SCHOLAR OR GYPSY
a Sometimes the life of a scholar,
established with home and books
and bathroom, plays the siren
within the wanderer's mind.
b Dusty roads and cement floor beds,
ochre-tinted garments so the dirt won't
show a week's wear without washing.
a Bookshelf and pen rack,
fresh clothes after the bath,
fresh fruit for breakfast,
familiar faces, the bird call
at the window before sunrise.
b But O the crimson sunset from the deck
of a ship crossing a far away sea;
Ah, the smell of spices in the
crowded market places of the Indies;
the call to prayer from a minaret
in a forgotten village of the desert.
a Flowers on the altar and incense,
women's voices and the smell of cooking,
regular hours and regular study,
familiar faces and a friendly dog.
c It is not without temptations
that the wanderer's life is continued,
not without knowledge of sacrifice
has the iron been pressed to the whetstone,
not without tears and deep pain
In the heart has the body been
yielded to the
mill-wheel of wandering.
b Oh, circumspect and devious motion;
oh, laborious and unending turmoil;
can a prophet be forged in the
sharp heat of a border post?
can a saint be shaped on the
hot sands of the Sahara?
c Will the Doctors of the Law
be satisfied with an argument
drawn from experience?
Will the metaphysics of vision
hold up against
the hailstones of the learned?
b Scholars of old with their priest craft
crucified the Master in a hurry
one afternoon on a hillside,
so as not to spoil their sacred feast
on the Sabbath of Passover.
---------------
Comment:
`Like two birds of golden plumage, inseparable companions, the
individual self and the immortal Self are perched on the branches
of the selfsame tree. The former tastes of the sweet and bitter
fruits of the tree; the latter, tasting of neither, calmly observes.'
( Mundaka Upanishad )
The bird who eats of the sweet and bitter fruits hops about
between voices a and b. The third voice represents the observer.
Listen for these three voices throughout the following pages.
The Hindu Kush
Brother John - Our Guest -
God's Tramp
`Perhaps he has already appeared at your door, or will appear there some day, this tall man, originally from South Africa and then California, with his beard, long hair and outlandish attire - saffron robe, strange looking turban, Hindu rosary around his neck, an umbrella in his hand and a small shoulder bag containing the strict minimum for his life on the road, including that primitive bamboo flute from the Himalayas on which he sings his inspiration of the moment. He is neither madman, nor actor, nor savage ascetic, nor pretentious spiritual teacher, but smiling and full of humour. Happy with next to nothing, explaining that meat and eggs make him nauseous and that his light bed roll is sufficient to allow him to sleep in the coldest conditions.
'He left home following a dream in which Jesus had invited him to take His recommendations to the disciples literally. He refused for several years to receive, or carry, even the smallest amount of money, not accepting hospitality for more than three days, thus not having time to become attached - always with people, yet always alone, alone with God. Authorised in a dream by Saint Francis of Assisi that he could use his name and example as protection against the suspicions of the police, he would fast in jail when arrested for vagrancy.
'Guided by the example of Jacob, who served Laban twice seven years in order to obtain Rachel, he was in his twelfth year of travel, throughout Europe, North and South America, Africa and Asia, when he arrived at our place, obviously causing a sensation. He was coming from India where he had found his Guru, or spiritual teacher, Father Bede Griffiths, a Benedictine Monk and successor to Father Monchanin, who had founded a Christian Ashram in South India. He studied Buddhism in Japan for a time, crossed Nepal on foot and walked for months to the sources of the Ganges in the Himalayas, a guest at temples and monasteries where he adopted their discipline, their liturgy and their methods of meditation with the sovereign liberty, which the Gospels give us. That gospel whose message and instructions are of a different order, relativising the importance of Jerusalem and Gerazim, of the Sabbath and the Temple, and the radical social and religious differences separating the Just from the Sinners.
'He loved our house, without any other hardships than the hubbub of the children, and with almost no liturgy or meditation except a shared life. He was our Malang, or wandering dervish, completely adopted by the children and the pious cook, admired by the most religious and spiritual of our friends. There were marvellous `in-depth' conversations, sometimes with a drink, which he did not refuse for the occasion, or he would be rejoicing on the flute, which left the children silent and attentive, a tangible radiance of his joy.
'He left us to go back to Herat, in Western Afghanistan, by way of the central route, considered frozen and impassable at this time of the year. He hoped to be in Kuwait in time to join some pilgrims on their way to Mecca - a Muslim with the Muslims for the time being, wanting to partake of their fervour and the hardships of their experiences; a stage on his journey to Jerusalem, where he thought he might perhaps finish his wanderings, which he hoped would lead him to the solitude of some hermitage, perhaps in Europe, there to plunge into the writings of the Early Church Fathers.
