The Guru…

Who Goes There? (Photo Credit: Rakhi Varma)

The guru’s mind is empty
Like the space revealed when the mist above a lake
Parts effortlessly at dawn…
His heart is the throb of all Existence, and
His body, dust blowing in the wind
Free of the four directions…
What he knows, knows no end, no beginning
And what he understands
Is the heart of silence.

Go, become that space, that heart, that dust
Don’t be worthy, be audacious, begin at the end:
Pretend, wear him, stand in front of the mirror
Like a child who wears his father’s shoes to
Become father – and he does.
On your way, you’ll need two things:
Faith, which means that you let go of
Everything that can be known or held or said
And longing, which means that all you
Know, hold or say is
Many ways of saying: “Who am I?
I am that. I am that. I am that.”

Red Herrings, a poem

Is The Gaze Blue (Photo Credit: Tove Ilher)

The common thing between this
dark descending slowly, and this winter bird
…and your melancholy
is that there’s no true reason behind any.
Don’t look for causes –
They are red herrings
meant to keep you from looking
at the answer behind:
The unchanging sky, where
all things come and go
in the folding and unfolding
of pure Emptiness.

Disguise, a poem…

Woman Discovering Nature (Kahlil Gibran)

Sometimes you come to me
Disguised as a friend, a stranger
A student sometimes
And, sitting low below me
You ask me, ardently, to sing…
Enamored by your asking, then
Yet, slowly and hesitantly, like
A hatchling tiptoeing to the edge of a cliff
Warmed by the sun that also seems to be below
I sing my blurry-eyed song
Just a newborn, raw call across the immense valley
That I don’t yet know how to cross…
But you break into rapture
You dance on the words
And hold close my broken notes
As if they were stars of the rarest sky
And – as if they came from me –
When, I know, it is all you…
Even the wind
Even the wings
Even the valley
Even the song.
Tell me, my Master
Isn’t this how you ease me
Out of the frail safety of my nest?
Don’t you make me a hawk
And, you, the sky I pour myself into
So I may learn from your open arms
That joy has two sides:
One, a giver, two, a receiver…?
The world holds higher the giver
The singer, the poet, the painter, but
If there weren’t always the receptacle
The unconditional, bottomless heart
There would be no homecoming
No tears of joy…
Would there?
And when our exchange is done for the night
And sleep closes all outward doors
I forget all this grand knowing, except:
How much you love me
That you meet me everywhere, inside everything.
This is the gift you wanted me to find
Hidden in your disguise
Isn’t it?