MIRRORS OF CONSCIOUSNESS

                              File opened 3/8/96

 

                              A...

                              A LAMB AT ONE WITH THE WORLD

                              ALL IS GIVEN TO EACH ACCORDING TO THEIR FAITH

                              ALL THINGS RADIANT

                              A MORNING MEDITATION ON ISAIAH

                              A NEW WORLD

                              AS A PEARL IN A FLAME

 

                              C...

                              CHRIST'S ROCK OF THE WIND

                              COMMENTS TO THOSE ON THE OUTSIDE

                                        LOOKING IN AND CATAGORIZING

 

                              D...

                              DOWN, IN THE BASEMENT OF THINGS

                              DOWN IN THE RADIANT ROOTS

 

                              E...

                              EXCLAMATIONS

 

                              I...

                              I DON'T REMEMBER

                              IF I SHOULD ASK TO KISS THE WIND

                              I WOULD BE A POLLY WOG IN A SILVER SEA

 

                              L...

                              LONGING TO HEAR THAT TRUE SONG

                              LOST AND FOUND

 

                              M...

                              MY TRUTH

                             

                              Q...     

                              QUESTIONS FOR LAMBS IN THEIR DREAMS

 

                              R...

                              REGARDING THE LAST AND BEST REFUGE FROM GOD

 

                              S...

                              SWIMMING THROUGH THE EYES OF THE HEART

 

                              T...

                              THE HELPERS OF PRAYER

                              THE REALIZED MEANING OF SALVATION

                              THERE IS A TINY, SPACELESS SPACE

                                         DOWN IN THE DEPTHS THE SOUL

                              THERE IS MUSIC IN THE SPIRIT OF GOD

                              THE SPIRIT OF PRAYER (30 meditations)

                              THE UNUTTERABLE SEEKS US

                              THIS POETRY IS NOT YOU

                              THIS SIMPLE VISION

                              THOSE WHO KNOW, DRINK LUMINESENT STREAMS

                              TO LIVE

                              TO SEEK THE BEAUTY OF GOD

                              TWO SIDES

 

                              U...

                              UPON A MYSTERIOUS WEAVING

                                   OF FANCY AND TRUTH

                                                           

                              W...

                              WE ARE MIRRORS OF CONSCIOUSNESS

                              WE MUST WORK IN THE HEART

                              WHO IS TEACHING THIS THING WRONGLY?

                              I. WHY GOD DOESN'T HAVE A NAME

                              II. WHY GOD HAS A NAME

                              WORDS CAN BE KNIVES

 

                              LAST POEM IN FILE:  THE SPIRIT OF PRAYER

                             

 

          -------------------------------------------------------------

 

 

                              THE POEMS:

 

 

                              WE ARE MIRRORS OF CONSCIOUSNESS

 

                              We are mirrors of consciousness.

                              When our mirrors are clean

                              we reflect the hidden light

                              of the Holy.

                              Have I said it too plainly

                              for poetry?

 

 

 

 

                              THE UNUTTERABLE SEEKS US

 

                              In prayer

                              we appear before God.

                              Our imagination,

                              fluid in prayer,

                              conjures images:

                              similitudes

                              of the divine.

                              Prayer-born images

                              overflow into deeds.

                              Through us,

                              the unutterable

                              seeks incarnation.

 

    

 

 

                              THE HELPERS OF PRAYER

 

                              Along the desert of the sky

                              wheels the seeing spirits.

                              Faint, and far away

                              they seem... yet raging in God

                              louder than the sun!

                              My prayer burns in their midst,

                              the natural center

                              of their circumference,

                              though I am unaware

                              and feel as if

                              my words had merely melted

                              as snow within a molten light

                              of nothingness.

                              Off they silently roar,

                              wheels whirling within wheels,

                              with the fragile flame of my prayer

                              held within like the holy,

                              they fly boldly,

                              flames melting into the Flame.

                        

 

 

 

 

                              CHRIST'S ROCK OF THE WIND

 

                              Dig down to Christ's rock of the wind

                              and open its treasury.

                              There, words were born...

                              and there,

                              words are reborn as you

                              in essences.

 

 

 

 

 

                              TO SEEK THE BEAUTY OF GOD

 

                              To seek the beauty of God

                              is to be linked to the minds

                              of angels

                              and deathless holy

                              human souls

                              who have passed through

                              to express glory as their delight

                              --being the purpose of the heavens.

                              In the creative fulgent of God

                              all becomes creative.

                              And what is made?

                              A certainty of blend:

                              beauty working compassion

                              and compassion birthing beauty.

                              And poured to earth through Heaven's

                              silent glass,

                              this is the full, redemptive

                              miracle that transforms us.

 

                             

 

 

                              A MORNING MEDITATION ON ISAIAH

 

                              "And God will be our beauty!"

                              The prophet said it.

                              "God our everlasting light!"

                              No more oppression, nor grief.

                              What a wild dream of hope!

                              Our inner being swathed with glory:

                              washed through, flushed out,

                              clean and free!

                              God the harmony of our minds;

                              God the image birther,

                              the pure drop,

                              the full, loving emotion,

                              the river of knowing

                              --the great adventure!

                              And all people will be flowing

                              in deathless Life...

                              What a place to be alive!

                              Earth, a vast community of song:

                              busy with God-sung beauty makers,

                              compassionate care-givers,

                              celebrators of each and all.

                              Neighbor sharing love

                              and sustenance with neighbor

                              and receiving the same again.

                              Gifts of love binding

                              soul to soul in love's freedoms!

                              It seems so simple,

                              so profoundly sane.

                              Just a slight shift

                              from our tiny cauldrons

                              of anguish and anger.

                              Just a little dying

                              to the dark and light

                              illusions of our selves.

 

 

 

 

 

                         I. WHY GOD DOESN'T HAVE A NAME

 

                         Does a glittering sapphire

                         need the word, "light,"

                         or "beauty"

                         inscribed upon it?

                         Would you write

                         black letters on a ruby

                         saying "Oh wondrous fire?

                         or on a perfect pearl

                         would you write

                         "lucid moon,"

                         or "silver cloud of the sea?"

                         The metaphor fails.

                         Just gaze for a while

                         intently at a jewel.

                         To feel the essence of it

                         is to adore;

                         to adore is to know

                         and savor it

                         with your mind and heart.

 

 

                         II. WHY GOD HAS A NAME

 

                         Soul needs names.

                         Words convey essences

                         to those who are word-wise,

                         who eat words

                         like hot bread,

                         who drink them

                         like bitter glacier water