'He enjoyed recalling the severity of Saint Benedict against `Gyrovagues' like himself. When he was accused of adopting his life style because of laziness he would reply: "That may, at least in part, be true but what difference does it make? We have to accept, and love, ourselves as we are, and as we are we must find a way in which to serve God." To some nuns, who come to the house once a week for Mass, when they exclaimed, "But after all we are Christians not Muslims!" he answered, "As soon as you oppose yourselves to others by concentrating on differences, rather than seeking to go beyond differences, you are no longer in the Spirit of the Gospel."
'Dear Brother John, you will surely pass through Kabul again, no doubt on your way to South India where you want to be for the seventy-fifth birthday of your guru. You will tell us about your pilgrimage to Mecca and Jerusalem, the Holy Cities. And when words fail, you will take up your flute and let it sing for us.
'Thank you for having taken to the road. Thank you for having taken literally the words of Jesus in the Gospels. Thank you for having been a Buddhist with the Buddhists, a Hindu with the Hindus, a Muslim with the Muslims and soon a Jew with the Jews, while remaining in the deepest part of yourself a disciple of Jesus, with all of them as with the Christians. Thank you for shattering with your smile, and nothing more than your example, our reluctance, our prejudices, our comforts and our certitude. Thank you for your freedom, for your openness to everybody and your willingness to follow the spirit.
'On the fringes of society? Unquestionably, for you have neither home, nor worries for tomorrow, nor money, nor community, because you are just as much at home in a Hindu Temple, in a Mosque or in a Church, because your outfit is outlandish, because you have been wandering for years around the world seeking the Kingdom of God and His Righteousness. All of this is extremely unusual, abnormal, not to say scandalous. But what difference does it make? You have been for a few days and will remain our `Malang' an unexpected messenger from God, a witness to His Love, a bringer of His peace and Joy.'
By: Serge de Beaurecueil, for `Spiritus'
Afghanistan: September, 1977
Translated from the French.
The Mullah and the Kalandar (A Sufi Story)
Kalandar is the name for a particularly wild kind of Sufi in India and Pakistan who resemble the devotees of Lord Shiva more than anything usually found in Islam.
In days gone by in the city of Delhi there lived a Mullah and a Kalandar. On the near side of the sacred river Jumna, one of the main tributaries of the Ganges, stood a fine Mosque where this Mullah was in charge. On the other side of the river, camped under an enormous shade tree, lived the Kalandar.
Every day the Mullah would see crowds of people file past the Mosque and either wade through the river, or hire a small boat, to go and sit at the feet of the Kalandar. The Mullah was jealous and decided to put this reprobate to the test. So he had a suckling pig deliciously prepared and placed on a silver tray together with a wine skin filled with choice wine. He bade his young maidservant take these things across the river and offer them, and herself as well, to the Kalandar.
She returned to tell the Mullah that yes; the man had eaten the pork, drunk the wine and enjoyed her company to the full. The Mullah was filled with self-righteous indignation. How could good Muslims be going to see this man who obviously had no respect for Allah, or His Holy Law.
The Mullah jumped onto his horse and rode across the river to confront the Kalandar. While crossing the river it so happened that the horse urinated in the river. On arrival the Mullah boldly made his accusations to the man sitting under the tree. The Kalandar replied thus:
"How can you allow your horse to piss in the holy river and thus contaminate it?"
"Know you not," said the Mullah "that it is written in the Holy Law that a body of water which is moving cannot be sullied?"
"And know you not,” replied the Kalandar, "that a man in whom the Spirit of God is moving, cannot be sullied?"
TO THE CHRISTIAN MINORITY OF PAKISTAN
Jesus is alive spread the story.
You may meet him any day, spread the word.
Open your doors to the unexpected guest,
You may receive the Lord to share your meal.
Let Him be the host at your table,
Watch Him break the bread as He blesses,
See Him Pass the cup to his neighbour,
Know Him as a friend of the poor,
Know Him in the yellow robes of a beggar,
Know Him in the stillness of breathing at midnight.
Give Him the greeting of brothers in blood.
Let the distance between you become
A memory of the times without peace.
Know Him as a Sufi and greet him as a friend of God.
Watch Him wearing green as He walks in the meadows,
Under a banyan tree during afternoon sun.
He drinks from a well and He talks with the people,
He walks by the river at sunset to pray.
Keep it a secret that you know He's within you.
Cross over the borders of all religions
And live His tender love.
Let them ask who taught you your chivalrous ways.
Be a Buddhist and tread the Path of Enlightenment,
Be a Hindu and Know of communion with Shiva,
Be a Muslim and subservient to the will of Allah.
Receive the teachings of all the prophets and praise them.
Know the first and the last and the ones in between.
Know the one that is the `Word of God', and
Know the one that heard the Word of God.
Read the scriptures of all nations.
Learn the secret language of the heart.
