Sunday, January 08, 2012

Bold as Rumi [a poem]


If I were bold enough as Rumi
I would throw this pile
-- this burden! --
of books from my head;

I would tear the gown of familiarity 
and retreat into the forest
-- the ever-perplexing, awe-stirring forest --
of my being.

But I am no Rumi.
I am grounded finer than stardust
and blown into a thousand constellations
a hundred galaxies.

I am not one thing.
I am not even nebulous.

I am a powder grounded 
too fine, too fine, 
and blown with the cosmic wind
in ten directions.

I take time to gather my being.

They say there is no time.
Have they been me?
Have they found, upon awakening, that their being
was not their being?

But rather through necessity or compulsion
she was a soul crushed and grounded as gold powder
mixed with the meat of a million 
earthly beings?

How does she gather herself

I know not. 
Rumi, at least, left me one legacy: 
he said, "Sell your cleverness, and buy bewilderment!"
I lie bewildered, though gathering.

Gathering, gathering, gathering.
A mercurial being
gathering into a mercurial ball
rolling away from the touch of lecherous beings.

I am gathering.

As boldly, clearly, ecstatically
as a quiet, lost, hidden Lover 
is capable of



January 8, 2012
12:11 am