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My heart is a wine glass and only Allah can make it sing. Only He can fill it. Only His touch to the lips of my heart has the right pressure and friction to produce the resonance that makes it sing and shatter into a million pieces. Only the voice of God can speak my pieces back into the Oneness that can only be filled by Him. I long to be Sufi.
Whether I be Sufi or Christian, I don’t know. I know the basics of what I believe. I know what my heart believes. I know that my faith always seems to be walking on the razor’s edge. CERTAINLY i don’t boast with this. So much i wish i had a normal faith like everyone else that is easily “explainable”. Will I always struggle with this feeling of being an outcast? Jesus was an outcast, and look. So I should be thankful of my “problem” I guess. Maybe belonging to man’s delineation of God’s Kingdom is not my purpose. I don’t know. All I know is that Allah chooses to fill my cup through the Sufis and the Christians. For some reason I don’t find fullness in Sufism or Christianity alone. My cup is filled through Allah and Christ. I know my God, because even when I think I don’t, He knows me. I rest in that.
Christ is in our midst, Insha’Allah.
To be a manager at Starbucks always teaches me of the tension between justice and mercy, judgment and grace. It helps me to learn the subtlety of loving people, while still holding them accountable. That we be accountable to the corporation I could care less, fuck “The Corporation”. Rather that we would be accountable to God in our own hearts or (at least) to each other out of the intrinsic god-person in the core of each human heart (whether you acknowledge God or not). This tension constantly pulls at the sinews of this god-muscle.
So with that I present this chapter of Kahlil Gibran’s “The Prophet”
“
Then one of the judges of the city stood forth and said, “Speak to us of Crime and Punishment.”
And he answered saying:
It is when your spirit goes wandering upon the wind,
That you, alone and unguarded, commit a wrong unto others and therefore unto yourself.
And for that wrong committed must you knock and wait a while unheeded at the gate of the blessed.
Like the ocean is your god-self;
It remains for ever undefiled.
And like the ether it lifts but the winged.
Even like the sun is your god-self;
It knows not the ways of the mole nor seeks it the holes of the serpent.
But your god-self does not dwell alone in your being.
Much in you is still man, and much in you is not yet man,
But a shapeless pigmy that walks asleep in the mist searching for its own awakening.
And of the man in you would I now speak.
For it is he and not your god-self nor the pigmy in the mist, that knows crime and the punishment of crime.
Oftentimes have I heard you speak of one who commits a wrong as though he were not one of you, but a stranger unto you and an intruder upon your world.
But I say that even as the holy and the righteous cannot rise beyond the highest which is in each one of you,
So the wicked and the weak cannot fall lower than the lowest which is in you also.
And as a single leaf turns not yellow but with the silent knowledge of the whole tree,
So the wrong-doer cannot do wrong without the hidden will of you all.
Like a procession you walk together towards your god-self.
You are the way and the wayfarers.
And when one of you falls down he falls for those behind him, a caution against the stumbling stone.
Ay, and he falls for those ahead of him, who though faster and surer of foot, yet removed not the stumbling stone.
And this also, though the word lie heavy upon your hearts:
The murdered is not unaccountable for his own murder,
And the robbed is not blameless in being robbed.
The righteous is not innocent of the deeds of the wicked,
And the white-handed is not clean in the doings of the felon.
Yea, the guilty is oftentimes the victim of the injured,
And still more often the condemned is the burden-bearer for the guiltless and unblamed.
You cannot separate the just from the unjust and the good from the wicked;
For they stand together before the face of the sun even as the black thread and the white are woven together.
And when the black thread breaks, the weaver shall look into the whole cloth, and he shall examine the loom also.
If any of you would bring judgment the unfaithful wife,
Let him also weight the heart of her husband in scales, and measure his soul with measurements.
And let him who would lash the offender look unto the spirit of the offended.
And if any of you would punish in the name of righteousness and lay the ax unto the evil tree, let him see to its roots;
And verily he will find the roots of the good and the bad, the fruitful and the fruitless, all entwined together in the silent heart of the earth.
And you judges who would be just,
What judgment pronounce you upon him who though honest in the flesh yet is a thief in spirit?
What penalty lay you upon him who slays in the flesh yet is himself slain in the spirit?
