Love Letter to the Beloved

You are always there
even when You’re not,
to hold my hand,
to cradle my heart,
to soothe the sting of our separation.
I long for You
like a child eyeing an ice cream cone
on a sweltering summer’s day,
like my first crush,
all beetroot and tongue-tied,
like the lips of my lover
lingering, tingling,
like a mother holding her child
for the first time,
pleading for his protection.
My longing
is torture,
is ecstasy.
Each time we meet,
Your nur pulls me closer.
Impatient for our union,
this waiting is like a fever,
confusing my mind,
mixing dreams with reality,
coursing through my veins,
creating aches in corners of my heart
I never knew existed.
My Love,
do You feel it, too?
You always exude such grace and composure.
Your smile makes me forget myself.
Oh, to be that smile,
to be that soul.
You make me want to be
everything possible.
You show me warmth and hope,
promises of Paradise.
Your absence
casts a despairing shadow.
I am nothing,
if not Yours.
I want nothing,
if not You.

Impossible to Love

I see you, child,
with your dimpled smile,
your tubby legs,
your first stumbling steps,
a complete trust in the universe
that nothing will harm you,
even as your harried mother
calculates all potential risks.
I see you grow suddenly
into a self-conscious girl,
with your quiet demeanor,
wide eyes studying the world,
and the slowly unfurling belief
that, surely,
you are impossible to love.
Do not listen to that voice, my dear.
It is not the voice of your friend.
It erupted out of thin air
with one simple mission in life:
to persuade you of this tragic lie.
This voice will say anything
to get your attention.
It will create fear
where once there was only joy,
shame, where there was self-acceptance,
doubt, where there was trust, divine.
Don’t listen to that voice, my dear.
You’re not impossible to love.
Your mother is just too busy
dealing with her own emotions
to register yours,
your father, too preoccupied providing you
the life he always desired.

As you grow into a most well-mannered lady,
with your caring ways
and bookish behavior,
don’t let the lie fester.
Don’t let it solidify.
You are not impossible to love.
Your teacher is just overwhelmed
by the rowdier kids in class,
your friends, navigating their own
positions of popularity,
that boy you like, oblivious
of your affection.
The love you seek from everyone else,
can only be found in One.
That is the One you must search for.
Pay no heed to the lies echoing
daily, inside your mind.

As you grow to develop a false veneer
of self-assuredness,
with your radiant energy
and analytical approach,
you make choices that will dictate
the direction of your life –
what to study,
where to live,
who to marry.
Always remember,
you are not impossible to love.
Your husband just never learned how to love, himself,
your siblings, exhausted from caring for their own families,
your mentors, quietly dealing with their own inadequacies.
You are so busy pleasing everyone else,
you’ve forgotten the One
Who’s always there.

As you enter the daunting world
of motherhood,
you will finally realize,
you are not impossible to love.
Because this tiny being looks up at you
as if you were the moon and the stars.
This child’s love is pure and untainted,
abundant.
This child will love you,
but also,
antagonize you,
challenge you,
taunt you,
harass you.
Stay the course, no matter what.
Teach this child to love,
to listen,
to laugh,
to live.
Teach this child he is loved, inside and out,
not just by you,
but by the Artist
Who molded him to life
with One Breath.

As your hair turns silver
and your skin softens to the touch,
take a hammer to the lie that grew unchecked
within you.
Ignite a fire,
smoke out the debris
and finally see the truth for what it is.
You are loved beyond compare,
beyond measure,
beyond doubt.
Every single trial you faced
was proof of that love.
Every single tear you shed
was a gift from above.
Silence the liar in your head
who wanted only to control you.
And while you’re at it,
proclaim to the world,
to every single boy and girl,
every human, in every corner:
they are deeply and magnificently loved.
Uncover their eyes,
break down their walls,
pull them back from the precipice.
You are not impossible to love, my dears.
That’s the greatest lie ever told.
To you, belongs a Lover
Who has gifted you the world,
the oceans,
the forests,
the mountains,
the meadows.
To you, belongs a Lover
Who asks only for one thing,
and that is to remember Him.
Remember Him,
and He will remember you.
Forget Him,
and He will still remember you.
That is the depth of His love.
Because even though, for Him,
nothing is impossible,
all He ever wanted
was to love you.

Letter to My Son

When I look at your beautiful face, son,
I see an ocean of ancestors.
I see my eyes,
the eyes of my father
and his father before him.
I see your dad’s expressions,
his inner child.
I see history and the future
all rolled into one.
I see God’s love and mercy
to have placed your care
into my hands.
When I see you smile and your eyes
twinkle,
it’s like seeing the world through you,
full of wonder and impossible joy.
When you look pensive,
my mind automatically goes
to all the ways I’m failing you.
You see, my son,
I’m a glass half empty kind of person,
and I know, despite my best efforts,
I’ve passed that worldview onto you.
I want to be the one to rise above it,
to show you that it can be done.
As I see you growing older,
your curiosity being leached from within,
your twinkle getting tarnished,
I think of all the ways this world is failing you.
Let’s be part of the solution,
you and I.
Let’s flip the system.
Let’s turn the mirror right way round.
Let’s fill that glass to the very top,
heck, let it overflow.
There’s never any lack of love here,
that is the biggest myth of all.
We just need to stop blocking love’s flow.
It won’t always take the shape we imagined.
It will sometimes be more hardship than hearts,
more resilience than roses,
more patience than passion,
but remember, dear,
tears are Divine kisses, too.
Don’t hold on too tightly to anything,
not even the identity you’ve so carefully constructed.
Let it all flow,
let it all go,
let love be your strength,
not your weakness.
If you’re going to hold on tightly to anything, my son,
let it be the One,
let it be His Rope,
and let it take you where it will.

