.

Every forest branch moves differently

in the breeze, but as they sway

they connect at the roots.

What the Friend Wants Done

One who does what the Friend wants done

will never need a Friend.

There is a bankruptcy that is pure gain.

The moon stays bright

when it does not avoid the night.

A rose's rarest essence

lives in the thorn.

Dhu'l-Nun's Instructive Madness

 Some friends of Dhu'l-Nun, the Egyptian,

go to see him. They have heard
that he has gone spectacularly insane,
that he is a wildfire no one can contain,
this man who has been such a source of wisdom.
They arrive at his house. He yells out,
Hey, you had better watch out,
coming here. Who are you?

Don't you remember us? We are your friends.
What secret are you hiding with this madness?

Dhu'l-nun begins to rave a mixture of filthy language
and gibberish. He rushes out and grabs up stones
and throws them at the group. They run.

See, he calls. You are not friends.
A friend does not run from pain
inflicted by a friend.

There is a joy within suffering
that is the kernel of friendship.
A friend is pure gold singing
inside the refining fire. He thrives on fights
and misunderstandings and even madness.

Messengers from the Mystery

balloon flowers - one opened, one as yet unopened

Love is the way

messengers from the mystery

tell us things.

Love is the mother,

We are her children.

She shines inside us,

visible-invisible as we trust

or lose trust,

or feel it start to grow again.

Singing

When the soul first put on the body's shirt,

the ocean lifted up all its gifts.

When love first tasted the lips

of being human, it started singing.