Dream of Upasni

A week or so ago I moved my bed into a small room in my house. This opened up a medium sized room for the creation of an office and sacred space for my massage and bodywork practice, and to meet with doula clients. In my five years as a licensed therapist, I have never had a space that is solely dedicated to my practice. I have always rented someone else's space that they designed, or made do in someone else's home or my bedroom.

Intentionally creating this space in my physical home seems to have also created a sense of spaciousness in my inner world.

Upasni appeared in this room. He looked similar to how he does in this picture. Not wearing much, rock solid in his presence with a serious demeanor. He was carrying a oval shaped, with pointed ends, rock in his hands with carved out holes all through it. He had a special incense that he was burning in these holes. He said there were seventy-two, and that this number was significant. Visually it looked more like there were seven and two holes, but the details were a bit blurry. He stared at me with austere focus and requested that I receive his blessings, and that the work I do in the world be done with his blessings.

I felt simultaneously afraid, yet relieved at his presence in my room. I remembered and felt all I knew about Upasni, and his immensely potent approach to the process of awakening.

Which is: if you loose it, if you are suffering, if you are on the street and hungry: Good. The closer you then come to what is real, what is True and immortal. I felt my fear around taking the risk of potentially not 'getting' all that I 'want' in this lifetime. I felt my fear around fully committing to a spiritual path, knowing what that entails as far as ego-annihilation. Upasni looked at me through all of this, seeing through my circular thought-trains and traps. He just stood there, witnessing. I accepted him.

I slowly accepted within myself all that he archetypally represents of me, of my tendencies since childhood in this lifetime towards a sincere desire for God, for Truth, for the Love that knows no end. Upasni was inviting me to accept and dance with this. To celebrate it in the world, to come out of hiding. And in not hiding, to offer my work in this spirit, to be willing to be in authentic exchange. To hold a space, literally and figuratively, for others to begin to gradually journey inward and uncover their own Truth.

Or, perhaps it will all fall apart. Good. This is the practice. Being in the success of the moment, being in the rhythm of the world, and letting go of what that looks like or doesn't look like. From this place of Being, the only actions taken are those supported by the greater Whole.

The rest was lost somewhere in the space between Upasni's piercing eyes and mine, letting it all in.

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

Meher Spiritual Center, Oct 2011

You who hide there in the crevasses

of stories untold and bare in the bright desert

of your spherical stare

could eyes with such fog look into you and

fathom the unfathomable

gentleness which is returned

without question

it was your breath consistent in

the rule shattering music which brought us,

desperately seeking forgiveness

insight

This sweet and sour balm of your hand wrapped

around my heart

around my life

You have broken me into these

jagged and uneven pieces

the same hand of gentleness

the hand of destruction

and with your golden

precision

are now weaving

your luminous thread

building within me a temple for You

Your Will unhidden

Your Wish my aspiration.

And Help Him Comfort

God has
a special interest in women
for they can lift this world to their breast
and help Him
comfort.

Mira

What We Do For Light II

Your image now burned like a vow
without the piece of paper that

I accidentally relied upon
in so many shadows
droplets on my face left
my body hungry for your
condition-less gaze your
pose striking over and over at the foot
of the bed at

the foot of our mistakes

What did I think I wanted?
Something other than that?

Three long years to remember what I forgot when
Your face superimposed my love
Your Grace confused my lust

I fought for its life with every strength and sinew until you

revealed kidneys now depleted and
Grace clumsily evaded as I wrapped my raw
hands around that which was never

True, you

still standing at the foot of the bed looking,
Can your heart see clearly yet?
This vow eats and becomes me

True love has no choice

It is neither yes nor no

It was always you at

the foot of the bed watching, waiting
My dear love without limit
How did you create me so lucky, so deserving of You?

Because the breath in your pulse is mine
Because the enigmas in your mistakes are my doing
And because you no longer
Have a choice in the matter as

True love is neither yes, nor no

My Dear.

