it wasn't a lie.
You stared into mine
we gazed as if two souls
from another time
with father loving eyes
I looked away.
you stared into mine
I noticed a darkness of pride.
When I stared back up
that spirit vanished
Your other eye
thought mine attractive
A little girl came out of you
you didn't back down
Your other eye grew wiser
Am I staring at your eye or your gaze?
It grew closer to the middle of your face.
Your mouth and cheek
gave out a slight pout.
I wanted to look nowhere else,
and you came to life.
I saw my female idol in your face
I looked at your mole, then I looked away
You kept staring, so I looked at
your shoulder and neck.
The bow in your hair,
now I regret.
I didn't see it when I first saw your eyes.
Do I want to kiss you
or just stare
at your eyes.

I see it in her eyes!
"Guys look at so many girls," with a sigh.
Then I saw your heart was loving mine.
A being one with understanding.
A smile that caressed my shoulder.
An ease that could make me slip into sleep.
Like a beauty she slept
No heart to win
Spirit hovered over her
as if apart, yet a part of her.
I wondered what dreams she could be having,
Whose heart heaven could be sharing
I wondered how many breaths she'd ever breathed.
I wonder about the time I'm wasting
making you my center of concentration.
I wonder why you're not blacker.
Wonder why you're not whiter.
I wonder why there's no crust in your eye.
wonder why you're not more recognized
by colleges.
Then I realize the softness of your pillow.
I wonder what island you're from.
Your curls turn into a flame
of salamanders before my eyes.
I want to kiss the air you breathe.
I want to taste your makeup on your face.
I want to thank the taxpayers
for our food.
I want to thank the elements
for the extra bump off center in your chin.
I want to take away your hurt and pain.
I want you to rule over all men.
You look at me like I'm not mature.
You've found my secret
you won't tell.
I never paid any of your bills.
You said, "No, I need a man."

Now I'm tired of romance and I just want
a gorgeous naked bombshell to ****.
I see those water-filled balloons.
I see the slit of a navel.
Those sultry eyes speak of betrayal,
but those are the kind of eyes
that tell of the hottest, sweatiest love.
Her fake blonde hair gives away her cheapness.
I just want to take off her bra and *******.
I see no vein or artery of life in her.
I remember beer and bars.
I affix my eyes to the shadow made by a ****.
I see the silk lines of her collar bone and neck.
I realize she's standing in front of a window.
I meet her eye of innocence with mine of admiration,
and I tear up.
You look like you'd take me to court
because I haven't touched you yet.
You look like you'd smoke a cigarette with me.
I imagine she's hiding a ***** she's not fond to look at.
Your chin reminds me of a pickup truck.
You look like you have a baby inside,
then I look at your eyes,
and I realize,
if we really ****** it could be true.
So much for chivalry.

I look at a woman's overall shape, if I look
on the surface at individual parts, I must
focus on that one that gives me the most pleasure.
With unknown women there is spontaneity.
To fall in love, I must recognize her every body
part as consisting of a whole being of beauty.
My hope in a woman keeps me interested in them.
Looking away from her does not reveal herself to me.
Another woman's stare divorces myself with the
previous beauty.  All that is left is my memory of her.
A woman's picture doesn't want ***.
She wants a man to trust, a man to love.
I thought I saw the golden pyramids of Giza
in her breast.
I thought I saw a horse's mane fall from
her head.
I saw bones like foundations of steel and concrete.
I saw a ***** as round as a balloon.
I saw not one piece of flab on her.
I looked at myself and said "How could are
union ever be?"
Maybe if she was Wiccan... maybe if she could
express her power over me...
Maybe if she really only cared about contemplation
of the heart, or the soul... or,  maybe if Jesus liked
interfaith marriages...
Maybe if we spent time together on projects...
Maybe if I wanted to change her beauty.

"Were ye to emerge from the obscuring dust of
utter nothingness, then ye would recognize
that all things declare the evidences
or your existence."

That happens every time I pull an all-nighter.

I used to stay up all night in deep study,
but now my studying is slimmer because I've found more answers.

Now:
After an hour or two or rest there is a fresh
ground to plant myself in.

After two or three hours of gardening
in the fertile field, the crop is planted, and
the morning's work is done.

I now need to rest again for new fertile ground,
but also for the night
plants to sprout to cover my tracks.

Are there any words which capture wisdom?
Grief of Prophets.
Are there any words which speak enlightenment's prose?
Silence.
Are there any words which tell of an artist's hopelessness?
Time: the comparison between two differing things.

Only age can gain age's beauty.
Only in time can tell the artist's proficiency.

What is my pride?
I'm a Baha'i, I study math and physics, and I study
martial arts.
Then this is where people may hurt me the most.
They will make my dimension into a lie,
contradict what I know so well.
A shove or a push, even a slap or hit only affects my body.
Hurting my feelings by making me feel unloved, that
is only my mammalian brain.
But defying my reason and insight - this is where I am
most weak.
To call my religion a plan of the Illuminati,
by calling my science untrue,
by saying I don't know anything of martial arts.
This is where the ego of the world now dwells:
within the reasoning mind.
This is where my testing will take place:
letting go of knowledge
to meet the words of the naysayer.

I will take your words and
transform them into love.
Then I will wait until I find a companion
heart, to tell my truth to.

Divinity is like a fire, which the body can only
handle 98.6 degrees.
Only meditation that buttresses up against insanity
can reveal how strong or potent it is.

O diver, crush this body of union, to possess
a greater diamond.
Alas, all earthly joy is crushed by the wet
weather.
All spirituality seems to turn back to the
dust.
Spiritual images, though seen, are not felt.
Spirit only reaches out, but finds just another
human, some invisible princess to grasp with its
tentacles.

