How the dawn’s light releases the sweet rose

How the dawn’s light releases the sweet rose;
O how my heart recalls what love she bestows.

But now, O now I am adrift on pounding wave;
what I once held in my arms has become a rave.

The girl, my love, with her long and scented hair
regards me not with even a cold, heartless stare.

Those were the days, the days of bough and vine
and the book of her lips declaiming divine wine.

Now I chew the cud of the ruminant, reason,
and delight in the vomit of the mind’s treason.

Who can say what represents love’s just reward?
I saw a dead man walking singing the Word.

O Darvish, how you sing a song that few enjoy;
O Darvish, how your song despairs of finding joy!

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Ishi was the last of his people in a world gone mad

Ishi was the last of his people in a world gone mad;
the gold rush of forty nine had sealed their fate plenty bad.

He was the last, the only one, stumbling in abject grief;
tribal genocide, in his person, confounded belief.

That the American way of life is built on such tragedy,
is more than enough to make a feeling man giddy.

We swagger on to manifest our infernal destiny:
to rape and pillage this land until nature mutinies.

Modern times sanitizes our shit but poisons our water;
we bury the stink but swallow to our slow slaughter.

Outer space is the last frontier for the demented Texan,
until the clutter of orbiting rubbish smashes lexan.

Ishi means man and he found himself in a strange orbit:
to make friends with a homicidal race from a weird planet.

No tears fall from Darvish’s face about the fate of tribal life:
spirit warriors take birth again and again in renewed strife!

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Open the door, and let us in to embrace

Open the door, and let us in to embrace
Your reluctance to bestow your grace.

We have been banging with our tender fist,
And wonder why you our ardor still resist!

The Beloved, we have heard, is never so cruel,
As when she deigns to speak to a hapless fool.

We will take our chances with our audacity-
The worst we face is your cold, heartless pity.

The noose tightens and the neck constricts;
How much longer before the breath forfeits?

What a bright and cheery day to happily die,
To swing from an apple tree, and earth deny!

Hey, look Darvish- it’s not that bad. Someday
The door will open, and your Mind will sway!

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Make it new. Sing a song that revives the dead

Make it new. Sing a song that revives the dead,
That creates gold from dull, black lifeless lead.

Sing a song that breathes life into a cadaver,
That rouses the spirit from corporate blather.

Rise up, and sing. Sing a lyric that wakes Hafez
From his divine slumber in beautiful Shiraz.

Wake up, and sing. Sing a song long lost to progress,
A song of rose that rises to bless with artful caress.

We will wake and sing a song that blesses death
To rise and shout with the dawn’s radiant breath.

Jesus will breathe in our mouths such joyous song
That the dead will rise in splendor and brilliant throng.

Yes, Darvish will rise from the multitude of dead
To become golden song transmuted from lead.

 

 

 

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We call out your name as we lift the glass of desire

We call out your name as we lift the glass of desire;
Ages have past, but the heart does not burst into fire!

Speech cannot find the words to offer an excuse-
The mind is too busy with the business of refuse.

We fall on our knees and lift our hands high in praise;
We purify our thought of all but you to fill our days.

All plan and purpose have passed away into nothing;
We yearn to hear the Silence that is forever lasting.

The blue sky and green earth meet in some distant place-
Someday, everywhere we will delight in your embrace.

There are mighty seas to cross in ten thousand ships;
But where is the Beloved, and where are her red lips?

Why is it that Darvish’s best friends are bottle and glass?
Her splashing voice and sweet lips cannot be surpassed!

 

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A Suggestion To AMBPPCT On Infrastructure: Bagh-e-Sheriar

The Trust’s recent whirlwind tour of America to inform the public of its long range infrastructure plan occasions this suggestion, which is an idea that first came to me over ten years ago.

The Trust has three major concerns in any long range plan: Adequate water supply, adequate waste water treatment infrastructure and a cogent and aesthetic plan for accommodating and regulating pilgrim traffic on a daily basis.

The first two problems are relatively straightforward. The third is what I will focus on.

What is required is a way to not simply accommodate hundreds of pilgrims at a given time, but a way of regulating the traffic pattern of such an influx which one day may be more or less continuous- and to do so in as an aesthetic manner as possible.

I propose a walled rectangular garden, at least 3-4 acres in size, with a café at one end and a library and archival museum/ gallery at the other end. The central garden area would be designed as a Persian garden, that is divided into quadrants with a central pavilion, and walled with arcades. This would provide a shaded and protected way for pilgrims to walk around the garden, and enter the garden  at multiple points. The garden would have four sections landscaped with trees- banyan, neem, peepal, bel, ashoka, etc, and shrubs and flowers and have benches for pilgrims to relax and view nature before or after taking darshan. The arcade walls might be adorned with tile mosaic murals depicting key events in Baba’s life, and including his father Sheriar’s life who was a gardener, café proprietor and matchless Arif. I would name the garden after him, and call it Bagh-e-Sheriar- Sheriar’s Garden.

