A plethora of poetry, a lot of alliteration, some danger, some droll, some dastardly and definitely… some devotedly, daring dreams. “The time has come, my little friends, to talk of other things; of shoes and ships, of sealing wax, of cabbages and kings. Of why the sea is boiling hot, and whether pigs have wings. Kālu, Kale, come run away, we’re cabbages and kings.” The time has come to piece together a part produced purely of prose; one of passion, of pain, of pleasures to be presumed… pleasures per chance to please the pang of perceptive paroxysm. A spasm of spirit, a jolt of juice, but a selfish desire can be like a noose. Asphyxiating my angels and ostracizing my advocates; making devils of dreams and demons of defenses. And so I say a sooth, per se, a soothing sonnet subtle and sweet a truth by trial or a chiding cheat? Riddle me this, oh Fiddler of Riddles, and fiddle me a riddle that will chiddle my gristle.
“O Son of Man! My majesty is My gift to thee, and My grandeur the token of My mercy unto thee. That which beseemeth Me none shall understand, nor can anyone recount. Verily I have preserved it in My hidden storehouses and in the treasuries of My command, as a sign of My loving-kindness unto My servants and My mercy unto My people.” – Baha’u’llah
Slip’n’Slide
The ease of the slope,
is slippery at best.
Walking to the East,
but always falling to the West.
The tricks of the trade,
the tassels, and the titillation,
the trials and the trauma,
and total trepidation.
Selfish desires,
that come from the heart;
only kindling to a fire,
which should ne’er’ve e’en start.
The flash of the flame,
and the gleam of the sword.
The Sun doth shine,
and ‘tis that Sun we should move t’ward.
The infantile indiscretions,
and imagined illusions.
The insecure, insubstantial,
and indiscriminate delusions.
Trial against terror.
Tested for truth.
Trust is not a travesty,
It’s a testament of couth.
The flame, the fire; it burn’s bright with desire; trial by fire, or selfish desire? It tries and it tests, with women… and their breasts. Beauty is to be beholden, but not to those who covet. To be beholden is beyond the man who is above it, but none are above the birds in the sky; except those with two wings whom surely can fly. Would they flap said wings and soar to such heights, as to hear sweet melodies and see beautiful sights. Surely they’d know the truth of this trouble, this thirsty and treacherous voracity for vestigial valuables. The guiltless gluttony for the greatnesses our brethren possesses, has caused dissention, contention, and strife; apathy, insecurity, and selfish loss of life. Chastity… Chains or chivalry? A belt and a bruise, or a buckle and a noose? Tis an example for generations to come, of what they should, and what should not be done? Or tis a chore and a bore when alone thou dost snore? Lost within the throes of fire: murky, dark, stifling mire, my body yearns let us retire. That sweet pain is my desire. That sweet pain makes me black and that sweet pain makes me blue, I need some pain, some pain that’s true. The truth of love is the One that is True; without Him we could not be, not me, nor you.
“O Son of Being! Love Me that I may love thee. If thou lovest Me not, My love can in no wise reach thee. Know this, O servant. “ – Baha’u’llah
My love?
My Love? My Love!
Where art thou, My Love?
I swear that I love,
a love that is true.
I’ve been looking for someone,
someone like you.
Now I’ve found the One.
The One that is True.
No rose is as red,
nor violet as blue;
as the river of my love
that flows for you.
On for tests and on for trials, yet off again for selfish denials. The beatings will continue ‘til my morale improves, and ‘til I get out from ‘neath my own cloven hooves. Tis I who wields the club you see, so tis I who has the power to be, all that I am and all that I want but not for myself to withhold or to flaunt. Yet still I mark my mark upon head, and still I flounder alone in my dark bed. Flippant and fleeting, floating on fascism; my spirit is needing some truth to this schism; the blackness that envelopes all of mankind, the madness that’s not just within my mind.
“O Son of Being! Busy not thyself with this world, for with fire We test the gold, and with gold We test Our servants”—Baha’u’llah
Free will
It’s your time,
to do as you choose.
Some you’ll win,
and others you’ll lose.
To bide your time,
or act today.
The choice is yours,
Don’t delay.
Time flies,
When you’re having fun.
Sooner or later,
It’ll all be done.
There’s just one catch,
Don’t throw a tiff.
Not all choices are yours.
Get my drift?
The lives of others,
affect yours too.
You may think they don’t
but surely they do.