What We Do For Light

The shutters permanently open for at
least nine months then
there was you closing them next
to my half lit
body, next
to the doors closing as silent
and serendipitously as they opened

What began with butoh now ends with it

What began as

A deeply steeped cup of forgetfulness
ensued as my lines blurred with his even as
they lay with friends I, no I couldn't muster

the bouyancy the vision to dance as
my light grew dimmer with every
new street story
with every muddled love
dampened confession

What began with butoh now ends with it as I
Silently try to comprehend the
unimaginable awe is this pain
unimaginable awe in these tricks, in these

ancient misunderstandings and my
new resolve to take heart comfortably, coyly
on my time now and in my own style I

resolve to live awe-
struck open
In respite and relief - heartbound

by Joy at Sudden Disappointment sees
through far hills and near walls this
life that breaths
itself awake
In all the lengths we go
All that we did for light
What I did for light,
for one sip,

What we do for light
What I've done for this light
It was all for one more sip

***

The invisible fists of our soulmates
Hack and hack and hack and hack at
those locked doors inside that hold
A quickening brilliance and deafening dark
Behind the same door is the

fountain of life that we
rock and resist with everybeat

along the path at every
stop along the way there is

always someone else to conveniently blame

until your sweaty palms at teatime
take in the ocean as whole-
heartedly as her body and

from that vast ocean we drink.

Joy At Sudden Disappointment

Whatever comes, comes from a need,
a sore distress, a hurting want.

Mary's pain made the baby Jesus.
Her womb opened its lips
and spoke the Word.

Every part of you has a secret language.
Your hands and your feet say what you've done.

And every need brings in what's needed.
Pain bears its cure like a child.

Having nothing produces provisions.
Ask a difficult question,
and the marvelous answer appears.

Build a ship, and there'll be water
to float it. The tender-throated
infant cries and milk drips
from the mother's breast.

Be thirsty for the ultimate water,
and then be ready for what will
come pouring from the spring.

A village woman once was walking by Muhammad.
She thought he was just an ordinary illiterate.
She didn't believe that he was a prophet.

She was carrying a two month old baby.
As she came near Muhammad, the baby turned
and said, "Peace be with you, Messenger of God."

The mother cried out, surprised and angry,
"What are you saying,
and how can you suddenly talk!"

The child replied, "God taught me first,
and then Gabriel."
"who is this Gabriel? I don't see anyone."
"He is above your head, Mother. Turn around. He has been telling me many things."
"Do you really see him?"
"Yes. He is continually delivering me from this degraded state into sublimity."
Muhammad then asked the child,
"What is your name?"

"Abdul Aziz, the servant of God, but this family
thinks I am concerned with world-energies.
I am as free of that as the truth of your prophecy is."

So the little one spoke, and the mother
took in a fragrance that let her surrender
to that state.
When God gives this knowing,
inanimate stones, plants, animals, everything,
fills with unfolding significance.

The fish and birds become protectors.
Remember the incident of Muhammad and the eagle.

It happened that as he was listening to this inspired baby, he heard a voice calling him to prayer. He asked for water to perform ablutions. He washed his hands and feet, and just as he reached for his boot, an eagle snatched it away! The boot turned upside-down as it lifted, and a poisonous snake dropped out.

The eagle circled and brought the boot back,
saying, "My helpless reverence for you made this necessary. Anyone who acts this presumptuously for a legalistic reason should be punished!"

Muhammad thanked the eagle,
and said, "What I thought was rudeness was really love. You took away my grief and I was grieved! God has shown me everything, but at the moment I was preoccupied iwthin myself."
The eagle,
"But chosen one, any clarity I have comes from you!"
This spreading radiance
of a True Human Being has great importance.
Look carefully around you and recognize
the luminosity of souls. Sit beside those who draw you to that.

Learn from this eagle story that when misfortune comes, you must quickly praise.

Others may be saying, Oh no, but you
will be opening out like a rose
losing itself petal by petal.

someone once asked a great sheikh
what sufism was.

"The feeling of joy when sudden disappointment comes."

the eagle carries off Muhammad's boot
and saves him from snakebite.

Don't grieve for what doesn't come.
Some things that don't happen
keep disasters from happening.

~Rumi

Birth Doorways

Black hospital pitch room
Four minutes apart. Moaning inward and out. Half cat nap recliner and sweater.

My foot

thumps awake with sudden vigor.

