michael Nov 2017

I lay in the middle of a soccer field
all alone
there's no one in sight

I'm stoned and I'm awaiting a revelation
from above
and beyond

Staring into the midnight sky
I'm brought back to my childhood
experiencing deep curiosity
once again

I wonder what's out there in the universe
my head is spinning
and the stars and the moon
seem like they're dancing
and it's honestly beautiful

But I've always been stuck with these questions
questions that I've never had an answer for

How did I get here?
What is life?
Why am I here?

The stars would speak to me
through the language of love and light
they told me everything I needed to know

They told me that we are their children
that I was sent here to bring people back to our true home

They told me that human life is a special occasion
But not to go off the path

It occurred to me that we are homesick
we have gotten lost
we think that the stars are pretty and that's all there is to it

But it goes far deeper than that

And when I thought about how deep it goes
Something within me spoke
and it wasn't my voice
not even the voices in my head

It spoke through emotion
it told me that the stars aren't there just to look pretty
it told me that the stars are within us
and when we gaze into the depths of the cosmos
we're really gazing into how far we've gotten since genesis
looking at our ancient past
a huge part of who and what we truly are

The stars are there to guide us back home
they are our divine compass
they are always watching over us
but we've kind of always knew that
come full circle

You won’t find it in a test tube,
nor at the end of a deduction,
for it itself no object,
nor the fruit of intellection.

All the mystics praise it,
and it built the pretty temples,
it is itself so close to you,
it’s intercontinental.

For it’s something we all share,
the spark that’s there within,
just watch the children playing,
in us adults it grows dim.

And the hardest thing of all,
it’s that when you try to find it,
you’ll never hear its call,
it’s a quest built upon blindness.

In spite of protestations,
this spark is always glowing,
in acts of human kindness,
is when it’s most clearly showing.

But there is no how or why,
for when you think you’ve got it,
it’s like butter through your fingers,
and we can never stop it.

So just learn to pay attention,
to the little things of life,
no need to go to the himalayas,
or exchange for a new wife.

You’ll find it in the ordinary,
like a diamond in the rough.
But this precious stone is everywhere,
it permeates all stuff.

Stop trying to attain,
for there’s nothing you can do,
but love as though it were everything,
and there’ll be nothing you can’t do.

Lord, if I squeeze this pen for glory’s sake, turn my ink to water.
Lord, if I write for fear of voicelessness, silence me.
But, Lord, if the words spill out because my heart overflows, make them sing!

Eyes shut glancing into eternity
Monastically still in his own sadness.
Forever a cloud over his sun.
There is no foundation upon which to build.

Styx always flowing too fast to jump;
Life: too slow.

The eye, his eye, red from exhaustion & drought,

Algiz of the soul, inversed.
He has no apotheosis nor revelation of Godhood.

The golden light in his life,
dulled to a smoldering shadow,
could not be re-ignited.

Others smile without hesitation, nor lies.
Others' light: a golden fire.

There is no door out of life for the cowardly,
& no spark to rebirth the light.

A cold limbo, his.

The crushing weight of the world,
moste existential,
was also the dreadful crushing weight of existence for him.

Everyday, a labored breath of smoke drenched air.

Every lie, a cry for help he neither wanted nor deserved.


..
Walking blindly through the fog of existence.

Forever, forever...
Unto nothing, nihil, nothing...

Forever.

Nothing.

..Forever.

CW: depression, anxiety, mental health, SUICIDE, mysticism.
ConnectHook Jul 2017

Another mystic poetaster
quoting Rumi...
You might take it personally.
If so, sue me.
I'm not enraptured
by that sufi.    
(A nice enough dervish,
but kind of goofy.)

You can spin Sufi poetry any way you please.
Give me the Oxford anthology ANY day...

We aren't always ready to hear the Voice of God.
What if he smells?
What if he's horny?
What if he's telling the Truth
Whether we're ready to hear it or not?

Michael Lechner Feb 2017

On the day
you were born
the Angels prostrated
themselves before 
your radiant face;
while the rest of creation
held its breath
in raptured awe
at the splendor of your
holy
inexpressible
self

© Michael Lechner

He smiled as he looked up the hill at me.
I was asked if I knew the friend in the sky.
I said nothing. I was frozen in unknowing.
I was frozen in unknowing.
I was nihilism in this moment.

He smiled as he looked up to the sky.
The friend was asked if he knew me.
The sky said nothing.
The friend was frozen in omnipotence.
The friend was frozen in omnipotence.

I was warm with the notion.
I was warm with the knowing.
The friend was there.
The man he smiled at me, and I knew in his certainty the truth was as such.

His friend was there.
/My/ friend was there.

I waiting forever for Godot.
Only to realize the sky was in my heart.
The friend was I.
I was the sky.
The Friend, I and He and All, was inside and above.
It was within.
It was without.

Allah made my spirit porous.
Hashem made my spirit white light.
Jesus made my spirit gracious.
Buddha made my spirit still.
Shiva made my spirit real.
I made my spirit sing.

I smiled as I looked up the hill at him.

Lucas Marvel Aug 2014

Lips pursed for reconciliation
She enters me slowly
Dank with the residue of becoming
Entire continents drenched with oneness
Condensation of all that solidifies us
lonely in its weight
Wetness spreads across the surface
There is a buoyancy to the pooling
Moisture and its kind one by one
A culture of becoming
The ground of being itself leaps
Entire languages submerged
By the wake of the wave of speechlessness
Words form perfectly upon the tips of tongues
Swallowed by the parchment of gathered fulfilment
Lightness and the dark smashed into an immortal dusk
Everything drenched in violet
The wayside rises as gravity tickles at the sky
The world shaped in curvature
The surface widens and ricochets with tightness
A level playing field
Fresh beasts to groan with excitement
New gods leap from the branches

I used to think
That I was sure of who I was
Until I met You.
I used to think
That I completely understood myself
Until I met You.
I used to think of myself
As a connoisseur of beauty
Until I met You
I used to think that it mattered
What my opinion was
Until I met You.
Now,
"I" am  indefinite.....
Ambiguous......
Amorphous
I am no longer sure quite What I am
Because I have been engulfed
By You.

Influenced by listening to the CD, "Night, Silence, Desert" by Kayhan Kalhor and Mohammad Reza Shajarian, which was recorded in 1994 in Tehran, Iran.
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