The café and library and archival museum/ gallery would be designed as separate but conjoined structures at either end of the garden to allow for independent access and administration.

The concept of Bagh-e-Sheriar is to serve as a functional welcome center to vehicular and foot traffic before and after darshan.

I am keen on traditional design, and have talked to Jay Bonner who has a wealth of ideas and talent about such an architectural concept.

Avatar Meher Baba Ki Jai!

 

 

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Green grows the heart’s longing, vines on fire

Green grows the heart’s longing, vines on fire
Breathing your name in love’s ascending gyre.

Green grows the longing heart skyward, bright
Tongues of flame praising the sweet Word of light.

Your name, your bright name is our dawn laughter
That rises and resounds to announce the Master.

Starlight dreams its way into sleeping stone,
Becomes the gold hammered into your throne.

The car that carries you across the sky
Sings your bright name of mercy as it flies.

Meher is light spilling infinite bliss
On all galaxies throughout the universe.

The tangle of wild roses in Darvish’s heart
Have bloodied him with thorn and graceful art.

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Grokking New Life Politics

Many people, especially self identified spiritual types, think that spirituality is pure but politics is dirty. This point of view has it that only retreat into a personal relationship with God has lasting value, that the “world” is dirty and that involvement with the world can only cheapen one’s relationship to God.

This point of view is completely erroneous. Traditional spirituality has always emphasized that karma yoga- the yoga of action, is not at loggerheads with bhakti yoga, the yoga of devotion. The key to discerning the proper relation between the two paths is detachment.

The Bhagavad Gita, the Song of the Lord, or the discourse of lord Krishna to Arjuna on the eve of a fratricidal war, admonishes the cowardice of Arjuna to battle his brethren on the basis that detachment and dharma are the keys to spiritual action. One must always be true to spiritual honor, as well as detachment, in any situation, especially one of conflict. What is detachment? Complete indifference to the results of ones earnest and sincere actions.

This problem of  “right action” in the face of conflict is the decisive issue of our day. Climate crisis requires that we all take a stand on the problem of sustainability. Our situation is even more grave than that of Arjuna who faced mortal combat with uncles, mentors and cousins. The consequences of not acting decisively to counter climate crisis affects all of mankind, and especially those who are poor and disadvantaged by environment and other factors.

Climate crisis encompasses many crucial dimensions of life and including those referenced by political economy. We are at a decisive crossroads that requires the complete rethinking of the status quo. Technology and capitalism have completely failed us, largely because they have always been in service to greed and exploitation. Accruing capital- money and resources, to make more and more money and to accrue more and more resources- and in the process to establish hegemony over the exploited, has proved to be from the point of view of green house gasses, a suicide pact.

We are now facing the problem of how to replace carbon based technology and capitalism with sustainable and just alternatives. This represents a kind of fratricidal revolution in that we must redefine who we are: we must kill our past. We must kill the illusion of progress who has been enshrined as a goddess for hundreds of years. We must give up the most cherished illusions that man has ever contrived: namely, that we can successfully recreate the image of man as dependent on heavenly Nature  with the image of man as dependent on the infernal machine.

Climate crisis will result in long term crisis mitigation. We will have to shut down the carbon machine and reinvent ourselves as stewards of Nature who believe in our hands and hearts as the expression of our creative will.

The spiritual warriors of our time, like Greta Thurnberg, evidence both tremendous patience and tremendous zeal in their mission to lead all of us into this new spiritual advocacy.

 

 

 

 

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May the muddy waters clear to reveal your face

May the muddy waters clear to reveal your face;
May the mirror be polished to reflect your grace.

The wretched mind always makes the same mistake
Of forsaking the real and embracing the fake.

The desire of self-image is brick upon brick
Of wants imprisoned in walls ugly and thick.

We worship pure fire for political reasons:
The tyranny of mind must be burnt as treason.

The cry of our heart is torture we can survive,
So long as when cut out- at your feet it thrives!

How long will the world turn on its axis,
Before it wobbles and impales our praxis?

Darvish is weary of spinning time without end;
He longs for muddy waters to reveal the friend.

 

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The Infantilization of Nature

America has led the way with the infantilization of Nature. This is in lock step with Progress- which is the whore-muse inspiring this nation. Nature is now a perfect abstraction- conjured only in tempestuous weather as an aberrant phenomenon.

We don’t believe in Nature. This is the point. Nature is an hysterical feminine construct. Walt Disney now defines Nature, which subsists on a sentimental life support system of drugs, technology and delusion. This is real.

And this is why climate crisis doesn’t exist: It is a fabrication of politicized science in the interest of socialists, who love big government.

Bambi can cry all she wants. But Progress dictates the future. The robotic fascist future has arrived and will rule the earth, and heavens also.

Until the God Man breaks his silence and releases the Word, the Word of divine wrath and mercy.

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