Kshetra-Gna

My form is made to apprehend
the myriad things that shift and bend

The lunar sphere which shines beyond
a nearby shrub beside a pond…

may consist in all or nothing both
yet to my form they surely boast…

of Logos, which, both here and there
creates the world and shews the care…

with which He makes the All collapse
into a portrait strewn perhaps…

with patterns, signs, motifs, and sounds
that reveal His nature, which few have found…

Yet all perceive His glory here
and no excuse have those who shear…

the Truth with empty words and lies!
And justice due will be reprised…

For Light and Life are in the Word
and all with ears have surely heard…

that leavened in full will be the world
The Life of God will be our pearl

On a Dark Night

It seems to count for little
what I’ve heard, what I’ve read
for the mysteries of God are yet left unsaid

In earnest I search the scriptures
and every word, like a thread
by intellect is woven, that light might be shed

But to weave in one fashion seems akin to all others
In this one respect, all threads seem like brothers
that each, in their turn, seem plausible at best
yet far am I from certain in which I may rest

Still, intellect itself
where Grace is concerned
will serve but a little
afore all is unlearned

For the thread which is spoken is not the true thread
The intellect, to all concepts, in Truth must be dead

The Ten-Thousand Things

There once was a greybeard who looked at the world
“The ten-thousand things!” he spake, lips unfurled

He knew that his number was silly and trite
but a Truth he embedded in his verbage that night

Every bit of nature has presence in its time
but the ten-thousand things change their shape..
as a rhyme

The leaf that today is trod underfoot
in a day might be burned and turned into soot

But the leaf is a leaf for today and all time
and the soot will be soot in its day..for all time

The learned might name the greybeard a dunce
but every leaf, every frog
is ten-thousand things..
All at once

True North

A gift was given
The world was riven

A spectrum profound
I’m ripped from the ground

The gates begin to widen
A new Cosmos to stride in

I seek forbidden rites
The soul is aflight

The Christ spoke it true
Hundreds have been made new!

Afore the Nazarene
A host were made Clean

But my ego interfered
The intellect not reared

I thought myself tall
But in truth, I’m very small

The ego beaten down
My intellect, but a clown

Having realized my plight
God’s Grace is the Right

Knowing the fleshy course
His Grace is the Source.

One Spirit

The Master beheld the pain in this world
He sought to assuage it with power unfurled

It wasn’t as if the pain was apart
He felt it Himself, right down to his heart

To the blind, He gave sight
To the lame, He gave limbs
The poor and needy, He counted as kin

To the sick, He gave health
To the dead, He gave life
To the mad He gave freedom, and ended their strife

But the pain never ended
What more could He do?
The suffering of man, He felt through and through

He wanted to end it
put it soundly to rest
Perhaps He could do it by taking on death…

The root of all suffering was karma, was sin
He knew how to sponge it, how to burn it within

If any had faith, His power they could use
But to heal so many, His body they’d abuse

If that was the price, “So be it,” He thought
He’d give life and limb to see it all stop

For the renewal of Earth
for the joy of each soul
He’d take on their karma, their sin, and their woe

I feel quite the same as Jesus once did
The suffering of others is a thing I would rid

But my strength and my faith compares not to the Christ
If he is a Lion, I fall with the mice

The death of this one that I call by first name
Is the price that’s required if I’m to master God’s game

With ego in balance and conceit in a vise
with a measure of time, I too will be Christ

The Proxy

Call me the proxy
I’m a fiddle with strings

Contemplation is the luthier that makes me to sing

Of all the thoughts, impressions, and trifling things
spinning round my head
in constant concentric rings…

There’s not a one may boast on any account
Mighty God alone is the prodigal fount

God’s Basin is like an imperceptible abyss
When I receive naught from that ocean, I know something’s amiss

And the moment I attribute His Grace to myself
it is then I abuse my spiritual health

Walk Into the Day

It’s go-ing on two decades now
the darkness that has beat your brow

For most of it, I wasn’t there
And by God’s own face, it isn’t fair

The oppressive night, you’ve known too long
Your heart is stripped of joy and song

But happiness will find her way
She’ll bring her warmth astride the Day

The Day is like a Sun-kissed field
It’s rimmed by trees that never yield

I speak it true
doubt not the Scroll
The Day can be within your soul

It’s here, and there, and everywhere
The Day pervades like wholesome air

The darkness, though, is like a blight
It lives alone, like sores on-site

It has no truth or permanence
It’s doomed to die in Holy rinse

The hour is nigh
You will be sane

Walk Into the Day
and there remain

Into Him Who is the Head

Wisdom comes with time
In faith, it will brine

The selfless are possessed of God’s might

Ever in doubt
the faithless devout
are to themselves a fey, truncating blight

The Master once said
His power, a thing of dread
to this mountain say move, and it complies

Seek the Lord’s face
Know His power at base
It is the foundation upon which our cosmos relies
 

Enter Grace

Peace feels mysterious
Like a half-recollected dream
or the memory of a childhood friend

It seems natural, and fitting
yet unfamiliar, and strange
like a half-recollected dream
or the memory of a childhood friend

It feels otherworldly
impenetrable
apart from the cares of the mind
yet at one with creation…

Natural
like a stream that finds its way over land

Easily it might be lost
but it is never far

Wherever you may go
it is to this side, and that