lips of rose.
what preserves the mystery,
but the music between.
joy in the beautiful now,
a dainty creation of rice paper.
what keeps fragile intact,
but the tenderness between.
miles of sky.
what calls you home,
but the space in between.
search not for perfection in the one you love
unless that one is the One.
search not for anything in the one you love
simply give, simply give.
that One is the well
if you look down into it, you see yourself
a perfect self, so beautiful
that you have to turn away.
if I could love him to such depth,
I might turn away from myself and come around again,
anew, the most beautiful,
a droplet in the well of the One.
do these feelings recur only because the tree has not yet borne fruit,
the seed has not yet matured, the rain has not yet made the earth full?
or is it something more?
if i am love,
will i last beyond the summer season, beyond ripeness,
beyond the harvest moon?
is it possible for love to live longer than a season
without becoming rigid, without dying out,
without encasing itself, lying dormant until the next spring?
is it possible that i will resist being carried,
a fluff on the wind,
and instead allow something to catch me,
keep me here?
Have you sat down with yourself lately; have you opened yourself up to yourself?
Have you read yourself like a Bible, recited yourself like a Quran, known yourself like a Torah?
You are a holy book unto yourself, and each reading surfaces a new interpretation; a new dimension. Is this not what it means to have a living text?
The answer to everything is within you, and everywhere you look there are signs, signs that tell you that you are exactly, and only, the book and the reader unto yourself.
I am a Bedouin. I travel with only the clothes on my back, seeking a place to rest my head.
Why am I not worried? Why do I not feel anxious? What will happen to me today and tomorrow?
Everywhere I look I see the terrain of my master. This earth, these trees, the stars and navy sky.
Everywhere I go, I am in the realm of my master.
I walk across deserts and over dunes and still I never leave the palm of his hand.
i looked up from washing my hands, and
for a moment
i glimpsed your face in my face,
you, in my eye
i see you everywhere
but where are you?
in your love my shuffle becomes dance
in my every step, you are my audience
i don’t go north or south, east or west
but i move in all of your directions
am i in you
or are you in me?
am i you
or are you me?
i press my palm to your heart
until i feel you are holding mine
everywhere i go,
i am in your house
every time i love,
you have already loved me first.
a spring of creamy butterfly wings beating joyfully
beating joyfully on the beating walls
of your stomach beating with joy
a spring of sudden wind gusts
that rush up behind and
with gusto, sweep you off your feet
a spring of a sun reborn
awakening earlier with each morning
less and less eager to depart
it feels like spring here
I feel the butterflies
in my stomach, anxiously
waiting for you
when you lift
me off my feet I hear
the sun lingers but
time hurries by,
as if to compensate
it feels a lot like spring here
to be with you, be would the passion
that I’ve been for searching years for
be you with me too, please, afraid I
not, to beg since my pride melted and
will love me too, for every life and each
moment I together have unearthed with
because still stand clock hands when
told to, crawls by time when asked to, by
and beats heart richly than before ever
life in, next to, beating too, heart in
your touch has undone me;
your caress, my key.
in your absence i gather myself to myself,
a blossom shy to bloom.
i want it to be you, you, you,
you beside me, your fingers embracing my throat,
your thumb following the fragile sinews
to their inevitable union with the base of my heart.
the heart of my body listens for yours,
echoing beat for beat.
the heart of my heart spills over from its cup
trickling into places i never knew i had within me.
this heart is knocking
on all of my doors,
your season has come!
the night I came to you
I stopped in another universe first
How could I refuse His hand?
In the pit of time
He lifted the veil
In one sweep
Whole galaxies grew
Light upon light.