I have five appendages: head, arms, and legs.
More complex than oneness: what of the
six joints of every leg and arm, or the seven vertebra of the neck?
Thus, looking at the body becomes more and more complex
until I revert back to where my body evolved from a single-
celled organism, which in turn came from water.

Emotions are like appendages, there are also five simple emotions.
Looking at them react together is very complex to follow each motion.

Then, to complete the divine triangle: body, emotion, and, knowledge, which is born of unification.
Virtue are singularities of all three together.

Spirit is service,
compulsion is a virtue of youth and vitality.
It is excess of enjoyment. It knows
less limits and adheres to less stillness.
Insanity is the virtue of enjoyment that is converted
to pain: a pain for others, if not sorrow for me.

Thus, when I am continually the object of my own
insanity, it can be hidden.  But when it affects others,
it becomes mental illness.

O noble light, o noble lights!
The babe has learned to crawl,
and the virtues which we possess
call continually to the poor and
oppressed among us. I don't know
when this cry may ease, but
the Bugle tells us to buttress the hearts of
these oppressed folk.

We are not to stay still upon our light, rather
we are to make it burn brighter in our hearts.
This is the day to make our character known in the
hearts of the oppressed.

On the clay of grandeur ebbs and flows the lights of knowledge from the orator of wisdom until it becomes so embedded with light that it hardens into celestial steel that obeys the West of expansion and supplicates itself to the East of resignation.

Words of men find no passageway in this enlightened sky where understanding has no increase.  

For it is held in the dawn of another day between which is a night that knows no sleep in a world without a place for it.

For here the Prophet has repaired to His home in the clouds of the sky which can only be ascended by faith tested by the mirage of disbelief,

only to then lay on the pillow of exasperation in the field of victory.

The people have been so encircled by the Scriptures of the past, that they do not know what to do once they hear the sacred streams from the Pen of Baha.
To whom do they turn among their former companions?
They ask: whose power can quench the song of this Sacred bird?
Whose sovereignty can allay the anguish of my soul?

The intellect will always fail to grasp wisdom.
Wisdom, the unutterable, is still an actor in emotion's stage.
Emotion's hero is a child.
The world's schoolyard doesn't wish to leave a child on it.

When Baha'u'llah said "be a companion of the Self of the Merciful", I knew it is that self that has an inner whiteness that reminds me of virgins' eyes.

Then He continued: "and from association with and resemblance to Satan", I knew He meant befriend all, judge no one, and bear the accusations of the ignorant.

Continuing, "enter beneath the sanctity of the Bountiful, that perchance the hand of Divine grace may draw thee away from the paths of passion unto the heavens of everlasting might and majesty".  With this finality I realized that One could use the holiness of the righteous along with love for all and Satan in the same sentence, and still open up heart's rose.

Righting beautiful wrongs.
His name comes forth as a poet.
A ship goeth upon the sublime sea.
First this wonder swims the cool streams.
Ship that it is, that becomes as one with time.
Here takes the shape of over there, that shipyard, that dock, those waves, and the mighty horizon.
No will to press for ship's sake save to meet another ship.
Wandering in the waves for water's ways.
The magnificent mystery of puzzles catches my eye.
While there is no other ship straying here I will becloud myself with this beauty encrested in man's reality.
What and how will I find a drizzle of a drop that he should proclaim to be truth.
Forth he finds who can hear him.
His name is Noble, the Middle Way, the Bridge.
Don't fall lad, don't fall.
Should the fall hurt, reflect on how one may not bleed again.

The light of the manifest heaven is, alas, as a breeze in the middle of the night.
The hellish blaze of former times still resonate in my heart.
Knowledge is as a copious fountain in the Earth's riverbed,
And wisdom grows on every vine even if it dwells upon the dust.
The measurement of time is the only level left between the people of the world.
Seeing clearly the brighter side

Light, not heavy.
Light, not dark.

Heavy, not knowing.
Dark, yet to be seen.

Wonder, amazing.
Complex, simple.
Tacit and discrete.

Notes and ears.
Lines, shapes, changes to equations.

The author of poetry from original ideas;
the author of poetry from secondhand ideas;
the repeater of poetry (communicating meaning);
the speaker of poetry off-the-top of the head
(due to great understanding).

~From the Pali Canon

Women almost half my age:
Why is the 20's such a lively and beautiful time that you are the very life of life?
My heart goes out to your beauty,
but God forbid that I should love a fool to death.
But I do!
Oh, Ah,
How you rule the field of love!

The mind is the most charming
Of the senses.
It wishes for more complicated
Symbols that represent
This mortal world.
These symbols mistaken
For the highest good,
And could become a veil
Between the highest good:
The soul.

The soul must be nurtured
Before the mind.
Though the seas of knowledge and spirit are both vast,
The mind can drink more
And faster than the soul.
Thus, for one concentrated
On the soul,
It takes double the patience:
Not only to overcome the trappings of the body,
But also the allurements of
The mind, which always seeks this world in a coy way.
Always beguiling it's bearer of knowing more at the expense of friends, family, and community.

Hour by hour down the highways,

Minute by minute down the neighborhoods,

Get out tha' truck,

go to the door,

open the back.

Talk to the customer,

bring tha' furniture in:

"where does it go?"

"how do ya' want it?"

In five minutes to an hour your furniture will be in place

for you to love.

How much overtime did you have this week?

from before Rama to beyond Baha'u'llah

A day of sit
open a book
write a verse
scroll the
Wikipedia
write and categorize
vocabulary from
a published article
on the fundamental forces

pray and sit
eat and sit
lay down and wait

get up and, go!

A full day's work
is as the energy
of three hour's reflection,
but getting up the
next day with lying
down and no sit
is dogshit.