The Song Unfinished

God was lonely.
++
It was empty where He was,
and suddenly a thought formed in
Her mind:
"What purpose is there in my Being?"
I know all things, but there is
nothing to know. I have all power
but there is no-thing, so power
is meaningless. I am all there is
so meaning itself is non-existent.
Therefore, since I am all there Is,
there is no Other to Be in contrast
to."
In that infinite nothingness,
that timeless dead silence God realized,
that God did not exist.
++
The Utter Awareness of God's No-Thing-Ness,
a total Realization of the Lack,
boiled up in that Conciousness and
the Primal Sound blew forth from a
forming Heart in an explosion that forever ripped
apart that Emptiness, in a flash of light
that swallowed all the Darkness, all the Lack.
"BE !!!!!"
was the cry from the depths of
God, and Time became, along with
Space, as the sound resounded outward
along the boundaries of Infinity.
++
God had left Eternity.
She saw Herself in the mirror of a
growing, exploding universe,
and He began to create, His tears
forming inummerable seas,
on myriad worlds, plants, and beings
of fin, fur and scale, in every color
She could begin to imagine, She
sprinkled on the billions of worlds that
now were.
++
God was still lonley.
"I would be known, even as I now
know all I have done." So God
made yet another being, in Her own
form, a knowing Being, and seeded them
throughout the Universes.
++
On the worlds, the Knowers raised their
eyes to the great expanse of Creation,
and gave thanks to their Author.
God knew this would happen, so
He did one thing further.
In each being that drew breath, from
the ant to the shark to the Knowers
God implanted a yearning, just as She
had first felt, a longing to be known and
to know, to Love and be Loved.
++
And then,
as all this wonder spred out before His Face,
God willed Himself to Forget everything
except one thing;
the Knowers.
++
When you pick up a child,
lay with your lover,
reach out to the poor, the pained,
the suffering and the hopeless,
listen sharply and carefully,
and you will hear The Voice,
softly saying from your child,
your lover, the poor and the wretched,
"Who Am I?  Remind Me Who I Am."
God left Eternity
to Love You,
to Be In you.
We remind God of that Love,
when we too cry out to Love,
"BE!"
++

Gifts Given, Gifts Spurned...

The Madman was setting under his favorite tree

talking and teaching a group of curious
people. The day was cloudy and cool,
and the Huntress was across the grove
at the old hollow tree sharing time with
the Pir of the Mouse Dervishes.

A woman approached the dervish and
presented him with a hand sewn hat,
which he took from her hands.
He looked closely at it,
then he stood up and threw it to the
ground, and stepped on it several times.
There were gasps from the people,
none louder than that of the woman who
had given it to him.

"Dervish, that was rude!"
one man shouted.
"Yes! And cruel too. She put a lot
of work into that kufi."
added another.

The dervish spat on it.

People stood up and began to berate
the Madman.
"You are an ungrateful pig!"
someone shouted.
The woman who had brought the gift
began to weep.
"Look! Look you ass, you phony! Now you
have made the creator of the hat weep!"

The dervish regarded them, and spoke.
"Sit down! I must ask you a question!"

The people slowly sat back down.

"Why do you berate me so?"

The giver of the gift spoke;
"I put many hours into hand sewing that
kufi. I purchased good material, and also
put Love into its' making. These people
feel it very uncaring and ungrateful of you
to treat a gift so." She sniffled and wiped
away a tear.

"Just so." the dervish said.

"Now I must ask a question.
You all have been inquiring about the
end of the world, about Paradise, and
the virtues of rejecting the world and all
of what you call its 'snares'. You speak of
your troubles, your cares and your woes.
You speak longingly about the so-called
'End of Days' and one of you even carries a
novel describing the end of the world.

In your lust, and yes, it is a lust, for such

apocalyptic destruction, throwing back at
the Beloved, the Creator, this life, this whole
lovingly constructed world which was made for
you, you cast it down and step on it!
How is that any different than what I
just did?"

It was quiet. Then someone said,
"It is our promised reward in scripture."

"Reward for what? Organized ingratitude for
life and this world, which you pass off as religion?"

No one spoke.