Bless the Christians, teach the Buddhists,
Be a living example to the Hindu.
Take the Muslim as your brother.
Share with each man in the Presence of God.
Help him speak to the Lord
As a lover in every mood of romance.
Know his teachings as deeply as he does.
Let your being be a witness to the mystery.
`Love your enemies'.
`Before Abraham was I am,' said the teacher.
`In the beginning was the Word,' said the Beloved.
`On the seventh day God rested,' said the ancients.
The Sufis are the leaven of the loaf of Islam
And the first of the Sufi was Nabbi Issa.
Let you who would be worthy of an illustrious prophet
Be the leaven of the nations and the salt of the earth.
Golra Shareef: February, 1977
HIGH IN THE HINDU KUSH
There is a buzzing in my brain,
A search for answers to the
Question of the turning of the age.
Will it be Mohammed who wins the fight?
Or will Lord Jesus walk away with it?
Is Shiva to make a comeback in Aquarius?
Can Gautama be remembered in his wisdom?
What is Jesus' answer to Mohammed?
Can I feel proud to be a Muslim?
Or will the whole thing take care of itself?
And leave me in peace with
My flute by the river, the sunset,
The yellow-gold wild flowers scattered in the grass,
Sheep grazing homeward and the call to evening prayer.
Oh Lord, I ask you to teach me the way of peace.
Turn my harsh words into kindness.
Turn my temper into tenderness.
Let Your light and love flow through this body.
Let Living give answers to questions of the mind.
Afghanistan: May,
1977
ABDUL KHALEK, NOMAD CHIEFTAIN
The script is written,
The plot is laid,
The teachings of Mohammed must stand
Until the returning of `Messiah'.
He shall be a Muslim
And pray in the mosque of Jerusalem.
His name is `Hajji Issa',
He travels with camels and donkeys,
His women are ample in number,
Beside a mountain stream is his homeland.
He's a nomad.
He ranges far and wide.
You can tell he's a prophet
By the light that shines within him.
You can tell he's a nomad
By his turban and his suntan.
His teacher is a Jew.
His master is the Lord of Life.
His mother is the Queen of Heaven.
His bride is the body
Of everyone that knows Him.
His tender passion is with
The children of God.
He is the Caliph of Allah.
He is the first of the Prophets.
He is the teacher of Abraham.
He is the Spirit of Mohammed.
His is the gift of Koran.
Afghanistan:
May, 1977
.
Jalalu'l-Din
Rumi
THE WHIRLING DERVISH
Clear light in the mind's eye,
Khizr Nabbi at the heart centre,
A wide skirt from the waist down
And the light step of a dervish whirling.
Enter the lives of the children of peace,
Spin their minds into a whirr of light,
Scatter the seeds of love in every heart
And depart, like a bird on the wing.
Alight again in a distant land,
Feed on the quiet of mountains green,
Refresh thy fountain from a crystal spring
And spin, back into the world again.
Let the rhythm of giving and receiving be
The music of thy spiritual harmony,
Every heartbeat resounding throughout creation
Is the field of this whirling infiltration.
Spin you apostle of Aquarian liberation,
Light as the touch of a lover caressing,
Soft as the breath between kisses in heaven,
Gentle your presence yet stirring the heart.
Keep the mind fixed on the central axis,
Rooted in God as you whirl through the world,
Scattering showers of sparks from your fingers,
Kindling hope in the cold hearts of men.
For Abdul Aziz,
Konya: September, 1977
EATING CARRION, GIVEN TO LEWDNESS
While studying the Koran in English, for a period each day during the long hours of fasting, I came upon this fascinating piece from Mohammed Marmeduke Pichthall's Introduction to Surah XIX, Mary, in `The Glorious Koran.'
`In the fifth year of the Prophet's mission (ninth before the Hijra) a number of poor converts were allowed by the prophet to emigrate to Abyssinia, a Christian country, where they would not be subject to persecution for their worship of the One God.
'This is known as the First Hijra
'The Rulers of Mecca sent ambassadors to ask the Negus for their extradition, accusing them of having left the religion of their own people without entering the Christian religion, and of having done wrong in their own country.
'The Negus (against the wishes of the envoys) sent for the spokesmen of the refugees and, in the presence of the bishops of his realm, questioned them of their religion.
'Ja'far Ibn Abi Talib, cousin of the prophet, answered:
"We were folk immersed in ignorance, worshipping idols, eating carrion, given to lewdness, severing the ties of kinship, bad neighbours, the strong men among us preying on the weak; thus we were till Allah sent to us a messenger of our own, whose lineage, honesty, trustworthiness, and chastity we knew, and he called us to Allah that we should acknowledge His Unity and worship Him and eschew all stones and idols that we and our fathers used to worship beside Him; and ordered us to be truthful and to restore the pledge and observe the ties of kinship, and be good neighbours, and to abstain from things forbidden, and from blood, and forbade us lewdness and false speech, and to prey upon the wealth of orphans, and to accuse good women; and commanded us to worship Allah only, ascribing no thing unto Him as partner, and enjoined upon us prayer and legal alms and fasting.
