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.

Sheltered,
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 SECONDS BIN

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?"

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."

Aubree

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.

The Sunflower

Thirsty for the Light, you turn your head to the horizon.
In disbelief, as that passionate friend drops out of view.

You try to pull yourself from the roots and chase that vagabonding lover, 
but firmly grounded you remain.

Yet in that pulling strain, you call up the soil's moist offering.
That, each night you transform to the morning's yellow joy.

The Drunkard

The drunkard leaves the tavern.
Whirling in bliss.
Kissed by the Beloved.
Her heart shines clear.
Dancing, she welcomes all pilgrims.

Spilled Paint

The artist reaches for the paint pots.
Drunk with the "om" of a hundred monks, 
She knocks the tray to the floor.

Colors run amok. 
Tapping frequencies that come from the heart of the Beloved.

Focusing again on the canvas before her, she lifts the brush.
Nothing was disturbed. All still shimmers with possibility.

The Artist in the Tavern (for Hedi)

The pitcher is full of sweet wine.

The patrons have jostled the table in their haste to reach the bar.

A small portion spills on to the worn tablecloth, adding one more layer to the unfolding design.

The tavernkeeper tends to the noisy customers, nodding silently to the special guest as she gathers her brushes, admires her work, and heads for the door.

FOR AURELIA AND TIM

Circles within circles. Suns birthing suns.
Mists rising from the once silent sea.
Gathering in overlapping spirals,
Sun and Moon sing their way,
Rushing to this earth.
Resting soon, this child, in your loving embrace.

The Seer

The seer, she with a large heart,
touches each visitor with her gaze.

Her gifts, once offered to Axe and Uxum
on the shores of an African sea, and
Sung out loud under the Sun Dance pole,
are more subtle now.

 Resting in the Beloved One's blessing, 
Her Light touches the deep longing places, 
held in shadow no longer.

The Sea Bird

Through the fire
The daring sea bird
Far from the coastal bay
Flies to the highest pine
His song
Bringing the healing rain.

The Merchant of Scents

The merchant of scents
Sits in a faraway corner of the old souk.
Few tourists find their way back here.

But those unruly ones,
Drunk with love.
Chased away by the guards,
lest they frighten the paying customers,
Always seem to find this place.
Like crazy bees, drawn to the flower.

Wedding Feast

They are setting up the tables for the wedding feast.
Cut flowers at every seat.
Crisp linen and fine china await the guests.

At the gate the dervish stands. 
Asking each arrival, "did you remember to bring the wine?"

The host is embarrased.
But the lovers know: their glass is already overflowing.

To a Fearful Poet

I am working so hard. No words are flowing.

The dervish says:

Just turn and turn again,. dear friend.
The spinner has no judge or master.
Write as if you are dancing to the Beloved.
One breath can release the cistern.

Your words, like prayers on the wings of butterflies,
have sat in this cacoon far too long.

Dye Pots

The dye pots sit in a circle around her.
"You can resist this bath," she tells the unruly wool.
"But it is only in surrender, that your true color is birthed."

In your heart, dear friend, is the cauldron that the Beloved One has stirred.
"Drink up that rich red wine, its color is yours alone.

Ishq

The stars turn in the night sky.
The dervisha spins, recreating that heavenly longing.
"Ishq."

Her light, a beacon of deep return.

Market Day (for Sheilana)

The streets are crowded with jostling vendor stalls.
Every color, every scent, promises a new delight.

The thirsty pilgrims are pushed along by the crowd,
Searching for the Hidden One.
"Where is the Beloved's tavern?" they ask each eager seller.

Exhausted, they rest at the well.
The guardian gently offers an over-flowing cup.
Drink, dear friends.
This is the wine of true lovers.

AYA

The dolphin queen surfaces on New Moon nights.
Reading the planetary codex flickering beyond the stars.
Deep dreaming, she sings her wisdom to the in-rushing souls.

In your eyes little one, I see that ancient sea.
In your tiny hands, the gift of guidance,
Patiently waiting to take form once again.

The Young Man Returns

The young man returns from the forest.
Clothes stained, and covered with sharp thorns.

Facing the King, he falls to the ground.
"Forgive me," for I have returned empty-handed.

"Rise up and enter the sacred garden," smiles the Wise One.
On those muddy boots and torn vestments lie seeds of sweet fruit.
Waiting only for your tears to release their gifts,
Held tight for so many years!