And how prosecute you him who in action is a deceiver and an oppressor,
Yet who also is aggrieved and outraged?
And how shall you punish those whose remorse is already greater than their misdeeds?
Is not remorse the justice which is administered by that very law which you would fain serve?
Yet you cannot lay remorse upon the innocent nor lift it from the heart of the guilty.
Unbidden shall it call in the night, that men may wake and gaze upon themselves.
And you who would understand justice, how shall you unless you look upon all deeds in the fullness of light?
Only then shall you know that the erect and the fallen are but one man standing in twilight between the night of his pigmy-self and the day of his god-self,
And that the corner-stone of the temple is not higher than the lowest stone in its foundation.
After watching an Indian film (called, ‘Water’) about Hindu widows, my heart got to thinking and asking…
“
“What if your conscience conflicts with your faith?”
–quote from ‘Water’“I used to think that God was Truth, but now I know that Truth is God.”
–Ghandi (paraphrased)
“
If one seeks truth above all else, does one find God? Not necessarily…? Then how does one find Truth? Purely by God’s grace. Purely by God’s predestined grace!
Abraham was a righteous man. God loved and blessed him for his righteousness. How did Abraham find righteousness outside of ‘religion’? (The same goes for Buddha.) Why does everyone after him need religion to find righteousness? (what about relationship?) Is it about a guarantee or a ‘get out of jail free card’ or a ‘life insurance policy’? What does Jesus say about righteousness in the context of his cultural Judaism and outside that same context? Can we trust the ‘Christian Gospels’?
Legalism is bullshit, a mockery of the Truth and the Law. A mockery of the Heart. But what of purity? Is righteousness found in one Man? In returning to the purity of God’s creation that He called ‘Good’? In the many idols of mankind? Or in the act of TRYING?? Is it found in the depths of the longing of the Heart of Hearts? Is Righteousness found in the Heart? Can God put it there to be found if He so pleases? Does He do so in everyone? Where is righteousness to be found? How is righteousness to be found?
Questions are not a sign of doubt.
Doubt is not a lack of Faith.
Faith is not a sign of Truth.
Truth is not a lack of Questions.
…and the Dharma wheel turns…
Why do people seem to need a system to find God? Do people who search for God in a system really find Him?
Many people in the system will find God, Truth, Al-Haqq, but many may not. Many people outside the system will find God, Truth, Al-Haqq, but many may not. Are there no guarantees of God’s predestination to His Will? (this definitely isn’t a path for discipleship)
I feel like a spiritual or religious outcast. An untouchable. Caught between systems. I cling ever so tightly to the Lord of Outcasts and Untouchables, Jesus Christ, the Messiah, the Son of God and Man.
Oh Saturn my heart is your moon,
a satellite that drifts round through the heavens.
In the clutch of your cool refuge gravity pulls me
close into the blinding damp, midst your earthen roots
weave a baskets for my cradle
your fog is a cloak of protection shielding me
as I drift through the unknown my body is
pelted and cratered from the impact of suffering,
the soul mourns for the loss of youth,
the heart cries for bombing of beauty,
the spirit groans too deep for words…
rest you say
-jfs
Here’s a really beautiful poem by a lady named Oriah.
http://www.oriahmountaindreamer.com/
check this out…
This list touched me so so deeply. Not out of simple bitterness, but rather out of, “thank god someone’s finally willing to say it.” Everything registered as true to one side of my experience of this planet.
-jfs
———
The other side of being human.
http://www.metagifted.org/
—
I’m tired of trying to prove myself to people who seem determined to dislike me.
I just hope I can get through another day of this crap.
I can’t stand humanity any more. Why is everyone so cruel?!
My life is intrinsically small and meaningless.
I can’t help wanting to hurt people.
I try to channel my rage and fury into good things, but it doesn’t always work.
I can’t help but see other people as objects.
No one even makes an effort to understand me.
I wish people would just LEAVE ME ALONE!!!
I can’t get far enough from the people that want to get close to me.
I don’t want to deal with your pain!
I try to care about what you’re saying, but I don’t.
Life IS all about me.
No one likes it when I’m really honest.
If you could see what I truly am, you’d think I was insane.
You cannot fully comprehend my sadness or my pain.
You do not understand the magnitude of my rage.
The day ahead seems insurmountable.