God is Dead

God is dead, they say with certainty.
Shhh! Don’t anyone disclose,
I’m hiding Him here in the cup of my hands.
He’s lying in gentle repose.

I’m pouring Him into my crystal ball,
watching Him swivel and swirl,
bewitched by the magnificent tales,
woven into His colors and curls.

I want Him all to myself, you see.
Every day, I watch His beauty unfold,
I taste the sweetness of His very existence,
I bathe in His bitter and bold.

Slowly, this solo exchange grows lonely.
After all, what’s the point of my knowing
bliss that cannot be openly shared,
union that is felt and free-flowing.

So I release Him
from my crystal ball,
and wait for what will
most surely enthrall.

He flies into people’s eyes,
He veers into people’s ears,
He kisses their lips,
brings to life their gifts.

He’s here! He’s here!
they exclaim,
their hearts suddenly
bursting aflame.

He’s the unchecked joy in children’s laughter,
He’s the love in every parent’s heart,
He’s the contentment of souls in solitude,
the thrill of reunion when we part.

He’s the sting of rejection,
He’s the bottomlessness of loss,
He’s our dancing partner through life,
He’s our grit, but He’s also our gloss.

He is truth and pain and anger and shame
all rolled into One.

God is dead, they say with certainty.
Sure He is.

He’s dead the way that love is dead,
the way that dreams are dead,
the way that dead is dead.

But even things that die
eventually return to life,
and when they finally do,
His presence is divinely rife.

God is dead, they say, with certainty.
That’s just because they’re scared.
‘cause if God were alive, what does that say
‘bout how their faith and fealty have fared.

Their folly is thinking God is only wrath,
not realizing He is kindness, too,
forgiveness, compassion and mercy,
a balm for any bedlam they’ve brewed.

God is more alive than life itself,
He is deader than infinite shrouds,
He is heavier than our collective sorrow,
He is lighter than diaphonous clouds.

He is.
He is.
He is.

And if you know only this,
you know all that matters.
God is not dead,
it’s their faith that’s shattered.

Let us love them and hug them and hold them tight,
let us soothe their wounded hearts,
let us guide them away from God’s gravestone,
t’wards the ease that our oneness imparts.

Each Moment is Longing

Each moment is longing,
quivering impatience,
holding my breath to see,
what You have in store for me.

Each moment is pure desire,
hope bubbling up like dew,
discontent clouding the air,
tears like weapons of despair.

Each moment is full
of my ignorance,
my owned yet disowned arrogance
that I must control the narrative.

In truth, each moment is a gift,
a delicious unwrapping, unravelling
of sign after sign after sign,
all perfectly sensual and divine.

The universe erupted
from Your desire to be known,
our lives a series of cycles
of longing to return.

This being waits with quivering impatience,
avoiding hurdle after hurdle to see,
what exactly it is
You have in store for me.

When will she stop resisting
the floods of love meant to break her,
and surrender to the stillness and storms,
seeing only the light that will take her?

A Claim I Will Never Make

It is a claim I will never make,
an accusation I will never deny,
the power I possess scares me,
leaves me too terrified to even try

to make a choice, to take that step,
to find a way to ascend,
releasing all my crutches,
no longer having to pretend.

You are my One,
You are my Only,
How could I think
choosing You’d make me lonely?

The closer I get,
the warmer Your embrace,
the heartbreak I always feared,
suddenly so much easier to face.

My ‘I’ has driven me to torment.
Allow me to fully unpeel and dissolve.
Let my ‘I’ die before dying.
Oh Beloved, please help me evolve.

This pain is a most torturous ally,
a disguise for ecstasy, most sly.
It is a claim I will never make,
an accusation I will never deny.

The Beginning of the End

The beginning of the end for me
was the day I finally saw You for You.
Before that, you were just a name to bandy about,
a pacifier for those who had no clue.

You were to be more feared than loved,
that was simply the order of the day.
At least, that’s what I had been told,
and I wasn’t one to disobey.

Ironically, the moment
I felt You close by,
was when breaking the rules,
this I cannot deny.

Yet still, You revealed to me
a deep truth from within,
hidden under layers
of worldly din.

I believed at the center
of my lonely, lonely heart
that You didn’t love me,
I was somehow apart.

That belief shaped my actions,
my relationships, my core.
How could I flip this thought
so deeply stitched into my lore?

The answer is slowly and gently,
bouyed by the strength of Your love.
Could there be a stronger force
in this earthly world or above?

