Member-only story
Way
“Christian, Jew, Muslim, Shaman, Zoroastrian, stone, ground, mountain, river, each has a secret way of being with the mystery, unique and not to be judged”― Jalal ad-Din Rumi
Like imagination is to the poet
This, this, is in the centre of my heart.
You bathe my wounds with words, ointment, kisses
You have the key to the door that is always closed
You want me to stick to simple stories but I cannot
It is not fair to God. You show me a bridge, the bridge
Over the vortex of doubt: you are dumb in the sun.
The river passed into dawn when I took your hair shade
To accompany me to war — I was tired and broken
I do not want to die at night
I prefer to drink wine and think
You broke from your mother’s shelter until death
This stranger is too tired to think.
Dukkha-taṇhā
Suffering and desire
Twist the unbidden tears:
Pumping hearts, shaking hands
Human life conducted in the dark
The hidden fears
The inconsolable grief
Many fear-filled years.
Craving permanence
The enduring stillness
Of the Sea of Galilee.
But let’s walk instead
To the tomb of Maimonides:
Oh! Why do the wicked prosper?
Why oh! why do the righteous die?
Answer came there none –
Except the Song of…
