LINES WRITTEN TO MY FRIEND, AJA THOMAS

Friendly-Monkey

This morning a doe and her fawns have come from the river

eating green branches of the black locust tree

we cut and piled for burning.

I have lost interest in myself.

It started in my mid 30’s when there was so much work

I didn’t have time to waste.

When I return now to  a belief I am something special

drawn there by hidden fear

I feel it as loss.

Your friendship is a gift.

It reminds me I am still alive

and keeps me focused on your simple longing for God.

When I think of you, I am happy.
.

 

20140709_191130-1-770980

"God Rocks" painted by Aja Thomas of Barnashram

“God Rocks” painted by Aja Thomas of Barnashram

TO MY LITTLE DOG, FREDDIE

Freddie and the lights!

Freddie and the lights!

one
We lean against walls together, believing they are solid.
Find ourselves falling through them
find ourselves flying!

two
For the little white dog
every smell is a door opening a room
with ceiling so high
it has its own atmosphere, its own sun and moon.
He enters, following lights through an inner door
into other and other rooms.
I who have drunk rain water from the hoof print of a white calf
follow.

.
freddie in samadhi

MY DUTY NOW

Shivabalayogi Maharaj 1935-1994

Shivabalayogi Maharaj 1935-1994

In this world
we have to do our best
to keep our core humanity alive.
If we can see light
we must see it.
If we can catch sight of joy, we must see it
point to it.
Yes it is dark. This is undeniable.
Everyone feels that darkness
but not everyone can feel the joy
see the light rising and moving along the tree line.
It is my duty now
to feel, see, taste, to touch, if I can, the life itself
what we are.

.

.

GO TO HER

…I brought him to my Mother’s house
to the bedchamber of the one who conceived me.

Song of Soloman 3:4

119-krishna-vstrechaet-gop-kumara

GO TO HER
Leave the flesh waving behind
as you would an acre of maize.
Float out to Her
your voice like a morning glory opening
in the throat
a name forming on your tongue
one thousand syllables of falling water
drawn from our Mother’s well
fed by Her spring
hidden until sung for
in the folds of Her.

.