Now that I know You are on my side,
anything and everything seems possible.
An entire lifetime has been examined,
motivations analyzed and found tossable.

Frameworks have been readjusted,
future plans left open for guidance to come.
Some things are ending, others just beginning.
It feels like I’m mourning, my heartstrings a’strum.

As I bury my former self in the ground,
I wonder how long this grief will last.
I beg You, please, don’t give up on me,
as I overcome my treacherous past.

What will the other side look like,
I ask every day.
You present me with options
to choose from, but nay!

This time,
we’ll chose together,
You and I.

We’ll rebuild this life from love, not fear.
Even when I’m alone, I’ll know You’re near.

And this I can say
one hundred percent,
my heart has grown porous,
there’s no more cement.

I live only for You
and whatever good I can do,

till the end of time,
till the end of mine.

Dream Garden

Follow the dirt path bordered by translucent stones.
It will lead you to the garden of the heavenly Unknown.
To enter, move aside the large, rustling palm leaves,
then adjust your sight to a scene you won’t believe.
Meandering pathways crisscrossing in every direction,
trees of all shapes and sizes, shading lovers and their affections,
creating the perfect nooks for all seekers to rest,
to feel peaceful and content, abundantly blessed.
Some gather in groups, others in pairs,
some grasp books that appear out of thin air.
The sycamores, weeping willows and magnolia trees
provide respite for reading, for finding life’s keys –
be it the story of the very first woman and man,
epic tales of adventure, redemption, failed plans,
sprawling sagas of families, united, divided,
journeys to unknown lands, however misguided,
or fables of greed, revenge and downfall.
Here, you will find just the right book to heal all.
When you do, be sure to sit by the old banyan tree,
dip your feet in the cool waters of a stream running free.
As you lift the weighty cover of your truth-telling tome,
be sure to read the inscription before the rest of the poem:

“This is the story of an awakened lover,
whose pain led her far away from her mother,
led her astray and yet ever nearer
to the One who reflected her soul like a mirror.
Her heart was unveiled to the One and Only Task.
Her eyes glimpsed this garden in which you bask.”

Sit back, my friend, and enjoy the tale,
as a light breeze tickles your toes without fail,
and the fragrance of lavender lulls you to sleep,
dreaming of travellers who will urge you to creep,
who will lead you down rugged pathways, oh so steep,
bring you to your knees, and force you to weep.
They will tell you it’s time and that you must reap
whatever you’ve sown, like a powerless sheep.
But ignore their words, you must, so cheap!
Open your mind, let the Divine light seep,
into your soul, into your heart, so deep.
Know there’s only one way back to this garden keep,
and that is once you have learned how to make the leap,
yes,
once you have learned to how make the leap.

Mixed Messages

You say You gave us ample warning.
You say You made it clear.
You say we’ll find our way back to You,
even if it takes a hundred thousand years.

And so it is.
And so You did.

Yet still, we lie here in confusion,
so many choices weighing us down,
each one leading to countless others
like tree roots burrowed deep into the ground.

For each choice we make,
we beg for guidance,
but often all we get
are mixed messages.

Perhaps every choice is the wrong one
if not made solely to seek Your pleasure.
Or perhaps our choices
are actually chances,
portals to the Divine,
like the waves of the ocean
flowing gently, to and fro,
clinging doggedly to the promise
one day they’ll meet the vast horizon.

Do we choose education for our benefit or Yours?
Do we choose to work for our profit or Yours?
Do we marry, have children, treat others well,
for our legacy or Yours?

Only You know the landscape of our hearts.

Will choosing You mean everything becomes easier,
our choices less difficult,
our decisions less painful?
Maybe or maybe not.
It’s hard reading Your mixed messages
with this damned veil upon my heart.

I beg of you
to lift the veil,
to clarify my path,
and coax me along it,
because this limited mind,
this constricted heart,
this darkened soul
is blind.

I am nothing without Your light.

You say You gave us ample warning.
You say You made it clear.
You say we will find our way back to You,
even if it takes a hundred thousand years.

And so it is.
And so You did.

And I will hold You to that promise.

Your Compassion

Bathing in a glistening pool of Your compassion,
I stretch my body taut,
floating on a current of utter bliss,
happy to let go of all control,
relieved to hand over the reins,
skimming around rocks,
being led by waves and wind,
falling over a precipice,
only to have You catch me.
I’d been living like a blind man
struggling behind a steering wheel,
when all I really desired
was to let go,
submit,
to You.
My control was an illusion,
unhappiness, an illusion,
separation from You, an illusion.
Lift up the curtain between our worlds
so that we may finally be One.
And if you must make me wait then
turn me into a mad and gushing sea,
or the spiraling winds of a tornado,
a terrifying eruption of sizzling lava,
or a quaking deep within Mother Earth.
Let me wreak my havoc on this world,
with uncontrolled abandon.
Or else,
bathe me in the glistening pools of Your Compassion,
where time will not stalk me,
pain is a figment of the imagination,
and pleasure awaits at every turn,
the pleasure that I am on my way,
hungry for a taste of,
aching to reunite with,
finally ready to give in to,
You.