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A former techie and now a "deep-seeing mystic" and student of western Sufism. Moving more into spiritual service -- as an energy healer, teacher, Elder.

Monday, August 4, 2014

Pilgrim's Tree

The pilgrims have set up camp
Under the sun-reaching canopy of a large oak.

They break their fast
And dance to the Beloved.

Their tents become temples,

And prayers and song fill the star-filled night.

Dear friend, you are like that tree.
Your roots draw up the Murshid's blessing.
Your words, the birds whose sweet songs
Call us home to our inner light.

Unruly Children

The scholar sits with her pen in hand Awaiting the inner voice.
Outside, unruly children And a line of drunkards disturb her concentration.
Tapping at the window, the dervish admonishes: "Go out and play! The scraped knee and torn trouser leg is the unraveled thread:
The secret unwinding to the treasury of your heart."

When the Sleeping Dervish Awakes

The caravan sits at the dry well.
Spices, gold and jewels sit in dusty trunks.

The merchants are inpatient.
Fortunes may be lost.
They demand action.

The guide says, 

"Not till that sleeping dervish awakes.
"Tomorrow, drunk with love,
"He will take us to the hidden stream."


The artist returns from the winter kiln
Cracked pottery sitting on an old wooden tray.

Each day, another firing
Built log by snow-encrusted log.

Buyers come to the shop looking for bargains,
Hovering over the "seconds bin."

The potter smiles,
Knowing that their fingerprints
Once fired
Will be the glaze for tomorrow's shining vessels.

Heavy Coat

The dervish's coat is heavy.
Every pocket bulges with offerings --
Dried flowers, coins and prayer requests pressed into his hands by the devout ones from villages now far away.

His steps are slow and measured.
Stopping at this lowly tavern, he does not refuse our wine.

"All gifts are welcomed by the Beloved One. Can I do any less?"

Monday, June 23, 2014

Rusted Cup

The pilgrims gather at the dry well
Waiting impatiently for the temple gates to open.
They shun the dervish who offers them a rusted cup.

They all leave, but for one seeker.
 Only she accepts his gift.

The cup overflows with Divine Wine.
Her heart beats the Divine Song.
Her feet, the Divine Dance.

Stained Cloak

The dervish's cloak is dark brown.
Stained with old wine and covered with the dust of many long journeys.

But in her whirling, we see once again those beautiful threads
Blinding us in their radiance,
And calling us to join the Divine Dance.
Arm in jewel-covered arm.

The Storm

The moon and stars dance on the still pool's surface.
Clouds gather, and soon storms send streams rushing.
Overflowing, water spills into the greater river.

Yet in each molecule remains that silence, the deeper light.
Illuminating the cry "Hu!"
Releasing the bliss frozen in every stone in its sea-seeking path.

The Restaurant

The master chef has prepared the feast.
Exotic smells drift outwards from the kitchen.

The waiters worry.
"How will we feed our own children tonight?
"No one will chance this strange menu!"

The cook laughs, rolling out the sweet pastry dough.
"They always stay for dessert."

Saturday, June 21, 2014


The dervish is still.
Head tilted, she listens to the unstoppable song.
Like a buried green shoot seeking the sun,
Her turning starts so small.
Pushing her way upwards to the sweet kiss of the Divine,
Bathed in bliss,
The Power of her glance lifts us all.