"You cleave to such fantasies because you
have problems, bills, disappointments, heartaches
and losses. Look at the sun breaking through the
clouds, its' beams lighting the earth and sky.
Look at the two herons flying there,
listen to the children playing and laughing!
You clutch a belief that would see all this,
all beauty, all hope, all potential, perish
in a fiery cataclysm, just because you are
weighed down and wish to escape to some place
where you will have no discomfort, no
aches and pains. Every time you scorn your
life, you spit on the reality of the here and now,

and that  act  guarantees that dissatisfaction will

follow you like your very shadow."

"It is natural to want to escape from bad things,
and be happy!' One person said!
"Yes it is!" said another.

"When you escape pain and sorrow, you
also escape the hope given you freely; a
hope of Union with the Beloved, that is beyond
my poor ability to describe, but one that so
far exceeds your fantasies of fire, destruction
and personal relief, that to even try to
describe it is a task even angels avoid.
You have been given this world, this place,
this time, these circumstances to build your
life in. To reject that is to do to the Beloved's
Gifts, what I just did to this kufi."

"What then must we do?" asked the woman.

The Dervish bent over and picked up the
hat, and beat it against his leg till the dust was
gone, and he wiped the spit on his robe.
He carefully placed it on his head, and walking to the
woman took her hands and kissed them.
"I shall treasure this kufi, good sister."
She smiled.

"You ask what you are to do. I tell you,
and this is a hard teaching."

"What is it!"

"What needs to perish is not this world, this
gift of God, but the fantasy, the dream of escape
you cherish. When the dream of escape is swallowed
up in the apocalyptic fires of Love, then everything
becomes precious, each moment an opportunity
and a gift."

With that the dervish walked away, stopping
by the old hollow tree to retrieve his Huntress,
and continuing down the road.

The only sound was the joyous warble of the
goldfinch.

(C) TF  13Oct2010

New States, New stations..

Lately I have found myself empty,

like a large hall,

nothing within, only the dust

motes drifting gently in the slanting

rays of the sun.

Quiet beyond quiet,

an endless rhapsody of the sighing

winds.

No busy-ness intrudes here,

no agendas,

things to do,
not even the faint incandescent
hum of lights.

The sun suffices till dark
gathers me in, and I
set there in such a place,
and remember Who it was

that placed life within me.

I become the darkness,

boundaries blur and wink out..

and I have no

fear of this nothingness,

it is the place where dwells

The Infinite Beloved,

and I must go without anything

to enter God's Beingness.

My feet still walk the pavements,

I eat and sleep, sing and pray,

laugh and cry,

live my life, but if you were to

knock,
there would be no one home.

There is no fear,
at last.

(C) TF 15sept2010

4 Poems Written at Tim Horton's This Morning..

1

The priest hurried out the
door carrying his coffee.
His world looked heavy.

I am having a cappuccino
with the Friend, who places
the world upon my shoulders,
and it is so light.



2

What am I turning into?
Sinking into the Sea,
I do not drown.

Drinking the Wine in a tavern
I sink to the floor, singing.
I seem to be sinking a lot,
and there is no bottom in sight.



3

I speak.
You speak.
I hear.
You hear.
Do we listen?
“To what?”
We ask.


4

Time limits, but does not bind.
It passes and is gone.
We seek to erase its tracks
with pleasant little lies,
to hide the fact that we,
like time shall pass and be gone.


TF © 08Sept2010

A Matter of a Few Ashes...

The Madman was walking the road that led

away from the large city he had been in.
Its noise, bustle, and garishness
had made him sad with its shallow attempts
at amusement and distraction.

As he travelled away from the city he noticed
a man setting beneath a tree in a
meditative equipose. In front of the
man was a pile of white ashes.
The dervish stopped and looked at the
ashes, then at the man, then back to the
ashes. There was a small, hand lettered
sign in front of the pile that read,
"Thus has my ego become, consumed
in the flames of my meditation."

"Excuse me, sir." the dervish said.

The man's eyes slowly opened.
"Yes."

"What is all this?" the Madman asked indicating
the tableau. The man pointed at
the sign with his right hand.

"What does it say?" the dervish asked.

