Deborah Willow was now free from the strains and worries of her career as a rising star in the Democratic Party. She was also not badly off for money; not at all, thanks to her uncles in Iraq, who had been shrewd enough to not put all their eggs in one basket. ‘Big Solar’ had yet to reach the heights of ‘Big Oil,’ but it certainly was far from a senseless investment.
A book of poems.
Written by Adolph Adams.
Many years ago.
But Saul must have had something to do with it too.
He generally did!
Deborah ran her fingers softly over the immaculately illustrated indie volume.
‘Indie books for Indie Spirits,’ was what Adolph had suggested as the slogan for a new publishing project of his.
But Saul, as level-headed and prudent (in his way!) as he was irritable and highly-strung, had warned Adolph off of this risky venture.
And something of Adolph Adams, as he many years later recounted to Deborah Willow, had died, with the death of this little project.
***
The Jester’s Net I Gave Me
What if I told you ‘Brahman’ was not a mere ideal
A coercive superstitious worship of unity
As the absolute end-of-all?
What if I told you ‘Brahman’ was the encounter
Between the finite and the (in/)finite
Between the severed and the whole?
What if I told you ‘Brahman’ was where we meet
And not where we end?
What if I told you Brahman does not exist Outside of you
Nor within you?
What if I told you
Neither forgiveness Nor non-forgiveness
Are the end
But rather the boatframes
That carry you
To the shore of encounter?
What if I told you
You are neither a good person
Nor an evil person
But you are amid the endless play
Of both?
What if I told you
The play of Brahman
And the Quranic injunction
THE WORLD IS NOT FOR SPORT
Were precisely the same wisdom
And yet (im/precisely) different?
What if I told you
That Jesus was only THE SON OF GOD
Precisely because he was crucified
The one and only Father Sought eternally?
And what if I told you
The Son of God was the greatest ‘atheist’ Of all?
What if I told you God warned Moses
IF YOU EVER SEE ME ON THIS MOUNTAIN SLAY ME?
What if I told you
When Confucius begged assistance of Heaven
He was asking Heaven to help him help himself?
What if I told you To ‘comprehend’ is not make a
Bald Trite Factual arrow wound Murmuring
ALL WILL THUS BE WELL?
What if I told you
ALL WILL BE WELL AND ALL MANNER OF THINGS SHALL BE WELL
Was not at all
For the end of these times
But for the here-and-now?
What if I told you
The everlasting love you seek
Is neither inside yourself
Nor outside it
But in all those silent fleeting spaces
In between?
What if I told you
Everlasting does not mean all time
But merely neither of time
Nor not of time?
What if I told you
You are neither guilty or innocent
But that you are in them
But not of them?
What if I told you
Every day God crucifies himself for hurting you?
What if I told you
Everyday Allah lets the humblest of his servants stone him
And tender
Smiles through tears unwelcomed?
What if I told you
Every day Buddha weepingly confesses his guilt
To the demons in hell?
What if I told you Brahman does all these deeds
Not for his own sake
But for yours?
What if I told you
You cannot inflict on yourself
Any of these torments
But that you can nevertheless know
That not one smile you have gifted to another
Shall be ever taken from them?
What if I told you
When you senselessly crucified yourself
For your faults in love
There was a voice from your morning
Calling to you
NOT IN MY NAME?
What if I told you
The unity of Brahman is not a denial
Of alienation
Of despair
Of grief
Of remorse
Of sadness
Of sorrow
Of tragedy?
What if I told you
There is no Brahman inside
Nor outside
Of you
But that when you are ready
You will be taken
By the hand
And led at last
Where you always were afraid to go?
What if I told you
The place
Where there is no fear
And the place
Where fear lurks in the shadows
Are two names
For the self-same house of Being?
What if I told you
The lies you told yourself
Were truths
And that they were also falsehoods
But they could never
And will never be
THE TRUTH?
What if I told you
You were loved
And you were love
And this love will remain with you
To the end of your days
And no one will ever
Take it away from you
Nor from your love
And not even you
Have the power
To ever accomplish such a deprivation?
What if I told you
The love you have given
And the love you have been given
Will last longer
Than all the generations of this earth
Because the Book of Time
Never rubs out
What she has
First inscribed?
What if I told you The Poet of Memory
Never forgets
For even if His poems were to forget
He herself
Shall not ever
Let she himself
Forget
Because the Book of Time Never rubs out
What he has First inscribed?
What if I told you The Poetess of Memory
Never forgets
For even if Her poems were to forget
She herself
Shall not ever let herself forget?
***
The doorbell rings.
Can it really be Adolph Adams at last?
Willow falls into a dreamy muse.
And so the song continues.
***
What if I told you
This love was
Neither real nor unreal
Neither authentic nor inauthentic
Neither beginningless nor beginning
Neither endless nor ending
Neither poison nor cure
Neither life nor death
This nor that Here nor there
Speaking nor silence?
Brahman does not lie
Nor does Brahman tell the truth
But please do me the courtesy
To whisper unto another
Gently, gently
And loving close
Beyond all hope of love
O beloved one
What do you know?
This poem, attributed here to Adolph, was previously published on the blog of Quaker Universalist.
The poem can be found, in context, in my beautiful poetry collection: The Braying Angel.