the dance

there is a necessary urgency
to this quiet dance.

justification

there can be none.
nor do you ask for any.
and yet ten times a day I try -
one way or another -
to justify myself before you.
you, of course, will have none of it.

no wonder I stumble
through this ploughed field
in the pouring rain!

goal

my goal: to be content with no goal and
to look into no-thingness with joy
and to be delighted at the hardness of the road.

very eastern

staying with it

the hardest thing of all.

I sing to the God I do not know;
but perhaps I should sing with
not to

topsy-turvy

in this place, there is no walking,
no seeing,
no doing.
defeat is victory,
imprisoned, I am free,
and the king is become my servant.
hungry I am filled,
all progress is backwards
and death ends in life.

back to earth

my lofty musings hinder rather than help.
I bang on the door in vain.

the problem with language

it is language that makes man who he is:
our greatest strength
but also our greatest weakness.

in order to understand we dissect.
we box, we seperate,
we disentangle, we label,
we segregate, we order,
we slice, we examine, and we file
until the entire universe lies in pieces around us
neatly arrayed, categorised and quite dead.

but when it comes to piecing back together;
and breathing back life,
our powers fail us.

our inevitable mistake is to think of the universe,
not as a universe at all,
but as a sort of super-engine
with a billion moving parts.

this is not the fault of the scientists.
it is the western way of thinking.

on the spiritual way
the purpose is still 'to understand'
but the route is different.
the very way that we think
must first be unlearnt.
this alone can take a lifetime!

having said all that,
could it be that the latest developments of science:
[quantum mechanics, string theory, dark matter]
are actually the scientist's own steps towards unlearning?

today

today I understood, albeit momentarily,
the will as the only way to God.
only the will is sharp enough to speed neatly through the gravity of material things.

always before I have misunderstood the nature of the will.
the will is not an enforcement officer at the centre of my life
it is rather the harnessing of all my resources for a creative purpose:
[the will towards God is nothing if not creative.]
a martialling station of wherewithal.

the will does not suppress as I had thought,
rather it enables.
but the will has no aesthetic beauty.
nor has it space, nor time, nor seperateness from 'me'.
perhaps because I am a bear of very little brain
I have only been able to perceive this by a long process of elimination:
a fleeting glimpse into an essential truth
'make hay while the sun shines!'

the music the music

[though there is still hope of recovery,
I must face the possibility of more permanent damage.]

assailed by constant doubt and clouds of despair,
any vestige of confidence devouring itself.
I have been swept helpless by the currents.

'fly like a bird to its mountain'

the bow of a ship;
the head of an arrow:
point towards their target.
but my prayer has been blunt and aimless.

the music, the music! you say
but for weeks I have not understood
confused imaginings leading me astray.
what does it mean? I wail.

could it be that the music sharpens my prayer?
[can there be dance without it?]
'the ten-stringed lyre' you whispered
over and over.
but like a fool, I thought you meant 'silence'.
the ten-stringed lyre is a musical instrument!
why would it mean silence?

but let not the music be for an uncertain tomorrow.
play the ten-stringed lyre today
and you will dance lightly again: stone to stone.

you pin me down
and I am lifted.

I have a place