Bold as Rumi [a poem]

BOLD AS RUMI

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

gathering.

Amen.

~

January 8, 2012

12:11 am