(Ft. Huachuca AZ, Spring 1988)
The little crimson blossom as it shoots forth
from the tip of a leafy branch
and full-lipped roses unchaffed by the sun,
cooing in the sparkling air,
and the chorus of finch and swallow
as they herald in the dawn outside my window;
and truly the singing mountain ridge which speaks
and speaks to them and to me ceaselessly ceaselessly,
whose robust arches and gorges, embracing lakes
branch out to draw me to their embrace.
All of this testifies that we are loved where we stand.
As I see, and as I hear,
so also do I love in return, ceaselessly.
And everywhere I turn my beloved turns to me.
Wednesday morning,
the March snow from yesterday
is melting, I have off.
It is well past 5 a.m.,
I do not have early shift,
no bus no car no leaving.
I have not fed the "kids",
yet they are at peace;
the tomcat snores over my left ankle,
looks up, I meet his gaze,
he snuggles in and sleeps.
The cautious temple-kitty sits on the floor
to my right and gazes up at me,
I meet her gaze and make room for her,
she springs to my right thigh,
stretches long and snuggles close.
On my left, my beloved turns toward me
and holds me to her,
I lay on my back, receiving, receiving.
I have not risen to make Puja.
Finances are a shambles,
who is left that I do not owe -
the wolves are at my neck,
we own little, undertake nothing,
what shall we make for breakfast.
Yesterday I share with her Trungpa's statement:
that "the bad news is that we are
in free-fall, with nothing to hold on to, and no parachute;
the good news being, that there is no ground."
She finds this discomfiting,
I explain that it speaks to the impermanence
of anything, of everything.
That we are idiots – and precious, divine, and in God's hands.
That in the bardos we perceive this more distinctly than now -
although the "after-death" is simultaneously moving
in every moment of our life; the bardos are now and with us.
She gazes at me and says: that one thing is permanent, her love for me.
I meet her gaze. Nodding.
It is now 8 a.m., my heart soars like a hawk.
It is a good day to die.
And to be reborn.
I rise to feed the "kids".
Show me an Islam without any designs on world domination,
or on political domination over any land or people,
an Islam which would gladly take its place honorably
among all other religions, those with visible Scripture and without,
whatever form their service or house of worship.
Show me an Islam which so much as embraces and celebrates
its co-existence with variety in faith - with Alawite, Baha'i, with Copt and with Sikh.
Show me an Islam free of Sunni and Shi'a,
allowing for freedom from Shari'a,
an Islam free of every form of girl-mutilation,
of forced marriage or even arranged ones,
of any coercion or manipulation or intrigue,
an Islam entirely free of Hijab and Burqa.
An Islam show me, where countless churches and synagogues and temples
are happily frequented among the mosques,
and the spirit of intelligent appreciation reigns.
Show me an Islam of joy, rather than of gloating,
one which unmistakeably demonstrates God's unconditional love -
and leaves pork and politics out of the equation.
Show me an Islam with a sense of humor,
a mature capacity for reflection, for self-criticism,
an Islam which doesn't foment strife and division -
while claiming to preach peace and harmony!
Not an Islam without teeth, but without the thorns.
This would be something closer to the Islam whose
intimacy I have in-joyed for four decades,
the Islam of dervishes, who foment joy and not jihad,
for they belong to God whom they know, and no ideology.
That would be an Islam I could really live with, and welcome.
The Islam we have, I have to live with, but need not welcome.
