The Business of the Recluse

(Brahmacharya)

The recluse is he who
loves nature more than man
for man is arrogant
and nature is natural

the recluse cares not for
the politics of civilization
and the inflated idea of

a currency that is not real
the dollar of this or that country
and imaginary territory
of this or that people

and imaginary Gods of this or that
origin, that is innovated
by this or that gestures
and who gets credit when

the credit is due to nature
the recluse not understanding
man’s self-importance
lives a life of contemplation

not only breeding for man’s dominance
not only mating for pleasure
but with an eye for the universe

and looking for signs of the cosmos
in nature and the history of man
and for the future that has yet

to be born, the recluse
has an internal being made for
not only for her personal affairs

but for wisdom, art, knowledge
and the formula of love that
could one day save humanity.

Ode to Meditation (The Good Darkness)

This is where you are asked
To collection your mind’s fragments
Into a quiet pool around silence
Bit by bit let go of grasping

Thought without possession
Attains quantum emptiness
Perched, and perished, hidden
Beneath Paradise, minutes of fresh prey

Where you will not exist
Darting below Creation’s wheel
A hooded comet, God’s pastime
Where no tongue will tell your secret

And no observer clouds your way
It’s a gift to the ear, to make time stop
Even for an instant, resets the brain
The good darkness, deepen it

A candled moth, without half-light
Nigh journey coming closer to God
No poison of desire, no tumult of attachment
No self, no trace of following

Only the listening beyond time and space
Step beyond, be, become, die
Before Rumi, Attar or Sanai
Erase memory to upload nothing.

Migrating Silence

A part of me seeks inner government
To break into a lonely country
Broke from love, not impoverished
But neutral, sexless, just fraternal
To pick Lords of Memory of friendship
Instead of love, blot out telling rain and candles
Settle for sunshine, twenty-four-seven!
To languish in conversations
That never end, like how a line
Of in a Chinese Poem can change my mind
Like a sweetly drunk monk, choose
The simple life, a part of me seeks the
Exile’s perfect letter, language of silence
Where equanimity bathes the mist
Along all shores, triumphant &
Forgetting the Self perfectly.