"Thus has my ego become, consumed
in the flames of my meditation." the man
quietly said.

"Ummm, ah, alright, but what does the sign say?"
the Madman asked again.

The man opened his his eyes again, wider this
time, and repeated "Thus has my ego become,
consumed in the flames of my meditation." He
said it louder because the dervish might be deaf as
well as illiterate.

"Ahhh, yes, yes, fine, but sir, what does the sign say?"

The man's eyes snapped open again.
"Look," he said tersely, "I have related to you twice
what the sign says. Now follow closely, 'Thus has my ego become,
consumed in the flames of my mediation.' got that?"

The dervish stood there for a minute or two,
then said.."Wonderful, yes, yes indeed, but what
exactly does your sign say?"

The man's eyes popped open and he jumped up,
getting in the Madman's face and shouting,
"Look you Goddamned fool! Are you stupid as well
as illiterate? I have told you three times what it says!"

The Madman stepped back and said "Oh, please do
be careful, be careful..."

"What? What the hell are you talking about fool?"

"Good sir you are standing in the pile of ashes and
it appears there are some very hot and still
burning embers in there, and I do not wish to
see you burned."

The afternoon wind began to pick up a bit as
the dervish continued on his way.

As the day turned to night. people coming
into the city commented on the strange man
on the road who was standing in a pile of
ashes, crying and tugging at his garments.


TF (C) 04sep10

Dervish Lessons

. What songs can I make today,

when my mind just sets,
staring out my eyes with a activity level.
just below inertia.

It would be like plucking the petals
from a rose just to hear it
scream, to get a cogent thought
out of my brain this afternoon.

The Madman looed at me with a
sidelong glance and a wry smile.

"So you have sludge in your pipes, eh?"
he says.

"So it would seem."

Taking my hands, he swung me around
three times
and let go.
I careened into the wall and fell flat
on my ass.

"There" he said. "You have achieved
extinction of the ego!"

I just stared at him.

"Later" he said, and ambled out the door.
From his pocket a small silver kitten
peeked out
and winked
at me.

I just laughed.
and
that
is very very
good.

TF (C) 03sept10

A Few Dates, Some Rice....

The Madman sat under a date palm eating
some of its fruits and enjoying the sun
on his face. He saw someone approaching,
and sat up a bit to receive the person, as they
were walking directly toward him. As the man drew
nearer he could see it was a philosopher
from the university.

"Ho, dervish!" the man said.

"At your service, good sir, and Peace to you."

"I have a question for you."

"That is fine. I have so many of my own,
what is one more."

"What are you?"

"A dervish, a man, a skin bag with a soul."

"No, no. You have told me WHO you are. I asked
WHAT you are."

The Madman thought for several minutes as the
man impatiently shifted from one foot to the
other.

"A bowl of rice." He said.

"What did you say?" the philosopher asked.
incredulously.

"A bowl of rice."

"That is just not possible. As a matter of empirical fact
it is ridiculous. You are no more a bowl of rice than I am a
fig tree. You think me a fool, answering like that?" he said to
the Madman, raising his voice.

"I told you I am a bowl of rice, and so I am."

The philosopher walked away several steps,
turned and walked back. "Look here, I ask you
once more, WHAT are you?"

"A bowl of rice." the dervish said evenly.

The philosopher walked away again, going a
bit farther this time. He stopped, scratched his head
and walked back to the dervish. "WHAT are you, dervish?
You are supposed to be wise, but I only see a fool, with
foolish answers."

"A bowl of rice."

The man slapped himself on the forehead and walked
across the road to the tea Shoppe where he purchased a
glass of mint tea to cool himself. He drank the tea as he looked at the
contentedly munching dervish under the date palm.

Returning to where the Madman sat, the philosopher
pointed his finger at the dervish, and again asked him,
"WHAT are you?"

"Love" the dervish said, smiling.

"Love? I thought you were a bowl of rice!"

"Well," said the Madman,

"You returned and took so many bites of me,

that the rice is gone, and when things are all

gone, only Love remains."

The philosopher stared blankly, setting down with

a thud. After a bit he got up, went back to his

house, threw all his books into the road, and

began himself, to walk the road of the Lovers.

TF 020910