Just one choice,
for good or for strife,
can change the course,
of an entire life.
The earth, our mother, is lost ‘neath our feet; tread, tread, tread… trodden… and thoroughly beat. The fruits of her labor are truly so sweet; given to her by Our Father, His womb, His seed. The seed and the dust, from which all life springs forward; the vessel provided to carry us onward. Our mother is a queen a true seraph to us all, one whom provides for all needs, even selfish, needless, libidinous, greeds. Yet we tread and we tread, without breaking bread…. Even still; we share and we spare, but not for her care…. Then again… we give and we take, but not for her sake…. Finally, we raze and set ablaze a heart we should ne’er’ve e’en grazed. Her natural forces are at the power of His All-Mighty Hand; and He has the power to strike us from her land. The respect for our mother is of extreme importance. Not to be noted, taken lightly or treated with flippance.
“O Son of Man! If adversity befall thee not in My path, how canst thou walk in the ways of them that are content with My pleasure? If trials afflict thee not in thy longing to meet Me, how wilt thou attain the light in thy love for My beauty?”—Baha’u’llah
“They should conduct themselves in such a manner that the earth upon which they tread may never be allowed to address them such words as these: ‘I am to be preferred above you. For witness, how patient I am in bearing the burden, which the husbandman layeth upon me. I am the instrument that continually imparteth unto all beings the blessings which He who is the Source of all grace hath entrusted me. Notwithstanding the honor conferred upon me, and the unnumbered evidences of my wealth– a wealth that supplieth the needs of all creation– behold the measure of my humility, witness with absolute submissiveness, I allow myself to be trodden beneath the feet of men….’” –Baha’u’llah
Que Sera
What will be,
Surely will be.
That’s not up to me.
Nor is it up to thee.
This chapter has been hard, hard on all of us, but the worst is yet to come as this chapter is my darkness. These are my own personal levels nine in number, layers of a hell, one that only I’ve been under; the hell of me, t’was borne facing my demons. A hell unlike any other; a hell… only akin to the one I could imagine. There’s been wisdom I’ve found in fighting my madness, but only wisdom found by following the Daystar of His Gladness. The knowledge I’ve found from my guilty pleasures, the wondrous gems of wisdom in my earthly treasures are naught in comparison to the ponderous measures to which are His Examples, and beautiful Expressions of Him and His Pleasures. Would but I could so wish to perceive, but again I linger too close to my greed. Is it greed or fear that drives me from Your Door? I am but a lowly man and one thirsty for more. So still I knock, again at That Shining Golden Door. I search and I pray to find some way, something to do to make me feel sane; before it’s too late and my spirit doth wane; softly wilting… quietly in pain.
“O Son of Spirit! My first counsel is this: Possess a pure, kindly, and radiant heart, that thine may be a sovereignty ancient, imperishable and everlasting.” – Baha’u’llah
Slippy Slope
Those slippy steps,
Steps too steep,
are just those steps,
beneath my feet.
I wander
and ponder,
I wonder,
and blunder.
Just like any man
I set sail,
sink,
and go under.
Were it not for near drowning,
I’d never know breath,
Or the sweetness that lay,
beyond my death.
Yet still I run, again and again. Methinks I run out, but I only run in. I blame the tongue of a serpent, which spits out a poison, taints my spirit and causes affliction. Who is this that whispers so soft in my ear? Tis only myself, discontent and with fear; a fear which brings forth the loss of my gladness, the cause of my madness, and shrew of my sadness which holds fast to my madness to perpetuate my blackness. Through the strife of this sadness, I’ve held tight to His lights, those which help to bring gladness to the shadows of my blights. These lights I’ve hung here, and there and ‘er’where so perchance I may see before I do err. For those errors are the absences of Beauty in His Sight, and therefore should not exist, by the powers of His Might. His commandments are the true gifts of His Might. His commandments we should set, firmly in our sight.
