"And Jesus Wept"

There is a heaven of sorts, for dutiful Conformists

who'd paid their taxes and believed in good faith,

all that their churches and pastors, their governing elite and

media and lobbies, told them about being multi-cultural and tolerant,

keeping thier poltically correct noses clean,

and staying out of trouble.

A heaven of sorts, for those who'd joined in good faith

the "good fight" against the "radical-right and Islamophobics",

waving smiling Welcomes at Merkel's waves of smirking,

able-bodied young male "refugees" bringing with them the fruits

of "The-Religion-Of-Peace" to be spread and bred on this soil

unsoiled by any consideration for the victims they leave in their wake.

Into this heaven of sorts come those Gutmenschen who'd conformed

unquestioning, with Gauck and with Merkel, with pervasive propaganda

which painted in rainbows the forced acceptance of unchecked floods

of nearly exclusively Muslim "enrichers", on pain of being called "xenophobic"

by television or by neighbors.

Into this heaven of sorts, furnished with nice things and sailing and

elevator muzak and people being nice and partying a lot, and getting a feel

for their extended after-life, walks a guy who greets them with

no more than a nod and makes them rather uncomfortable in their conformity.

Gradually they see that it's Jesus standing before them, and he regards each

with a calm, neutral countenance.

He asks but one thing of these good "liberal" Germans and good Europeans,

who had renounced their ugly Germanness and their boring European culture and values,

to willingly embrace the conformity demanded by a pervasive culture calling itself

The Future as it appeased and appeased and appeased a returning culture of death

which would see to their transformation to docile servitude, dhimmitude, and

unquestioning obedience once and for all.

He asks, "What have you done for the victims of Islam, what have you done

for the least of these, for mine, what have you done to intervene and to rescue?"

Nothing, of course – and none will respond, as there will be nothing to answer

in the continued absence of all comprehension of responsibility. Again.

There is stillness in this friendly heaven of sorts, a light breeze only accentuates it.

There is no thunderclap, no boiling oil for the unrepentant, no casting out or in, and no yelling.

There is only weeping, open, copious tears – and they're from Jesus, only from his eyes.

It is he, who shows himself to be mortified by this crass conformity and cluelessness.

Hell would be preferable than to bear seeing that; even a losing battle here and now is better.

For this would be a heaven of sorts I could really do without.

" . . . Who Art In Heaven"

 

In one breath drawn you can know Him,
in one breath, on each breath, if you can train your mind
to concentrate without ego and without thought of "egolessness".
Just you be – and breathe. Love will teach.

Do you see that cosmos, with all its vast power?
It's all show, but a reflection of His infinity.
Your puny insignificant form against That
is precisely the very love-vessel into which
He will pour all that infinity, when by His grace
you have attained to the potential for which
you took birth, however many Human births it takes.

Would you for one moment hold That enormous love for you
in the pearl of your heart, in the flame of your belly,
in the long intoned chord of your soul, the sound of the Name.
"Shem" is Name, "Shemaya" is Heaven: the Realm of Name.

What you call mind will never come close to comprehending,
as it predates your birth and is your Source.
It is not for you to comprehend but to re-member,
and still not comprehend – yet remembering, embody.
To remember is to know this love is with you, 
whatever the idiot others reflect back at you – there are no others,
there is but this: you are loved by That, as you come from it.

And there you return, for it postdates your passing from this life.
You want to fixate on heaven-and-hell? ... Knock yourself out,
you cannot eat them, they will not nourish but leave you empty,
in hunger and loss and fear and wishful delusion, doubt and abandonment.
How will you treat others then, how will you treat yourself?

Look at That! When you know that you are loved by Him,
and heir to that love, whom will you fear – here or there or hereafter?
Behold That and become full with it, gorge yourself on that love,
there is energy no sport-drink will ever give you, you will feel fresh
in your Body, this little Human Body of atoms and molecules and cells
all feeding on that conscious intelligent breath taking in all that love.

Claim your sovereign heritage, bring the universe into your own house.

Rewards and Punishments

When you are sovereign in knowing that you are naught – your dignity
doesn't lie in recognition from this world's company, you can relax
and just love.

Evangelical Christians and loyal adherents of "The-Religion-Of-Peace"
are so hell-bent on seeing to it that heaven or paradise await them after death.
I could care less. God's sovereign Presence is my heaven here and now.

The zealous and the not-so-zealous may sell
their own loved ones to avoid hell. To hell with this shit,
I say, and if a rabbi tells me it's just a "long sleep" I guess I'll pass.

I've slept long enough in my lifetime, I'm staying awake for this.
So wish me to hell, I don't care – I carry God's love in my heart
and in my marrow, where I am doesn't matter, this will never abandon me.

Wishing everyone a beautiful and a blessed Fourth Advent.

The I of the Beholder

Love is and naught else, for God is Love.

The I which loves and desires to express

is divine indeed, however human.

If after passing from this individuated form

I long for Union there will be none so long as I am.

Should I meet Jesus' embrace how shall I and Christ be?

Should I merge into ha-Shem how shall That be echad if I am?

Paradise is grand, Heaven is indescribable, Union alone is Union – no I.

Rumi is not cavorting with any 72 virgins, he is gone, there is only One.

I, being in love, always want to behold the beloved,

and when this being-in-love ripens to perfection, being-in will fall

of its own as leaves nourishing the earth, and becoming love itself

the beholder will be no more and this I is naught but love itself.

The practice of humility is there to find a path toward effacement.

In its effacement in the Beloved does the I of the beholder attain its purpose,

and all the religion and all the sadhana and all the yoga and all the bhajan

are only there for this I to lose itself in waking up and arriving home.

My Afterlife

Okay, so the way I view The Afterlife goes sort of as follows: "Heaven" is a retirement home for the pious, where they can be served cocktails and energy drinks and play shuffle-board and shoot the shit. "Hell" is where you find slaughterers of families for religion's sake and folks who've stoned women and beheaded children.

Then my number comes up and I'm asked, "Did you practice your Faith?" Come what may, I'll answer yes. For which I'll get a knuckle-rub on my scalp and asked what I want, at which juncture I'll take a pass on heaven, and request that I be suited up with fresh juice and a song in my heart - no halos - and sent back to work wherever They find most suitable.

When asked why, I'll say, "Lord, I just want to be where you'll make best use of me. If there's something to 'get' I want everyone to 'get it' before I'm done." The Lord grins and gives me a dutch rub and a kick in the seat, on to my next assignment.   . . .

Or, it could all look different than this of course, and I'll just have to wait to find out after I've passed the 150 mark after all.