Life mostly sucks.
Being human HURTS.
Most people are mean.
No matter how hard I try, I cannot be completely sympathetic with you.
Sympathy does not seem worthwhile.
I have enough problems of my own.
Opinions are judgments!
Even when you think you’re being kind, I want to hide from you.
Teaching me a lesson won’t work.
I don’t really care what you believe.
The reward of affection is too complicated to obtain.
Affection is always overcomplicated.
Being empathic really sucks.
I don’t always want to know what’s going to happen.
How come I have to be the aware one?
Even being around other people hurts!
I want someone to understand me, but I don’t want to be be a part of any group.
People are overcomplicated and I just want to push them away.
If you really cared about me, you’d let me be myself.
I know you don’t believe most of the things you say.
Your responsibility is not my responsibility.
Please don’t indoctrinate me.
You can’t fix me; don’t even try.
Just because we don’t agree doesn’t mean I’m broken.
It doesn’t seem like humanity is improving, no matter how hard we try.
Everyone’s reality is different; don’t force yours upon me.
I can’t stand more than a tiny bit of interaction.
I don’t really care what I’m supposed to do.
I’m not a sheep, don’t herd me.
You shouldn’t be telling anyone what to be doing if you’re not perfect.
Why do we keep trying so hard?
My own humanity feels incredibly restrictive.
The world doesn’t want to be helped.
I won’t be a part of your dog and pony show.
Why don’t you just shut the hell up?
Can’t you tell I really don’t like you?
Other people do not truly understand me.
There is no real point to mutual understanding.
There’s nothing I have to do.
Your requirements can go fish.
I have had just about enough.
What is the point of your aspirations?
You don’t seem to be actually getting anywhere.
Did you think I was talking to you?
How many indigos does it take to change the world?
The world doesn’t really need either one of us.
Why the hell did we choose to reincarnate?
It’s impossible to keep higher goals in mind all the time.
If you truly don’t believe time doesn’t exist, why do you force your schedule upon me?
Why do you play by the rules if there are none?
Why do you force arbitrary rules upon me?
I doubt you can actually practice what you preach.
It’s too bad you can’t be honest about your emotions.
I can’t stand being around a lot of people.
Preachy assholes annoy the hell out of me.
Having you tell me how human I am is not what I came here for.
I don’t like how you live your life.
The status quo sucks.
You are making my life harder.
I never feel like I have a home.
Interacting with you weakens my sense of self.
When I exert effort to make the world a better place, mostly no one cares.
I feel alone and tiny in the Universe.
We are NOT ONE.
Being around others makes me want to hide my individuality.
Even my most aspiring thoughts seem to have no effect.
I am not always happy. Why should I be?
My life feels purposeless and difficult.
Trying to be myself or speak my mind only has harmful repercussions.
There is a feeling of tension, isolation, and discord that never goes away.
Most activities people think are fun leave me empty and disillusioned.
Violence begets violence, yet unconditional love is a shroud of denial. There IS no solution in any situation.
Absolutely everything is completely out of control.
You pretend you’re tough, but inside you secretly feel lost and terrified like me.
Reality Bites.
— Patrick M. Jordan
The triangle is the first full form.
The Three is the principle of Order,
The Order that must exist before the multiplicity of things.
Therefore the Ancient Sage said:
“The Three produces all things.”
The Three acting as One,
One not acting without the Others.
The Triad contains itself in perfection,
For it is the first that surpasses the dyad.
It lies beyond the duality of matter,
Of subject and object,
Of self and other.
The Triad is beyond the distinction of the one and the many;
Its perfection goes beyond the multiplicity of which duality is the root.
Two is the number that separates,
Three is the number that transcends all separation.
The one and the many find themselves gathered together in the Three,
For the Triad, being many, is also a Unity:
Not a unity of self-absorption, but of love.
A man’s heart
Lies deep
Like a lake in his chest
Emotions Swim like fish or minnows
Rapid and Unknowing
Evading the Tongue
The Lady of the Lake calls out the Siren song
Hoping to draw in the catch
But she calls after a Phantom Menace
The elusive monster hides Himself in Myth and Mirth
She calls to the Deep
Longing for contact
Longing for the elusive Shadow
Called Man’s Emotion to
Reveal itself in untold
Spender and Majesty
She longs for Nothingness to show itself as Form
She longs to trap it in a cage of formalism
She longs for it’s death.
