The Beloved


When I ask The Beloved for help understanding,
She only takes my hand and smiles.
What am I to do?


When I ask The Beloved for understanding,
She only takes my hand and smiles.
What am I to do?

After I and the world vanished,
And only Heaven remained,
Not a place, but an Experience,
I and the world returned,
To exist in Wonder.

I did not return into exile,
For in my Heart Shone,
A touch of Heaven's Light,
The Holy Spirit, The Beloved,
The Comforter, the Teacher.

My one true Sat Guru.

Not someone or something
Other than I Am,
But my own Formless Being,
Alive, as Aliveness,
Here… right Here…

In the Locus of the Heart.

When I and the world returned,
The 10,000 traditions surrounded me,
Each speaking with certitude and authority,
Of what had happened, and why,
And how I must understand.

Each founder having planted a flag,
And declared the summit attained.
Each having interpreted and described,
Their own unique experience,
Not as theirs alone, but as “Truth”.

Qualification and quantification,
Being the Loveless doorways to Hell,
This Heart weeps at the Brutality,
Of 10,000 dogmatic assertions,
10,000 rights and wrongs.

Knowing nothing,
I am an Idiot incapable
Of instructing or convincing.

But this Mystical Benediction,
By its very nature,
Longs, Aches to… Invoke.

The mind swoons,
Drunk on the Fragrance of Her Perfume,
Reduced from knowing to Wonder.

The Heart, Surrendered,
Held like a kitten,
In the arms of Love.

Such, at least, is my own dogmatism.