2.28.10

the way of light is darkness to all others.

2.26.10

It amuses me to hear people talk of the spiritual 'path'. There is no path. That is a fairytale and a lie that we tell to children, and rightly so. But now, if you are grown, heed me:

We are falling, falling into thinnest air;

on that glorious day when we 'hit bottom', we will long ago have shed our fleshy chador in favor of pure light and pure thought.



So flail not! Do not grab for hand holds and railings! These are the snares of the devil--even if seeming holy. Fear most those in priestly garb standing on ledges, their rotting hands lifted in supplication. They are trapped; but do not relieve their misery; that is best left to the judgment of the God.

Rather, close your eyes, turn and revolve so that you are pointing headfirst down, down into the abyss. And faster is better.

Jump now!!, or Adonai may just push you over anyway.

Blessed are they that jump and are not pushed.

But no matter, we will all fall down the holy spiral.
But some will do so dead and rotting; others aloud and laughing; still more, terrified.

Fear not this death! Fear rather to be left on the precipice with no friend to push you. For if so, you will see the destruction of all you love, of the earth, the sun, time and space.

Come! Come! Come!

2.25.10

those hands. those eyes. the face.
a power and surety unparalleled.
a gaze not easy to meet, and impossible to drop.
here i come. i fall, through twilights and evenings and night-times long and unhurried.

i fall, down through earth upon earth, soil under soil. beyond grave, under stone
to a new land. his burning, glorious body like fire's fire. but to touch! such cool sweetness--
it slays me and all around, a trillion bodies, fallen. come to rest.

2.25.10

your care, your wisdom, your perfection,
your ruthlessness, your darkness,
your whiteness. flowers spun from prayers.

your averted glance
more powerful than lances and armies.

holy Mother.

tears choked and stifled, unworthy of thy

beauty.

have mercy.

2.24.10

I appeal my appeal to the Highest on High.
You have made me as I am,
an athlete of your sacred realm,
a cripple on Terra,
therefore, O God, do justice by me!

or, at the least, grant me my boon.
for I shall never, never leave your courts until you do as I plead!
your temple floor shall be shadowed and stained by my pacing and tears.
may they fall, drops, like acid and scar your polished sanctuary until you grant me as I wish.
for i rend my robes all day, and tears flow unabated by night.

when! O Lord! when! Forget not that I am a mortal man and have but few years to serve you.
put a sword in my hand, and food in my satchel, and I shall go.
but I cannot fight the hoard with hungry fists. with parched lips.

you, God-of-all-places, hear my pleas over the din of all supplications.
escort me into the ante-room reserved for those who will be heard.
let your chamberlain put a ring on my finger and a robe on my back.
and order him, say only the word! and order him to grant my boon.

and may my net be full to overflowing.

2.23.20

The wounds of Christ. Let us think on these very, very intently. First, as the Jesu himself said that the entire event of his Cruxification was completely in his control, why did he cause it to play out the way it did? The robe and crown of thorns may have been unique, but other, just as pitiful humiliation was likely doled out to others dangerous to the state. Why was his side pierced? Why did he allow himself to die in just 3 hours? This was often a several-day process. Why did he cut short his suffering? Why was it NOT the greatest suffering of any human on earth. It was not. I think an intense scrutiny of every word of the passion must be made. He is telling us sublime things, but we must have the eyes and ears to comprehend the message within the message. Obviously, Jesus' death was the ultimate magical death, but what was this magic? How was it wrought? Why did it carry such potency? Of course, this is somewhat one stage removed from reality because the likelihood is that the events of the Passion are myth more ancient than days. But still, they were written in a very particular way. We must study every word. Something bigger than 'mere' salvation was wrought. Something more mysterious, sublime, and subtle. I mean, my God, the Jews already HAD salvation. Why this new non-salvation--a salvation that no one wanted. A salvation undefined. A salvation theologically unnecessary from a Judaic perspective (and irrelevant from other Jewish perspectives). What is going on????

