for Jamila

So many lives as a candle -- your light warming the fearful in the quiet intimacy of family life.

This time so bright – a fire, a plume of purple rays, whose sparks move us to dance.


And, under your gentle guidance, our circle too finds its harmony in the universal “hu” flowing through your fingers and loving glance.

Matreia/Jon

Painter, sculptor, potter, carpenter –- the form dances incomplete, awaiting your gaze.

Dancing, your music draws us to the gate.
Turning, all is the Beloved.
Trusting, we will cross into that still shimmering vision!

A temple, not of men or women, gods or religion, is your yet-unopened gift.

Marjorie-Karima

Deeper, the root filament bores its way to the moist place whose sweet song echoes through the hard clay.

Unwinding, the leaves lap the sun, swaying with the wind. Casting shimmering shadows, cooling the dancers gathered below.

That dance, yet to be, draws us closer.

Our hearts, knowing no future or past, bless root and leaf as one.

Raffia

Sitting in rags, silently you watched the crowds at the temple door.
Each received a mazoub's true blessing.
Unaware and ungrateful, as they rushed by...

Now, in clean and sweet-smelling robes, every doorway bows and opens to your light.
No structure can hold your heart's desire.
Your worship has no roof or walls.
The holy of holies resting safely in the truth of your gaze.

Darakshan

You walked the old battlefields, watched the transport trains arrive, smelled the burning flesh.

And now, the fire once again!

This time, you are the kiln, without whose flames, the potter's vessel is but decorated dust.