"So we trusted him and we believed in him and followed that which he brought forth from Allah, and we worshipped Allah only, and ascribed no thing as partner unto Him. And we refrained from that which was forbidden to us, and indulged in that which was made lawful for us. And our people became hostile to us and tormented us, and sought to turn us from our religion that they might bring us back to the worship of idols from the worship of Allah Most High, and that we might indulge in those iniquities which before we had deemed lawful.
"And when they persecuted us in, and kept us from, the practise of our religion, we came forth to thy land, and chose thee above all others, and sought thy protection, and hoped that we should not be troubled in thy land, O King!"
'Then the Negus asked him: "Hast with thee ought of that which he brought forth from Allah?" Ja'far answered: "Yes." Then the Negus said, "Relate it to me." and Ja'far recited to him the beginning of the Surah `Maryam'.
SURAH MARYAM
Qoran, Surah XIX, v 16-26.
Relate in the Book the story of Mary,
When she withdrew from her family
To a place in the East.
She placed a screen to screen herself from them:
Then We sent her our angel,
And he appeared before her as a man in all respects.
She said: `I seek refuge from thee to Allah Most Gracious:
come not near if thou dost fear Allah.'
He said: `Nay, I am only a messenger from thy Lord
To announce to thee the gift of a pure son.'
She said: `how shall I have a son, seeing that
No man has touched me and I am not unchaste?'
He said; `so it will be: thy Lord Saith,
"That is easy for Me: and We wish to
Appoint him as a sign unto men
And a Mercy from Us";
It is a matter so decreed.'
So she conceived him,
And retired with him to a remote place.
And the pains of childbirth drove her to the trunk
Of a palm tree: she cried in her anguish:
`Ah! would that I had died before this!
Would that I had been a thing forgotten.'
but a voice cried to her from beneath the palm tree:
`Grieve not! for thy Lord hath provided
A rivulet beneath thee;
And shake towards thyself the trunk of the palm tree:
It will fall fresh ripe dates upon thee.
So eat and drink and
cool thine eye.' . . . .
A LADY VISITOR
A lady came calling on the dervish one day,
She had in her hands gifts from far away.
He noticed a ring on her finger and asked her.
She confessed to a lover, another than he.
The dervish was joyful, grateful indeed.
The Almighty had lifted the pain from his deed,
For women and children and houses and rent
Would put an end to nights in the starlight spent.
Thanks for the visit sky-walking dakini,
Thy lessons in tenderness and passion withal.
Thank you for asking err wedding another
And bless you for finding another to wed.
The role of the dervish is planting new gardens.
The seeds of love sown in the heart of a lady
Have flowered into fullness of life for her now,
A husband, a home and a handful of children.
Konya: September,
1977
SUNSET PRAYER
Mediterranean sunset.
Lord work Thy will with me.
Move me as you wish.
Break my appointment if it pleases Thee.
Destroy my love,
Take away the loved one,
Take this life,
It has long been forfeit unto Thee.
Spend the money in my pocket,
Reduce me to penury,
Rent my clothes,
Break my sandals,
Gash my feet,
Bruise my body.
Far be it from me to wish for anything.
Far be it from me to expect to reach a rendezvous.
Surely I think of it, but
In prayer Your presence reminds me:
`You have nowhere to go, no appointments to keep,
You have nothing to hope for, nothing to expect,
Yours is to listen - ever attentive
Heart well disposed toward all mankind,
Peace in the present, contentment eternal,
Knowing full well that it's always:
"Thy will be done"
South Coast of Turkey:
September, 1977
LONGING FOR LOVE
Constantly present are the thoughts of a lady
Seen in the mind's eye is the sheen of her skin,
The humps and hollows between navel and knee,
The soft gentle presence of a loving companion,
The moments of lightness, the flashes of pain,
Hopes for the future, and hours of pleasure.
Her blue eyes so shy yet so strong in desire.
A woman is rounded and plump and ungainly
Yet all of earth's magic is wrapped up within.
T's a grace to be sharing a two weeks vacation
With much to be done in the time in between
And much to be hoped for in joining again.
Konya:
September, 1977
Into Palestine
THE WAY OF PEACE
May the Lord guide the footsteps
Of His pilgrim into the way of peace.
May the mind rest in the lap of deep faith.
May the way from the crossroads be chosen by Him.
May the heart of a lover be beating within.
May the hand of the loved one be leading the way.
There is no self-will in a servant of God.
There is only obedience and a listening ear.
There is faith that all our needs shall be granted.