Fragment recovers in comfort and placement. In time,

for getting up and mirroring the sound

of creation softening bones,
chest cracked back
into place

Now I sit in time

out of time,
with holy breath informing this flesh

next to me of woman and fairy dust feet
The pulse of trust and touch
and this tiny being inside with a heart so fast and light - full on

the monitor in the background speaking in rhythm

to guide our way

My foot thumps upward as doors swing open so

wide and soul fragments waiting to come home rush

back

In 45 minutes its enough for them

to find me, find Home.

There is poetry in forgetfulness
in the
slippery sleep of books closed without the scant scent
nostalgic old paper smell wafting
through the cracks of every dream
through the corners of every waking scene

in faces undreamed
skin responsibly drops the ball in the middle
of the game thinks
outer heart
inner hidden forces hand to release but
can't wade through the mud to outer heart
(this) persistent personality (the)
tangled mommy daddy that
these faces fading oh so perfectly were,
are, will not be as

balls unwind and yarn is caught
in the paws of cats pouncing this
low purr of thought-erasing

"You will never figure it out. You cannot untangle it. Stop thinking! You must throw it in Baba's ocean. Throw it!" ~Eruch Jessawala

To Mother Israel:

The space between us arid and vomit-yellow the way I would imagine sand looks
for days on end if its all you ever see

matching our very own baby-poop colored llama-

on a ride. Birth-right Israel. Summer 2006.

body in my old lover’s arms there,
thin and resentful in the face
of my relentless loud resistance
that some might call

complaining

indigestible Zionism
put on our plates day after day with hummus and instant coffee and olives

as bitter and salty as my cheeks
as watery as my intestines

Somewhere between Tel-aviv and Palestine

Was the ‘I love Israel’ amphitheater
With its wealthy American Jewish kids getting drunk

Having climbed on top of the glorious backs of the gray-green army tanks that brought us

Safety in these borders

We have it all now, don’t we?

His arms became large with the expanse of the crowd--
amidst the cacophony and collision
Waves broke inside me right there in the middle
Pounding in my forehead: Beer and tanks. Beer and tanks. Beer and tanks.

Water and questions
“What is there to celebrate within this scent of unjustified death circling?"

There was no cover here
Everything exposed: desert

His long curls waved in the wind and he held my hand as we walked through the crowds
not readily parting for us

Our wandering ceased through following
a distant sound of drumming

A small circle voices almost drowned
India white shirts glistened in the sunlight against long black locks
I was offered a drum and took it
pericardium pulse met my sacrum my hands
and the surrounding countries

When the real show began we could no longer hear ourselves
Yet I held the beat close in the drunken girls toilet-paperless bathroom

On the bus ride and the ensuing days -- Negev mountains

Small stone caverns
where they say mystics lived for days
without end

now deep breathing
is not possible due
to the stench of stale piss
Arabic and Israeli mixed

---

Here I found
some lost corner of my Mother’s belly
Vomit yellow hills, purple thistle-ridden

purple thistle-ridden
purple thistle-ridden
purple thistle-ridden

Slowly I learned to replace my sponge holes with her spikes
My disgust with her

unapologetic expansiveness.

November 2010

Little rare rootlings
split with every wet division
of legs without
sum

After a number of lifetimes the rootling in
its fragmented, momentary ecstasies
dies.

To find itself as a fat tree
Uninterested in temporary pleasure As
nothing
compares to the simple joy of
its being both worlds, and the bridge

Between the two.

Fall, 2005 while getting oil changed

Between his ebony gleam
and the steal dream
of modern mechanics
symmetrical, slender
his gaze
ancient enough to call animal spirits to his arrow

now

pouring neon steering fluid into

another animal
heart, no less bold

Poetry has been a constant in my life since I understood what the word meant. Soon after I learned how to write, my relationship with poetry began. I have my parents to thank for introducing me to this art form at a young age.

I've spent my life scribbling poems hap-haphazardly in various journals, napkins, and the walls of my high school bathroom stalls with sharpies. (Yes, you read that correctly.)

This is my first attempt at organizing and compiling my completed and edited poems in one place. I'll also post poems by other writers that inspire my work and also happen to be juicy little gifts meant for sharing.

Thanks for reading!