Cardamom rubbed
into the sweat of my hand.
I wait
knowing my heart
will further open -
still, more, still, more ...
I ask for more,
more to further open more.
Please open the door of my perception -
open more, still, more,
still more ...
my heart opens more.
~ Other People's Fingerprints ~
In the 12th Century Farid ud-Din Attar wrote;
“The Angels have bowed down to you and drowned
Your Soul in Being, past all plummet’s sound –
Do not disguise yourself, for there is none
Who could with you sustain comparison;
Do not torment yourself – your Soul is All,
Your body but a fleeting particle.
This All will clarify, and in its light
Each particle will shine, distinctly bright –
As flesh remains an agent of the Soul,
Your Soul’s an agent of the sacred whole.
But part and whole must disappear at last;
The Way is one, and number is surpassed.”
into the sweat of my hand.
Palm trees drop coconuts.
Split seeds and cracked nuts.
Fractured hulls and skulls.
It is in the face of a wall screaming graffiti alive.
"We pray to the same God as you,
why do you believe we do not."
"We cherish peace, love and happiness,
why do you believe we do not."
"We pray to the same God as you,
why do you believe we do not."
"We cherish peace, love and happiness,
why do you believe we do not."
Cinnamon rubbed
into the heat of my skin.
into the heat of my skin.
Taro roots pulled and cut.
Tapioca roots cleaned and chewed.
Plants pushed and pulled.
Spices ground and blended.
Voices sing love of the earth,
all life and the forces of nature.
Voices sing love of the earth,
all life and the forces of nature.
Smelled scent of Earth.
Organic bodies contacted
and compacted together.
and compacted together.
Cycling voices, varying.
Sounded quiet cries,
“We are here, do not forget us.”
“We are here, do not forget us.”
Our below ground histories still,
with existence, still in existence -
history repeats, it does not go away.
No matter how much we pray for change,
unless we change life's repetitions recycle pain.
The old Zanzibar town church
was built on top of the slave cells -
of the slave traders' market ...
still, alive, the collective hurt wants
healing and to transformation
of the humiliating pain of submission.
with existence, still in existence -
history repeats, it does not go away.
No matter how much we pray for change,
unless we change life's repetitions recycle pain.
The old Zanzibar town church
was built on top of the slave cells -
of the slave traders' market ...
still, alive, the collective hurt wants
healing and to transformation
of the humiliating pain of submission.
I see the distance between the sunbeams.
I see the particles within the beams.
It is not the matter of atomic spin.
It is a matter of Earth bound turns.
The anatomy of our human composition.
The matter of what decomposes life.
The manner in which life is decomposed,
then recomposed, and is composed of
the mannerisms of illusionary personality
which indenture the spirit of human mindfulness.
The manner in which life is decomposed,
then recomposed, and is composed of
the mannerisms of illusionary personality
which indenture the spirit of human mindfulness.
I close my eyes, I look at the Sun
and I wait.
and I wait.
I look at the ocean, I squint
and I wait.
and I wait.
While time passes, I feel
and I wait.
I open my eyes, I behold
the ocean's turquoise waters changing hue -
life rises to reveal itself to the Sun
from beneath the depths of the deep.
I close my eyes.
I listen to the call to prayer.
My body reacts
in strange and unusual ways.
It is a song of voices united in hope,
It is a hymn chanting meaning,
into the meaninglessness.
I am born of life forces,
co-mingling on the revolutions
of the sun, moon and earth -
birth is not designed by faith,
yet it is forged from eternity.
I feel my cells spin,
revolve on the axis of truth.
What do we know
of humanity's historical compulsion
and hysterical revelation?
I do not hide from any illusions
that spring before my senses.
I choose to open my mind and accept
what information experiences
eventually stream inward towards my senses.
and I wait.
I open my eyes, I behold
the ocean's turquoise waters changing hue -
life rises to reveal itself to the Sun
from beneath the depths of the deep.
I close my eyes.
I listen to the call to prayer.
My body reacts
in strange and unusual ways.
It is a song of voices united in hope,
It is a hymn chanting meaning,
into the meaninglessness.
I am born of life forces,
co-mingling on the revolutions
of the sun, moon and earth -
birth is not designed by faith,
yet it is forged from eternity.
I feel my cells spin,
revolve on the axis of truth.
What do we know
of humanity's historical compulsion
and hysterical revelation?
I do not hide from any illusions
that spring before my senses.
I choose to open my mind and accept
what information experiences
eventually stream inward towards my senses.
I wait
knowing my heart
will further open -
still, more, still, more ...
I ask for more,
more to further open more.
Please open the door of my perception -
still more ...
my heart opens more.
~ Other People's Fingerprints ~
In the 12th Century Farid ud-Din Attar wrote;
“The Angels have bowed down to you and drowned
Your Soul in Being, past all plummet’s sound –
Do not disguise yourself, for there is none
Who could with you sustain comparison;
Do not torment yourself – your Soul is All,
Your body but a fleeting particle.
This All will clarify, and in its light
Each particle will shine, distinctly bright –
As flesh remains an agent of the Soul,
Your Soul’s an agent of the sacred whole.
But part and whole must disappear at last;
The Way is one, and number is surpassed.”
Zanzibar, Africa
Zanzibar, Africa
Zanzibar, Africa