There is hope that the path leads to peace implanted.
Gracious day for the soul to bathe in splendour,
Wondrous music at heaven's portals we hear.
Splendid vision of glory within the threshold,
Perfumed presence before the Throne Most High.
Singing voices of angels welcome the wanderers.
Gentle breezes are softly touching their hair.
Rivers of water pour forth from His footstool.
Blessed are they that walk in this way.
Syria: October, 1977.
ZAHWIYA - MONASTERY
Let the sword in your hands
Be the love in your hearts,
Let the feeling of brotherhood
Which you share in the Zahwiya
Be a model for your dealings
With every one you meet.
Let the willingness to serve
And the readiness to listen
Instil the `Tassawuf' so deeply
That it even shines in sleep
As did Omar under the palm tree
To the eyes of the Man from Rum.
Let the love you learn from brothers
Be the standard of your conduct,
May you conquer by example
All the lands of Warring Jinns,
May the Power of the Prophet
Fill thy hearts with great forbearance,
May the Peace of God be with him
And with you in all your efforts.
Syria: October, 1977
SPEAK OF A RAINY DAY IN THE BLACK TENTS
`Speak of a rainy day
In the black tents
With a damsel.'
Delicate sweet meats
And fine perfumed tea,
Her glances discreet
Yet slow and repeated.
Her sighs as she busies
Preparing the treats.
Sing songs of the desert,
A sand storm, sweet water.
Sing a camel string, the night sky
And dreams of a lover.
Fill the small space with voice
As she bends in her serving.
See the full ripe shapes
Of her womanly virtue.
See the hot flame that
Flashes from her eyes.
Drink the potion she's prepared
With ancestral magic.
Feel the thickness of blood
As it swells in the veins.
Watch her wild eyes as she
Is infused with enchantment.
Only the camel bells
Tinkling in the pasture
Share in the sounds of
Their whispering caresses.
Only the sunset in
The crimson horizon
Shares in the passion of
Their hearts torn asunder.
Every drop of their lifeblood
Is tasting love's fire.
Deep sighs and her sobbing
In the cover of darkness,
Soft words of comfort and
Sweet lover's promises.
Cold are the night airs
That creep in the desert,
Warm are the loved ones
That lie side by side.
The Library of Damascus, Oct. 1977.
LAWRENCE OF ARABIA
My angel called me from the sunset this evening
Towards the Promised Land in the West.
As the light of the world creeps beyond a cloud
A full sunburst of golden fingers
Emblazons her splendour across the startled sky.
Legends silver linings envelop the shadows
That linger before the Face of Light.
Children's voices chatter in the background
Of my rock perch on a hillside facing the twilight.
`Hello' and `how are you?' is what the children say
In El Azraq of the desert
Where Lawrence in his heyday,
In an upper room of the old fort,
Slept and dreamed.
The Highway to Arabia touches the horizon.
Trucks cross the sun
Where she kisses the skyline.
Golden light glows beneath their silhouettes.
They move like mannequins
Before the diminishing circle of splendour.
Purple colours invite me to end contemplation,
Languid pools and the palm trees invite me to pray.
From a stepping stone in a small stream
The ritual ablutions,
On the flat grass where goats were grazing today
The bending and kneeling that is Islam's way.
Jordanian Desert: October, 1977
MOUNT NEBO
An image of the sun
On the waters of the Dead Sea,
The brilliance of dusk
Above the mountains of Jerusalem,
The braying of a donkey
Galloping in the hill country,
The wings of a desert bird
Iridescent in the sunset,
Hospitality in the black tents
Of Bedouin from Palestine.
Mount Nebo, mountain of Moses
From which he looked at Jericho.
Birdcalls and blood-orange
Over the hills of the Holy Land,
The clonking of goat bells
Herded to shelter.
Setting sun on the Dead Sea
A mirror of splendour,
The Land of the Prophets
Beckons to me.
Jordan: November, 1977
Serge de Beaurecueil had suggested I see Fr Benoit at the great Dominican house in Jerusalem. It is called the `Ecole Byblique.' Fr. Benoit was very accommodating and invited me to stay with them a few days. I was given a room high up in the building with a view across the rooftops towards the East. I could see over what is the Temple Mount, where now the Golden Dome of a Muslim sanctuary stands resplendent. This is where Solomon built the first temple and here, in the second temple, Jesus preached, and drove out the merchants. From this same mount it was that the Prophet Mohammed, during the night of power, ascended upon the back of the horse, Burrack, to within a bowshot length, or nearer, of the Throne of God.
I rose early, and looking out towards the Temple Mount and the eastern sky beyond, I saw the sickle moon rising before the dawn with the morning star poised between her horns.
