Deeply Well

Drinking in the lite life

Checking out for a life time

Holding on for the right vibe

Searching happiness and peace on-line

Mesmerising myself again

Within a moments consolation

Building longer loss upon an instant gain

Drowning with anticipation

And we say:

Please hold on within your strife

But dont let yourself be held by it

Walk bold and free within your life

But don’t stamp your foolish pride on it

Don’t grasp the wrong away from right

Judge and jury of folks behaviour

Be guided by His strong tower light

As you wade in these seas with your saviour

Wading in the watering

Surfing waves that surely quenches

Satisfying thirstfulness again

Immersing well beyond our senses.

After reading pages 206-208 in Volume 1 of The Sufi Message by Hazarat Inayat Khan

Atmospheric perfumes of old

Hazrat Inayat Khan Vol VI p. 205

‘for the person who as attained to the mystery of Sadhana (detachment from worldly things) there is nothing in this world which cannot be attained, all is within his reach, his power, his grasp’

grasping beyond all that is spoken

transforming insides in complete

focussing tight rightly pray to be opened

by boundaries way out of reach.

find nothing and all in acorns so small

where both Beauty and horror is riven

thorns stemming foes as rosebud unfurls

perfumaries for the forgiven.

atmospheres calling unseen and untold

pure waters hydrating dryness of form

seedlings compost in saplings of old

returning to unfurl in soft streams of dawn.

Turning new leaves to:

re route this wait

enlighten fear through

unloosening gates

empty and clearing

without and within

actively resting

and as we refresh and uncling.

oiling Your palm

 

pausing I pour

 this way and that

that

i may disappear

within Your honeyed

Translucence

fertile and pure

Your

sweet pulsing elegance

in Grace-fuelled dhikr

 immersing

soft green shoots of

Eastern Sun Light

 palm pressing fresh fruits

needing till ripe with

Great goodness seeping

through pulp, pith and kin

earthly distinctions

composting in Him.

 

the above was written in response to:

The Head of The Prophecy (6,21-8,27)

‘It is like a palm shoot whose dates dropped around it. It produced buds and after they grew, its productivity dried up.

It certainly would be good if you produce new growth now. You would certainly find it.’

Know Yourselves (12,17-13,25)

 

‘Be eager to harvest for yourselves a head of the grain of life that you may be filled with the kingdom.

Do not be proud because of the light that enlightens. Rather, act towards yourselves as I myself have toward you. ’

(quoted from ‘The secret book of James’  which is the first chapter in The Nag Hammadi Scriptures edited by Marvin Meyer published by Harper One in 2007)

 

Next blogs: The Gospel of Truth.

Sweeping the path of None.

La Ilaha,’

from feet, through belly to chest upon this experimental outbreath. And when all air is gone this walking continues to the sound of shag pile heart pump foot fall and fall until.

‘Illa Allah,’ suctions insistently in the  next reviving breath. And on and on around the small front room that I call home until a calmness begins to meet spinning mind, this so called friend of mine who competes with the beating of hearts and heavens above, before ‘I’ have unravelled into this new start all senses scream towards the need for the thing called ‘me’ to take a rest, to know what is best, to become rationality.  To re-take my seat within this well known reality.

questions, questions, questions fair and squarely root me to this understandably carpeted, man-made, sensibly constructed floor. This is floor that my small mind consistently calls home.

‘Are these unfamiliar intonations correct? Am I understanding their meaning to the fullest? Can indeed anyone dissect and find trueness and taste spiritual fullness? Or am I just going around and around in mimicking Sufi circles of none sense?  Am I merely as adrift as it seems,? Am I mad or bad or just merely leaning too much to the left?

My fingers re-scan Dr Mir Valiuddin’s half digested disciplines, his olde english Sufi translations, and my neck hurts and my foot bottom tingles, my lower back grumbles and however hard it tries to think itself into blankness, my mind cannot switch off, cannot let this body relax.

‘Unless thou sweepest the path with the broomstick of None (La), Thou canst not reach the stage of ‘Save God, (Illa Allah).’

Such and such and so many words that can so easily be missed in the 1975 translated mist of mystical wisdom that sweeps broom-sticks of None upon the saving steps of God’s stage.

‘You see, there is the proof,’ I hear myself say. ‘Already your ego-mind is warping, embellishing, twisting and turning the travelling word.’ And yes, already this minds unknowing has thrown away mystical prizes by wriggling this ego from eyes behind eyes, has already imperceptibly shed skin to get, to get, to get……

‘Up! Up! Get up on your feet, and feel your soles,’

and this time, from some other bodily depth the outbreath lets out a longing rasping ‘Yaaaaaah,’ that continues until chest, yes this chest, this belly, this body flattens  towards the very spine beyond any thinking sense of  ‘me, me me.’

And as feet below re-meet and re-circle, inward breathing gently whispers beyond my name, to show the ‘Wey.’

And ‘Yah,’ to the outbreath and inwardly ‘Wey,’

And ‘Yah’ to the outbreath and inwardly ‘Wey,’

as this crocodile body re-fills with heat, as this mind shrivels and snakes and sheds more skin within the shadows of  ‘but, but, but for the love of….’