She Mourns,
She Mourns.
I am in my ashes,
I am in my ashes.
He says,
He says.
-jfs
here’s a great sufi poem by thomas merton: (between the yes and the no)
(from Ibn Al Arabi, after the Spanish version of Asin Palacios)
i
My father sent me on an errand to the house of his friend Averroes,
one of the cadis of the city, the great one, the wise Averroes, son of Aristotle
Averroes had manifested a desire to see me and to learn if it were
true that God had spoken to me in solitude.
So I cam to the house of Averroes, in Cordova. I was still at that
season so young that my beard had not grown, but God had spoken
to me.
And when I entered the house of Averroes and reached the apartment
in which he was engaged in thought,
He rose from the place where he was sitting and came towards me
with affection and respect.
He took me in his arms and said in a questioning tone: “yes?”
I said: “Yes.”
My answer increased his joy.
For he saw that I had understood him right away.
But I realized the source of his satisfaction, and I said immediately:
“No.”
For though I have understood him, he had not understood me.
Then Averroes was overcome with distress. He turned pale.
He began at that moment to doubt.
The whole truth of his own teaching was now in question.
He asked me, then: “so, you have learned the answer: but how?
By the Spirit? By His Light? What answer?
Is it perhaps the same answer that we have learned from reason?”
I answered: “Yes and No.
Between the ‘yes’ and the ‘no’ spirits fly forth from matter,
Between ‘yes’ and ‘no’
The living neck bone is set apart from flesh!”
Then Averroes grew very pale, and sat down in the grip of fear.
He seemed to be overcome by stupor
As though he had by chance
Caught the gist of my allusions.
ii
Averroes , an eminent philosopher, dedicated entirely to a life of thought, study, and rational investigation, could not but give thanks to God for having been permitted to live in a time when he might see with his own eyes a human being who had entered, ignorant, into the spiritual sanctuary and who had emerged as Averroes himself,
Without the help of any education, without study, without books,
without teacher.
For this reason he exclaimed: “Here now is that spiritual state the
existence of which we have long defended with rational proofs,
without ever encountering anyone who had experience of it.
“Praise be to God who had made us live in this time when there exists one of those endowed with mystical gifts, one able to
unlock His door, and praised be He for granting me, in addition,
the favor of seeing one such person with my own eyes.”
I desired to meet Averroes again, and by the mercy of God he was
shown to me at a time when I was in ecstacy. But I saw him
under such a form that there appeared to be between his person
and myself a very thin curtain, through which I could observe
him without his being able to see me, or to become aware of the place which I occupied.
There he was, in abstraction, thinking deeply within himself.
And I said: “It is true, then. There is no way that he can be brought
into the place where we others are.”
iii
I never saw Averroes again until he died.
His death was in the year 595,* in a city of Morocco, and he was
translated most solemnly to Cordova, the place of his sepulchre,
where he lies today.
When the body of Averroes was brought once more to Spain, and
when the people of Cordova were gathered to watch its return
to the city of burial,
The coffin containing his remains was mounted on one side of a
beast of burden. And on the other side, for counterweight, what
did they hang but all the books Averroes had written!
I too was watching, in the company of the scholar Benchobair, and
of my disciple, Benazzarach, the copyist.
Turning to us, the young one said: “Do you not observe what it is
that hangs as counter weight to the Master Averroes as he rides by?
On one side goes the Master, and on the other side his
works, that is to say the books which he composed!”
Then Benchobair explained: “No need to point it out, my son, for
it is clearly evident! Blessed be they tongue that has spoken it!”
I took careful note of this word of my disciple, and I set it apart for
future meditation, as a reminder of this event.
For this was the word that held the secret of the occasion, the seed
of truth, shown to the disciple, at the burial of Averroes:
“On one side the Master rides: on the other side, his books.
Tell me: his desires, were they at last fulfilled?”
Three of us friends together stood by and saw, when Averroes was
brought to Cordova for burial.
Of these three, two are now gone. May God have pardoned them.
* of the Hegira
In my darkest, i ask where, god?
He is the darkness.
If He was not, i would surely die.
In His eye it is radiant splendor.
Glory wrapped in mystery.
-JS
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