It was the perfect moment to go and pay my respect to this Holy shrine, to honour all the history that has taken place there and to say the morning prayers of Islam. Having performed the necessary washing I slipped out of the huge cloistered building to walk through the Damascus Gate down into the old city, towards the dawn and the Dome of the Rock.
THE TEACHER IS NEAR
Such was the Night of Power
When Koran came forth from Heaven.
The Angel has spoken and told him
To write every word he hears.
The Wisdom of Ages revealed
The closest kept secrets now to be told.
Tibetans are cast out from their mountains,
Their teachings are spread through the earth.
The youth of the nations open their hearts,
Human solidarity finds a toehold,
The practice of brotherhood gains experience,
We're at the threshold of a New Revelation.
God's grace springs forth from its source within.
Glad tidings, the Heaven Sent Teacher is near.
Her Secret Presence revealed to those ready.
When the inner eye opens our vision is transformed
The Mercies of Heaven are resplendent all around.
The Messiah is among us. The Kingdom is Here.
Lavra Netofa, Israel:
December, 1977
Jerusalem
`May my right arm wither and may my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth
if I forget you, O Jerusalem.'
Jewish Morning Prayer.
LOWER GALILEE
Standing on the porch in the rain at midnight
A visitation of an intimation of the death of personality.
Rain-swept valley and the glistening lake below,
Above clouds, wind and the intermittent thrill of lightning.
Where in the heart lies the source of utter humility?
What is the face of the one totally transparent before God?
Will the years bring a withering of the fascination with outer exploits?
Can years of silent meditation break the persona of the pilgrim?
All the psychological games of self-defence, and attack?
All the stories of travel with which the wanderer wins a meal.
Let the harvest of holy men and the assortment of religions
Be compressed with forgetfulness into the wine of wisdom.
A grey beard and crow's feet at the corners of the eyes,
A body wrung dry of all the grasping desires,
A mind so clear that it knows every heartbeat,
A heart that is open for all to come near.
Can the body be the temple of the Living Incarnation?
Christ Jesus, we see You, You walk among men.
Israel: November, 1977
COLD MOUNTAIN.
(After three days of fasting)
The first silver sliver of a waxing crescent moon is
Peeping like a Muslim maiden between veils of cloud.
It has been the Feast Day of the Spiritual Patriarchs.
Among them is included `Our Master' Melkizedec.
In the valley is the first day of a Muslim New Year.
In this mountain monastery a bell rings for vespers.
So quiet in the lamplight is the prayer room, waiting.
Silently sitting, or placing psalm books, the early arrivals.
Small, warm and humble; it is prayer room and living room,
Dining room and chapel. The East Wind blows violent and cold.
The psalms are eternal, the sentiments are simple, but
This sharing of brothers in scripture transcends the heavens.
Supper is bread and cheese, salads and local olives,
Black tea or green tea with lemon or sugar.
A half glass of wine after dinner for those who are willing.
One by one dispersing, the brethren retire.
Our black German shepherd follows me in the darkness.
The East Wind blows cold. She'll share my hermitage tonight.
Lavra Netofa: December, 1977
FOUR STAGES OF THEOLOGY
The abbot of that little hermitage community on the hilltop in Galilee welcomed me and encouraged me. When it came to questions of theology being discussed over a glass of wine after dinner he would always say something to make my position look more acceptable to the visiting nuns, or the young Christians present.
He gave me an article to read in which the four basic theological positions within Christianity in our time were elucidated:
1. Ecclesiocentric universe, exclusive Christology.
Jesus Christ and the Church are seen as the constitutive and exclusive way of salvation. This basically connotes the position of those who believe there is no Salvation outside of their own particular Church, be it Catholic or Southern Baptist or Jehovah Witnesses.
2. Christocentric universe, an inclusive Christology.
These people have the grace to say that all Christian denominations are somehow acceptable to God.
3. Theocentric universe, with a normative Christology.
Here God is at the centre of the universe and all religions come from Him but it is in terms of the teachings of Jesus that one can know how pure these other religions are.
4. Theocentric universe, non-normative Christology.
Again God is at the centre but it is no longer man who is the judge of what is better or best. As the Abbot said to me this may seem the furthest from Christian theology, yet it is in accordance with Christian humility and has the merit of leaving God free, to know more than is dreamed of in your philosophy Horatio.' to use the famous words of Hamlet. We do not presume to have the final answers as to what God's plan for mankind may be. This type of attitude becomes relevant when one is living in a multi-religious context such as Palestine. Anything else inevitably sounds patronising and unjust to people of a different faith.
THE PHOENIX SYNDROME
Full Moon and Thanksgiving
The Phoenix Syndrome manifests yearly in my heart.
Doubt and recrimination, self-pity and even despair
Throw the Yogic Swan into a Perilous tailspin.
Spiralling vortexes, vertigo at intercontinental heights.
Fire awaits the Phoenix to burn all her feathers away.
