Real  poseurs wear their hair long. You should know that.

I'm going to look like this:

That was the interior view.

One Strand at a Time

Once more,

Love is pouring down my ceiling

and my walls.

Once more, it's the night of the full moon,

it is time for madness.

All my immense knowledge

cannot help me now.

Once more,

Insomnia took my patience.

Rain washed away my intellect.

The Lover made me lose my profession.

What good is my work anyway?

Once more, rise, rise, rise,

Like the way a garden burns

in a hundred shades of orange in the fall,

A Lover's heart shrivels for a sense of the Beloved's touch.

Now the face of that charred garden

is my field of flowers.

Look, two hundred Jupiters

are dancing around my moon.

My love business is booming,

but don't credit the consultants.

I am done with the consultants

and the pundits,

they call you Jafar the imposter.

Little do they know,

that you are my Shams the Flyer.

"O moon-faced Beloved,
the month of Ramadan has arrived.
Cover the table
and open the path of praise."

You Worry Too Much

Oh soul,
you worry too much.
You say,
I make you feel dizzy.
Of a little headache then,
why do you worry?
You say, I am your antelope.
Of seeing a lion here and there
why do you worry?
Oh soul,
you worry too much.
You say, I am your moon-faced beauty.
Of the cycles of the moon and
passing of the years,
why do you worry?
You say, I am your source of passion,
I excite you.
Of playing into the Devils hand,
why do you worry?
Oh soul,
you worry too much.
Look at yourself,
what you have become.
You are now a field of sugar canes,
why show that sour face to me?
You have tamed the
winged horse of Love.
Of a death of a donkey,
why do you worry?
You say that I keep you warm inside.
Then why this cold sigh?
You have gone to the roof of heavens.
Of this world of dust, why do you worry?
Oh soul,
you worry too much.
Since you met me,
you have become a master singer,
and are now a skilled wrangler,
you can untangle any knot.
Of life's little leash
why do you worry?
Your arms are heavy
with treasures of all kinds.
About poverty,
why do you worry?
You are Joseph,
beautiful, strong,
steadfast in your belief,
all of Egypt has become drunk
because of you.
Of those who are blind to your beauty,
and deaf to your songs,
why do you worry?
Oh soul,
you worry too much.
You say that your housemate is the
Heart of Love,
she is your best friend.
You say that you are the heat of
the oven of every Lover.
You say that you are the servant of
Ali's magical sword, Zolfaghar.
Of any little dagger
why do you still worry?
Oh soul,
you worry too much.
You have seen your own strength.
You have seen your own beauty.
You have seen your golden wings.
Of anything less,
why do you worry?
You are in truth
the soul, of the soul, of the soul.
You are the security,
the shelter of the spirit of Lovers.
Oh the sultan of sultans,
of any other king,
why do you worry?
Be silent, like a fish,
and go into that pleasant sea.
You are in deep waters now,
of life's blazing fire.
Why do you worry?

(Rumi again)

Be Melting Snow

Totally conscious, and apropos of nothing, you come to see me.

Is someone here? I ask.

The moon. The full moon is inside your house.

My friends and I go running out into the street.

I'm in here, comes a voice from the house, but we aren't listening.

We're looking up at the sky.

My pet nightingale sobs like a drunk in the garden.

Ringdoves scatter with small cries. Where, Where.

It's midnight. the whole neighborhood is up and out

in the street thinking, The cat burglar has come back.

The actual thief is there too, saying out loud,

Yes, the cat burglar is somewhere in this crowd.

No one pays attention.

Lo, I am with you always means when you look for God,

God is in the look of your eyes,

in the thought of looking, nearer to you than your self,

or things that have happened to you

There's no need to go outside.

Be melting snow.

Wash yourself of yourself.

A white flower grows in the quietness.

Let your tongue become that flower.

Do you think I know what I'm doing?

That for one breath or half-breath I belong to myself?

As much as a pen knows what it's writing,

or the ball can guess where it's going next.

Oh monkmonk! Thank you for "You Worry Too Much" from Rumi. I'd best go give it a re-read.

And dear Mascha, I too am having a bit of Zaadz withdrawal -- actually it seems to be mostly up now but there are still bouts of slowness and occasional error messages as they move to a new server-thingy or whatever ...