2.23.10

i think 'one day at a time' is a cover-story for 'there is only now'.

there is only the very split second of the now.'

of course, we must 'tie our camels', etc. but this implies or requires or leads to what st. paul says about 'blessed is he who does not condemn himself in his own actions' (paraphrase).

we must be g-ds: eternal. now. for the present moment is an eternity, the depths of which we know so little.

if we wish, we could escape into the 'now', into another universe, another dimension, and come out, forever changed, a whole lifetime later. in this way, we can be as 'immortal' as we wish to be.

2.21.10

Today's Sunday reading: the temptation of Christ in the desert. There's something there that I never saw until today. Do we REALLY think that after 40 days of fasting in the desert, after which all desire for food has been sublimated, the spirit transported to ecstasy upon ecstasy, after vision upon vision, and after the Jesu's obvious Essene training, that these palty temptations: mere food (which he knew he could obtain by merely walking out of the desert), kingdoms (which he ALREADY owned and knew he would rule forever), and notariety,( which he knew he would soon have anyway), were actually difficult for him to resist? I don't think so. There is a mystery here. This lesson is not about Jesus. For I do not believe for one minute that the presence of a/the Satan was terrifying or overawing to Him. No. This was some rite of passage. Some thrice denial of things that were already rags, already less than nothing, to him. For a contemplative of his magnitude, especially heightened by his fasting, would never conceivably succumb to such trivial, banal and obvious temptations. Why then is this story here? I don't know. But it must either be a story for the newly initiated--a 'child's' story of the spiritual life--or it is something altogether sublime and hidden, or both.

2.18.10

I was simultaneously pleased and awed and grateful to discover yesterday that we have had at least one 'honest-to-goodness' Saint from our own dear San Francisco in Alta California. The former Archbishop of the Russian Orthodox Diocese here. He was a true mystic, clairvoyant, and dedicated servant to his flock. He was truly a living example of the selflessness of Christ and of the Jesu's dedication to the poor. Read up on him here:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_of_Shanghai_and_San_Francisco

He was also a miracle worker, healer and his earthly remains are said to be incorruptible. An amazing, amazing example for us all.

2.17.10

when he calls, answer.
when he comes, follow.
when he closes the door, submit.

2.17.10

The Spirit of God.

If you have not prostrated yourself in fear and dread of Her, you have not seen Her.

If you have not stood before a porcelain basin and prayed to be released of Her, She has not had you.

If you have not wept from fear and ecstasy and terror, and not been filled, and your very flesh rent to allow more of her wine to flow into you, then you are not Her thrall and not her Lover.

If you have not cried for her return, and cried at her return, and sobbed at her leaving, you do not know Her.

The Spirit of God moves over the waters. Say not that you will not be afraid. For you will be.

Have you seen her crash and crush worlds together?!
Have you seen her rise, terrible, in her majesty?!
Have you seen her raise her arms and feinted from her loveliness?!
Have you seen her, felt her, hold you, like a child, till your fears were calmed?!

And there is more. Gird your loins and open your heart and ascend to her Temple. Then She will decide what to do with you. For it is not you who will decide who SHE will be to You.

Courage!

2.16.10

flying.

the god soaring the short sea between his world and this.
and his tentacles of power, his tendrils of light, his lassos of binding--
and the blue-white light of his power: lapping now, shooting now, screaming, hissing, calling, a blare of trumpets that breaks all drumbeats, blazing white, whiter than white--
and the immeasurable weight of his mass pulling all things, all pasts, all futures, into himself--
his size in contraposition to the depth of his pull on space/time. a tiny marble sunk deep into the black velvet on which our sun and stars roll obediently, lightly, dumbly.

all stay on their courses only by his will. if he did not stay his hand, the oceans would fly out of their salty banks and caress his golden beauty, his supple hardness; surround him with their mighty waves, reduced to ripples in his puissant grasp.

and of men, it cannot be spoken. * * * *

flying.

2.10.10

if i close my eyes, i cannot stop but live more deeply, see worlds flashing by, find crowns, scepters, robes, lovers, swords.

if i open my eyes, i weep.

"I"

i laugh when i ask myself 'who am i'. for one thing, it's hard to keep track of just how many "i"s there are at any one given moment. and even if i could come up with the list, just who is who today anyway? and how to describe any one of them? they disdain description, defy categorization, are singularly unconcerned with how they are viewed; they are.