Utterly destroyed, reduced to ashes, the strutting bird of paradise
Now is the time when the sun's strength is waning.
Now is the season of days growing shorter and cooler.
Seen for the first time one might fear a disaster.
Prayers could be offered to call the sun again.
The time of the solstice is the point of returning.
Despair and imminent disaster flare into hope again.
New thoughts and inspiration mix with the waning,
Glimpses of a way beyond the threshold of fire.
Memories of past years give courage to contemplate ashes.
Phoenix is promised to rise from her fire, utterly destroyed,
Yet infinitely more splendid beyond her funeral pyre.
My heart faints as my body stumbles towards the Winter Solstice.
Was a young life wasted in wandering the byways?
Is this view on the Waters of Galilee a contemptible reward?
Will labouring with the hands and the sweat of my brow
Be the price to pay for a youth spent on travel?
The journey is completed, the pilgrimage accomplished,
Yet what profit to the soul in the works of this world?
Never enough are the labours expended.
Still unconquered lies the realm of earth receding.
Every footfall pounded on the mountains of desolation,
Every language learned in the market place of futility,
Every faithful friend and forgotten companion,
Every prostration and meditation. Every vainglorious prayer.
Well worthy of burning is the highest swan of yoga,
Without merit or virtue is the charlatan pilgrim.
Proud Pomp are the feathers of the Phoenix of Heaven,
Fodder for fires all her shimmering plumage.
Pearls on her rosary and diamonds in her pockets,
Pretended Poverty and Deceit are her Watch Words.
What can be salvaged from a worn-out vocation?
What can be hoped for from the blemished vows?
With what pretence of purity can we stand at the Judgement?
Hopelessly sullied with vices of the market place,
Deeply compromised by the love of women,
Utterly unworthy of the promised salvation.
Yet, preaching heaven at every street corner,
Smiling at others as though paradise had started,
Inviting all comers to share in the banquet.
Robed as a Prince returning from revelry,
Strutting the moon-bright streets after midnight.
Oh! Bird of Paradise, your days must be numbered.
But God's Grace is Infinite and His Mercy Unending.
Who knows where He chooses to find Him a servant?
Mayhap He'll have use for a well-roasted carcass?
The fires of Hell could be used as a springboard.
The Mercy of Heaven can restore a Damned Soul.
Even the `Son' had His moment of crisis.
Full Moon and fine weather gives a feeling of comfort.
The Morning Star mounts a flamboyant horizon.
The hillsides at night are bejewelled with villages,
The clusters of light are alive like the facets of Diamond.
Cooking and digging and cleaning the garden,
We'll wait for the New Moon to know of a Sequel.
Galilee: 25th November, 1977
THE SEQUEL
Tonight is the night of the New Moon.
Tonight is the end of three days of fasting.
The body has tasted three days of dying.
Tomorrow is the birth of hope again.
Hope, to see the Crescent of the Virgin
Adorning the crimson sky above the sunset.
Ten days to wait for the Winter Solstice.
A Full Moon is promised for Christmas.
Ten days more and Phoenix is free from her Furnace.
Twelfth Night and fools are cast out of the Palace.
Troubadours and Clowns on the road again.
Pilgrims continue towards the Promised Land.
What will the New Year hold for the Wanderer?
Shall we go to Egypt for the sunny weather,
Or the Gulf States for Money Grubbing?
Will we remain in the Holy Land?
Watching the turn of the seasons?
Spring flowers in Galilee, winter sun in Sinai,
Summer heat in the hill country,
Visiting friends and companions.
What is the Profit of a dozen years wandering?
Where is there ease for these weary bones?
Shall we surrender to a Monastic Vocation?
Can a job be found to support daily needs?
Shall this Footloose Prince with no homeland
Continue, still many years, and to what end?
Jacob gave seven years for one wife and seven for another.
The third seven years he worked for profit in sheep.
Can a Prophet of Hip make a stand in the Real World?
Can the tales of a pilgrim be sold in the market place?
Can a Dervish go dancing for a midnight cabaret?
Or shall we trust in God to lead a blind man His way?
A Chinese Book of Wisdom
Promises Heaven on Earth in the New Year.
The second seven years is yet to be completed.
Cairo awaits you and Rome, Morocco and Paris.
America's around the corner, the Spiritual Renaissance
Your wandering has been a success up to now.
- o -
Take courage this day of awaiting the new moon.
Tomorrow you eat and meet people again.
If money is short the friends are unending.
Old Phoenix is promised to rise from Her Fire.
Mohammed assures us, after hardship comes ease.
Take comfort in the movement of the heavenly spheres.
The moon will be new after three days of dying.
The sun will return from the winter solstice.
The hermit in his hut on the mountain is fasting.
Tomorrow he'll be feasting and Christmas is coming.