Okay, so I have another sign of integral junkiedom. Or perhaps, more specifically, integral forum junkiedom:

You fear that some catastrophe might occur which would wipe out all electrical power on the planet (it could happen, people, haven't you seen that Discovery Channel Doomsday "It Could Happen Tomorrow" docufiction on Solar Storms and the Magnetic Field Flip-Flop Thingy that the planet goes through every few thousand years?) which would mean that you would lose contact with all the wonderful minds and ideas on these here forae . . .

With love (and dread),

Mary

You're welcome, Mary.

Quietness

Inside this new love, die.

Your way begins on the other side.

Become the sky.

Take an axe to the prison wall.

Escape.

Walk out like someone suddenly born into color.

Do it now.

You're covered with a thick cloud.

Slide out the side. Die,

and be quiet. Quietness is the surest sign

that you've died.

Your old life was a frantic running

from silence.

The speechless full moon

comes out now.

pelleB:

Top ten signs of an integral junkie:

10. Still thinking about how your scalp would look shaved.

Gave up on wondering about that long ago...here's a recent pic:



People may as well have a recent picture to project onto, lol.    (Or to see with undreaming eyes, if that be the case.)

Y'know, Pelle, according to your Top Ten list, I'm some kinda hardcore integral junkie fiend.  But hey, I've learned to live with that. 

Since the thread has taken a poetic turn, I'd like to share a couple of poems by Robert Augustus Masters.  More poems of his available here.

O Father of my soul, O Breath of my breath
Taking me through death after death
O Guide me, guide me on, guide me free
Guide me, guide me on, guide me into Thee
O May I be a vessel for Your Light
As I sail through the night
Ever dying into You am I
Like clouds into endless sky

O Mother of my soul, O Cradle of my every birth
O Green, green heartbeat of my earth
Your Love the ever-virgin Mystery
O Guide me , guide me on, guide me free
Guide me, guide me on, guide me into Thee
O May I make room for Your Embrace
As I awaken to You in every place
Ever dying into You am I
Like clouds into endless sky

O Source of my soul, O Joy beyond desire
Is not Your Welcome all I require?
O Lover of my all, O Joy that cannot die
Are You not forever, forever here?
And is not this how You must now appear?
O Great Heart, we are never, never apart
O Guide me, guide me on, guide me free
Guide me, guide me on, guide me into Thee
O May all things awaken me
Until there is only Thee

This the open ground
This the pure eagle’s sound
This, this the breathing Earth
This, this the timeless dream
This, this the crystalline stream
This, this the breakthrough supreme

Take the grief from your brow
Wash away the revenge from your now
Go, go where the river is dancing white
Go, go where you left your Spirit-sight
Do you not feel the sacred feather in your hair?
Have you forgotten it’s still there?

Fly, fly the eagle’s sky
Dive, dive into what’s most alive
But do not, do not long for the old
Do not, do not let your mind paddle those ruined lakes
Do not, do not drown in those bloody heartbreaks
This, this is the time to let fly
This, this is the time to say goodbye

Chant, chant your rivers down to the sea
Chant, chant your heart free
Chant for every bird and every tree
Chant, chant the Truth of the Supreme Mystery
Take your hurt where the river is dancing white
Take your past where the drums beat all night
Take your undressed soul into the firelight
Until you are no longer bound
This, this your farewell to a dead shore
This, this the open ground
This, this the holy day
This, this the Invitation that will not go away

~~~~~

spiral out,
arthur

10. Still thinking about how your scalp would look shaved.

Every time I ponder The Shaving due to my receding hairline, my wife says, "NOOOOOooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!"

Comb over, comb over?

No, Slay the hair crop!

Why worry about style

When it's easier to lop?

The Zaadz pod is sorta slow, and I'm bored. So I'm here to write bad poetry.

Friday afternoon at work

With no work to do

Why not head over to

The intregral zoo!

Mascha:

Arthur, you can carry it off in all quadrants it seems. But don't get too cocky, for cockiness comes before a shrink.

Sagely,

M

Yeah...too true!  I've long since noticed that whenever I start to feel inflated, a karmic prick isn't far behind...