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Brycical Jul 2013
HUGE W A L L S
     overlook
         the
       future....

timeline tunnels blocked--
Pink Floyd wasn;t kidding
         about THE W A L L S....

But a HUGE hug hangs
     the stone mental blockade
            on the gallows under a crescent moon

       while gypsies cheer with tambourines and  
                     artists draw with the ashes from their cigarettes
                            and
                      ­writers jot down the joyous carnival mood between shots

Chinese lanterns and Ramadan Fanous
             illuminate the b r i d g es
                      brrrrrrrrighter
                                 iridescence and
                                      swinging
              ­                 with misfits dripping anticipation
                      spinning sufis swaying
                                         to see the mural landscape opposite  THE W A L L S.
Thanks for the word Asma :)
Why LOVE is not forgettable?
Its existed since four thousand years
Trampled by human race
Uplifted by Gods and sons of God
The Prophets and the Messaih
The saints and seers
The Lamas and Sufis
Who march ahead for compassion & care
Bearing the flags of non-violence
with a promise not to hurt anyone

And now you got the scent of LOVE?
I see you are on the way to discover it
And Re-live your life with LOVE
Whether you belong to a family
Or you decide to be a Gypsy
LOVE always shows you the way
And LOVE always yields its returns
Even if not for you - NOW
Surely for the entire human race
For the next four thousand years!
"There have been very few people who have moved and transformed as many hearts as Jalaluddin Rumi.

In the world of the Sufis, Mevlana Rumi is the emperor. His words have to be understood not as mere words, but sources of deep silences, echoes of inner and the innermost songs. He is the greatest dancer the world has known.

His dance is a special kind of dance. It is a kind of whirling, just the way small children whirl; standing on one spot they go on round and round. And perhaps everywhere in the world small children do that and their elders stop them saying, 'You will become dizzy, you will fall, you will hurt yourself,' and, 'What is the point of doing it?'



Jalaluddin Rumi made a meditation of whirling. The meditator goes on whirling for hours -- as long as the body allows him; he does not stop on his own. When whirling a moment comes that he sees himself utterly still and silent, a center of the cyclone. Around the center the body is moving, but there is a space which remains unmoved; that is his Being.

Rumi himself whirled for thirty-six hours continuously and fell, because the body could not whirl anymore. But when he opened

his eyes he was another man. Hundreds of people had gathered to see. Many thought he was mad: "What is the point of whirling?"

... Nobody can say this is a prayer; nobody can say this is great dance; nobody can say in any way that this has something

to do with religion, spirituality....

But after thirty-six hours when they saw Rumi so luminous, so radiant, so new, so fresh -- reborn, in a new consciousness, they

could not believe their eyes. Hundreds wept in repentance, because they had thought that he was mad. In fact he was sane

and they were mad.

And down these twelve centuries the stream has continued to be alive. There are very few movements of spiritual growth

which have lived so long continuously. There are still hundreds of dervishes. 'Dervish' is the Sufi word for sannyas. You cannot

believe it unless you experience, that just by whirling you can know yourself. No austerity is needed, no self-torture is needed,

but just an experience of your innermost being and you are transported into another plane of existence from the mortal to

the immortal. The darkness disappears and there is just eternal light.
maysun sesto on rumi
Mike Essig Apr 2015
Jesus weeps;
Buddha laughs;
Sufis whirl.
Are we waves
or particles?
Many masters,
one Way.
Listen to
your heart.
The answer
is always
yes.
  - mce
KENNETH LEONG Jan 2019
Stepping into an old bookstore,
something immediately winked at me.
A poetry book with a bold title
--“*** with God.”
Why does it piqued my interest?
*** WITH GOD.
Is it unimaginable?
Is it blasphemous?
Would someone get offended?
Why does the mind automatically tear apart
the profane and the divine,
the earthly and the transcendent?
God is the essence of purity.
Who says *** can't be pure too?
When Love arrives in her full glory.
That person becomes All There Is.
That is devotion.
That is the peak of piety.
Atheists think that God does not exist.
I recall the times when God came to me
in form of a Woman.
She has lifted me to the peak of ecstasy.
She has dragged me to the dungeons of hell.
It is an occasion for jubilation.
It is an occasion for trials and tribulations.
Joy and sorrow intertwine.
Heaven and hell merge.
The Sufis know it well--
God takes the form of the Lover.
In the flesh I encounter the Divine.
Exosphere Mar 2021
I don’t believe in god
do you?
though I can go on all day about Siva,
even Vishnu or Brahma
if I had to practice any religion
it would be Kasmir Saivism
Abhinavagupta ascended way better than Jesus
and he took all his followers with him, great guy

Krishnas are my absolute favorite devotees
I could chant Hare Hare all day long
and the food is phenomenal
though my money is on Kali to kick your *** if needed

the Sufis are the most beautiful and poetic
I can whirl as ecstatically as any dervish and
Rumi, the quintessential lover, was my inspiration
25 years ago, long before he was cool
I can prove it, I have out of print editions

African Orishas are mysterious and fascinating
I did my final thesis on Umbanda
(in 1997, were you even born?)
a syncretic blend of spirit possession and spiritualism
a lovely shade of brown practiced primarily in Brazil
created culturally by African slaves mixed with European colonizers
with the indigenous  just trying keep their heads above the Catholicism

and, of course, we all have to respect
the Native American wisdom,
Wolf has always been my friend
in every sweat, she was with me

I should pay further respects
across the centuries I have been Egyptian,
Celtic, Greek
a keeper of arcane knowledge
for a small collection of mystic peoples

but in this time
my religion is science fiction
physics, neuroscience
my prophets are Tesla,
Philip K ****, David Bohm

while I give Teresa of Avila, Francis of Assisi and even
Thomas Aquinas
my deepest regards
there’s nothing bores me more
in my insatiable quest for truth and
insight into the human condition
than your tedious Christian god
There that should do it. And if not, I can also lecture you about Platonic solids, sacred geometry, urban design in Europe and the Americas, the history of zoning in the US, feminist sci fi authors, and well, to be honest, a **** ton of other stuff.

Move along children, enrich yourselves.
Qualyxian Quest Sep 2020
I wear my Mr. Spock shirt
Cliff Pickover tweets LLAP

I think of the Sufis
A Muslim professor I soon see

We discuss Michael Jordan
Then his photo on Franklin Street

Synchronicities are ordinary
With the people we do meet
Michael Lord Sep 19
Why do I write?
This you ask me.

These things you should ask:

Why did my father hate,
Spew spiteful slander over dinner,
So often erupt in rage,
Hammer, pound me
With words like nails,
Make me small,
Frightened always.
Ask the size of his belt,
The feel of his fingers
At my throat.

Ask why Mother
So often confided
I shamed her,
Embarrassed her.
Ask why,
When women came
For cards, drink and laughter,
I hid beneath my bed,
Stopped up my ears
Against their cackles
Down the hall.

Why do I write?

Ask why the Sufis found me,
Why in traveled towns
Bookstores bade me enter,
Where the sweet scent of baraka
Would lead to a single perfect text
Upon a shelf.

Ask the purpose of
My existence.
Sufis suggest
We were given Life
Such that through our eyes
The Creator may view
The beauty of all she created.

Then ask why I write.

Ask
What is family?
My entire life
I have searched for such
To call my own.
You, you are family.
Am I not like you,
You like me,
Awake in the Night
Fitting words
Here, there and there,
Fitting pieces of life to a page,
Hoping to fit  beauty
To one another’s hearts.

Now ask why I write.

I write for myself.
I write for you.
I write for God.

— The End —