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!

Away from the Kiln

The master craftsman is away from the kiln today.

His tools, resting and ready for tomorrow’s clay.

He is busy fashioning something of greater value.

In his hands rest the future.

Heard in a child’s laugh, and held in a father’s loving presence.

The Gardener

The gardener stands at the city gate.
A box of ripe fruit at his feet.

Every pilgrim receives his sweet gift
as they rush on towards the temple place.

But some, recognizing the taste, stop and quickly turn back.

Knowing that his wisdom is what they've traveled so long to savor.

The Spice-Seller

The people crowd the spice-sellers booth.

"Oh, I can feel the smile of the Beloved in every breath,"

A happy customer exclaims to his neighbors.

Little does he know that the true "barakah" flows
From the heart of that gentle shopkeeper.

For the Traveler --

The clouds have parted.
The great sun, once hidden,
Reaches down to touch the pilgrim.

"Your heart, on fire,
Reflects my love.
It burns strong,
Even in the darkest night."

Heavy Coat

The traveler, weighted down by her heavy coat,
hears the coins falling through her thread-worn pockets.
The path seems steep.
And those coins must be rolling away behind her.

She hears the gentle laughing of the Dervish:
"These are not your valuables. In your heart, a true treasury sits.
Each seed is a flower warmed by the breath of the Beloved.
These are the currency of true healing."

For the Mankind Project

Each small act of initiation,

Each healing of the weight of one man's woundedness,

Each turn to the call of mission.

Each pulls this planet one step closer to its true purpose.

Strengthening the entire great web that is the magic of our shared incarnation.

The Warrior Returns

Called to arms, the reluctant warrior bids farewell to his vineyard and gardens one last time.

Battles fought, this soul is drawn to return.

Repair and nurturing is her present task.

In each guiding turn, we feel the tenderness drawn from that strong heart long ago.

Waiting for the Caravans

The young men gather at the city gate.
Waiting for the caravans to arrive.
Who will be the first to taste the sweet fruit?
Or offer the latest scent to his lover?

One holds back. Waiting for the glance of his master.
The disheveled one.

Who talks to camels. And sings of the Beloved.
Whose gift is the sweetest perfume of all.

Fall Fruit

The fruit tree has scattered her sweet fall offerings.
Pilgrims, do not pass by hungry!

These apples sing of the Divine.
Telling us that the Beloved is near.

Keeper of the Key

Standing at the dargah's door.
The guardian welcomes all pilgrims.
From dawn to dark night, he stays at his post.
Sweeping and cleaning, scattering flowers.

Now his journey begins.
The path leads from this place to another temple door.
Guarded only by the breath of the Beloveds.

The Swan

Pushing past the dense marsh grass, the golden swan enters again the clear waters.

Shaking her wings, the droplets fall.

Each a prayer of rejoicing in the Blessings of the Beloved One

This Well

Come pilgrim to this well!
The wine will make your feet dance, and flowers will spring from your hair like golden bees.
No more pushing that old cart up the mountain.
The Beloved is calling you to his side.

Hidden Gardens: For Tule

Spinning, the dervisha turns with eyes closed.

Doors open to gardens we cannot see.
Yet, the perfume of those enchanted flowers, heard in your song,

is our heart's delight!

For Abraham

Oh musician! How we gather at your call.

Knowing that our circle is your prayer.

And our song, the glass of wine.

Lifted to the Beloved's lips.

Night Watcher

Silent watcher of the night sky.

You point out the comets and constellations, but inside you hear the dark matter's pulsing "Hu."

Now is the time to raise your voice in the remembered song.

The sky canopy is our dance tent.

And, it is your turning that calls us home to the Sema once again.

for Tom

The stars burn steady in this night sky.
No flickering here, as the angels gather to witness your holy turning.

Each of us in turn blessed by your gaze.
Reminded, once again, of the Beloved One's generosity.

Let our eyes reflect His divine healing song.
Resting so gently on your sweet breath.