Take courage to live like the Phoenix of Heaven
Expectant in death of the promised resurrection.
Galilee: 10th December, 1977
AFTER WINTER SOLSTICE
I cry to the God of Mercy in my affliction
Now that the waning of the year has passed.
Build up Thy fires of Loving-Kindness within me.
Grant the fullest bounty of walking in Thy Holy Land.
Let the sun shine gently upon this `son of man'.
No one knows the pain of separation
More sharply than Thy beloved.
Oh! The affliction of my heart
When Thou withdrawest from me.
Turn not Thy Face to another.
Hold me constantly in the
Glow of Thy Radiance.
Lift up my heart to be close to Thee.
Sow within me the seeds of Thy Great Wisdom.
Nurture them through the years ahead
To flourish in Thy service.
Oh! Light of Heaven.
Oh! God of Israel.
AMEEN!
Deir Hanna: December, 1977
HOME AND HOSPITALITY
From the Book of Proverbs
The first thing in life is water, and bread and clothing,
and a house for the sake of privacy.
Better a poor man's life under a roof of planks
than lavish fare in the house of another.
Whether you have little or much be content with it,
and you will not be dubbed an intruder.
It is a miserable life going from house to house;
wherever you stay not daring to open your mouth;
You are a stranger; you know the taste of humiliation,
not to mention the sound of embittering words,
`Come along, stranger, lay the table,
if you have anything with you give it to me to eat.'
`Go away stranger, make room for some one important;
my brother is coming to stay, I need the house.'
It is hard for a cultured man to hear himself begrudged hospitality
and treated like an undischarged debtor.
Twelfth Night was too long to wait to be wandering the hills and valleys of the Holy Land again.
I fell in love with a beautiful young woman in the village of Ein Karem, where the child leaped in the womb when Elizabeth, mother of John the Baptist, heard the call of, 'Greetings!' from Our Lady. Ein Karem is close to Jerusalem, amongst some folds in the hills that stretch down towards the sea. There are old churches, tall trees and a stream. Rocky, terraced fields with olive trees on them are to be seen around the village.
Talushka, the beautiful young woman was of a highborn, Russian, Cohen family. She was an artist, with a sufficient allowance from her family to live her life. Her friends called her Tal, which means Dew. I lived in her house, as chaste as a maiden, and watched her lovers come and go. She owned a cottage in Rosh Pinar, in Upper Galilee. It lies in a high valley beyond Saphed. There is a view from the village across the Jordan valley, and Mount Hermon lies to the East. She invited me to visit her there. We walked together in the hills and picked bouquets of spring flowers. We talked for hours of art and philosophy.
I travelled to Jericho, to the Dead Sea and down into Sinai. I slept a night in the mist at the top of the mountain where Moses received the Ten Commandments. That was quite frightening I must say. It's very high, and cold up there at night. After each trip I returned to Talushka's spacious home in Ein Karem. She introduced me to many people, one of whom was her friend Ettianna who lived in the old seaport of Jaffa. Etti became my lover, while Tal remained my beloved.
The hot days of summer come early to the Holy Land. It was time to travel again.
There was money enough for a boat ticket, via Cyprus, to Rhodos in Greece. Patmos, the island of John the Beloved, was calling to me. It at Patmos that he wrote the Book of Revelation. Delphi demanded to be visited in passing, and thence to Italy. I went to La Verna where Saint Francis received the Stigmata and to Monte Casino, where Saint Benedict ruled and prayed, during the maturing of his years.
THE TANTRIC DAKINI OF TEL AVIV
Companion to the Muse is a Tantric Dakini,
Fruit of the earth that was Palestine
With the blood of Spain in her veins.
Dark and small, an accomplished dancer,
Travelled and learned in languages,
Vastly experienced in the arts of passion,
Profoundly rooted in the reality of life,
Yet capable of love and deep devotion,
Instantly responsive to the Wisdom Teachings
Acutely alert to the Ear Whispered Doctrine
Elaborately imaginative in the Practice of Tantra,
Adept of the beads and the Yogic Inhalations.
Perched in the mind's eye is the possibility
Of a real love relationship with several women.
The example of the prophet is a perfect precedent
Yet the Master speaks of `becoming one flesh'.
The Chastity of the Catholics is an Abhorrence of the Body.
The Marriage of the Protestants is a Castration of Love.
The Libertine practices of the Modern Generation
Is devoid of the dimension of learning through giving.
Only in the Tantra is Lust transformed to Light.
Only in Yoga is the Body a Skilful Means.
Only Illumination of All the Contingents
Can produce Recognition of the Kingdom Within.
All praise to the Wisdom of the Masters of Yoga.
All praise to the Radiance of the Queen of Heaven.
All praise to the Practitioners of the Highest Tantra.
Cyprus: May, 1978
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