“Observe My commandments, for the love of My Beauty.” –Baha’u’llah
“O Son of Spirit! There is no peace for thee save by renouncing thyself and turning unto Me; for it behooveth thee to glory in My name, not in thine own; to put thy trust in Me and not in thyself, since I desire to be loved alone and above all that is.” – Baha’u’llah
“Thou shall have no other gods before me. You shall not make for yourself a carved image, or any likeness of anything that is in heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth. You shall not bow down to them or serve them, for I the Lord your God am a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers on the children to the third and fourth generation of those who hate me, but showing steadfast love to thousands of those who love me and keep my commandments. You shall not take the name of the Lord your God in vain, for the Lord will not hold him guiltless who takes his name in vain. Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy. Six days you shall labor and do all your work, but the seventh day is a Sabbath to the Lord your God. On it you shall not do any work, you, or your son, or your daughter, your male servant, or your female servant, or your livestock, or the sojourner who is within your gates. For in six days the Lord made heaven and earth, the sea, and all that is in them, and rested on the seventh day. Therefore the Lord blessed the Sabbath day and made it holy. Honor your father and your mother, that your days may be long in the land and the Lord your God is giving you. You shall not murder. You shall not commit adultery. You shall not Steal. You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor. You shall not covet your neighbor’s house; you shall not covet your neighbor’s wife, or his male servant, or his female servant, or his ox, or his donkey, or anything that is your neighbor’s.”
Alone?
Still I lay here,
with only my fear.
All on my own,
Yet never alone.
I drink of myself,
the earth and it’s pleasures,
and ponder the size,
of my own measures.
Am I crazy or am I insane, or am I just completely inane? Why do these tears stream down like rain? Are these Tears of Joy or are these tears of sorrow; sorrow for what hath been wrought for the morrow? To know what hath wrought, and not, but have naught is a grief and a thief that lies beneath. Tis under the skin, completely within; discontent and a sin to breathe with this skin. To have but claim that ‘tis naught is inane. What madness is this that swirls in my brain? This madness is my sadness, mine and my own; my sorrow, my grief, myself… my thief. Tears of joy should fall without sorrow; sorrow or grief for any morrow. Or who have naught. Or what hath wrought, for to have is naught and to have naught is a thought; a new thought, so strange, that now swirls in my brains.
“O Son of Man! Sorrow not save that thou are far from Us. Rejoice not save that thou art drawing near and returning unto Us.” – Baha’u’llah
Wake up.
Let go of your mind,
And ponder with spirit.
Consider the Light,
that you may draw near it.
The fear of death is the fear of breath for breath is death to one who wishes to breathe and to seethe. The searing fear of that which is death is the suffocation of self, walled off and within; gasping for an air that is so frightfully thin. Would that you’d hear it, you’d hope to draw near it. Would that you’d see it you’d hope to perceive it. That wall of the self stands between us and Them, and will do so as long as we bloom on this stem. For in time all of the earthly flowers shall wilt, and return to the soil to turn into silt; the silt for the future generations of gardens which shall bloom in the ground that ne’er hardens. For it is as hard as always it’s been at least as far as I have seen.
“O Son of Man! Thou are My dominion and My dominion perisheth not; wherefore fearest thou thy perishing? Thou are My light and My light shall never be extinguished; why dost thou dread extinction? Thou are My glory and My glory fadeth not: thou art My robe and My robe shall never be outworn. Abide then in thy love for Me, that thou mayest find Me in the realm of glory. “ – Baha’u’llah
Thoughts on Time
It started out hard,
and came on fast.
Before we knew it,
So much had passed.
The little things,
like here and there,
the when and the why…
the how… the where.
Trivial and mundane,
to its infinite existence;
ageless, immortal,
perfect persistence.
Its ancient logic,
lives on and on.
Obscured in silence,
as all have come and gone.
In the end it’s too short,
to keep on crying.
Each day thousands are born,
and hundreds are dying.
The torch will pass,
as all things do.
just like life, just like me
and just like you.
There’s a finite number, and a set date. There’s a final day, to be writ in stone, such is our fate. You can’t run away, you can’t say you don’t want it, in the end it’s yours, and no one else bought it. The final ticket, the last bill, the precipice of physical existence, the choice left… to will. How high shall we climb, and where shall we fall? How much time will we have to dance at the ball? When the clock strikes twelve, the curtain doth fall. The fall is a call, a call for us all; a call to that splendorous ball… one without… this wall. I found my life, my trade that’s true. I’ve found my life, no longer black, nor blue.
O Lord, no sorrow is there, save the sorrow of this skin. No joy is there save the joy of the light that burns within.
“O Son of Being! Thy Paradise is My love; thy heavenly home, reunion with Me. Enter therein and tarry not. This is that which hath been destined for thee in Our kingdom above and Our exalted dominion.”—Baha’u’lllah
