Excerpt from The Book of Sa-Heti (by J. Michaud)

Section 2 – Spiritual Heritage

19 — The Chapter of the Rosy Light

A-UM !

12. And Chrishna, the Bringer of Light, spoke unto his Disciples, saying the ancient Precepts over again, as he had spoken them in previous Incarnations, aeons and aeons of ages ago on earth; in times long lost within the dark oblivion of the far, dim past.

13. ‘Have Faith, be it even a little faith, for this will save thee from many calamities and free thee from all fear.

14. ‘This is a great and simple Law: a Law unto the faithful; for men who trust in worldly aid live in complexity, having manifold intricate laws, which are like shifting sands that suck the wanderer who trusts in their solidity unto perdition.

15. ‘For such laws are like unto the souls that made them, whose only foundation is the nether world.

16. ‘Such have no faith, no trust; first, because they judge all other men by the faultiness of their own foundations, and secondly because all their laws consist of contradictions, twisted by rogues for the destruction of fools, who place in them their foolish worldly trust, and give credence to their makers and expounders.

17. ‘Have only faith in God and in the Lords of Life, whose words are Truth, whose Laws are just and sure, unchangeable and not to be distorted by the arts of devils’ ingenuity; for based they are upon the adamantine surety of God’s own Mercy and His Justice, which can no more be deviated by slick excuse and sly prevarication than an ant can overturn a mighty Alp.

18. ‘Therefore, in no man place thy trust, for he is powerless to aid thee by himself, or lead thee to the Safety of Light and Truth:

19. ‘For all men are but instruments, blind tools, who act upon the inspiration (quite unknown to them) which comes from God….or from the Serpent; and wise is he who knows the veritable source of ignorant man’s actions.

20. ‘The man who thinks he does thee well may be thine executioner.

21. ‘The man who hateth thee, can, mayhap, be just the very tool which opens up the door which leads unto the Path of thy Salvation.

22. ‘And only God can separate the false and the true and know the hidden purpose and the spring of all men’s slightest actions.

23. ‘Distrust the man who spurs thee on to do good works to reap the fruits of good deeds done;

24. ‘Who prophesies great wealth and power if thou do thus and thus, and so and so;

25. ‘Who prates to thee of endless lives on earth in utter bliss, if thou abound in charity and temple rites, of wealth and power, which (he says) is God’s reward for those who prop the State and Constitution;

26. ‘Who grants thee merit, bountiful, in future times for present works of ‘faith’, according to his precepts;

27. ‘Who promises to teach thee full control of all the elements and demon forces: that thou mayest rule the earth and all that’s on it and within, by means of magic rituals.

28. ‘For know that they who promise this, or who desire vast wealth and power, are lax of soul and mind, forsaken by the Father for their lies and greed, and handed over to the lower ones, to live and die in spiritual destitution.

29. ‘The man who puts his trust and faith in other men is lost for sure, and when he seeks the help of God at last, it is too late, for God will send him to the men in whom he placed that trust and faith, for such is the Law, in Truth and Justice.

30. ‘Be free of all the laws laid down by men: but do not act against them.

31. ‘Be free of all the rituals and priests: but let who will obey them.

32. ‘Be free of that self-righteousness which calculates its profits due when all its devilments are done: for the Serpent only will take profit in the end.

33. ‘Thou! Go forth when the time of thy Mission arrives; do right; ask not, and thou shalt not want.

34. ‘Be right deeds themselves thy reward, and not their fruits: for by acting rightly thou doest God’s own work at His behest, and not thine own.

35. ‘The fruit of all good deeds be God’s, not Man’s.

36. ‘Go forth, then, and act; dream not in self-pitying sloth, but labour mightily.

37. ‘Right acts must be thy piety, not mumbled prayers at the holy shrine; for this is the excuse of sluggards, to sit and pray instead of being up and doing.

38. ‘Plan not what thou shalt do ‘tomorrow’, nor prate about the work of later days: but do it NOW.

39. ‘Cast Self aside, condemning gain and merit.

40. ‘Be poised and calm in good and evil times; for those who in this way show God their love and trust will reach the Peace, unknown to men whose love and faith are in the world, instead of in the Father.

41. ‘Let the Soul be thy Heaven, counselling the Mind with Wisdom, and scorn all those who practise virtue in hope of reward.

42. ‘For this is pure devotion and attunement with the Higher Worlds, and the Soul of God, and those who dwell within his Radiance.

43. ‘And cast aside good deeds and bad alike, following the Call of the Inner Voice, though thou hearest not its utterance with outward ears.

44. ‘By peaceful meditation (whilst thou workest) shall Light and Truth fulfil thy Self, shaking off the tangled cords of wrongful teachings, which guide the ignorant, alone.

45. ‘And thus, freed from man-made laws, doctrinal oracles, and priestly lore and dogma, and love of gain and fortune,

46. ‘Safe shalt thou dwell in life, quite sure within, untroubled by the world of men and their opinions, until the Day when Greater Life begins in Greater Light, in Bliss—and Peace—and Beauty’.

Read more at: http://www.occult-mysteries.org/chrishna-jeseus-index.html

Arizona Phoenix

I have spent so long under this hot desert sun, dreaming up cages and sweet releases of rain and thunderstorms, that I somehow stumbled past the realization of no longer being tied to any wire. The freedom I craved was apparently mine to bestow upon myself – for quite a while now. But I had spent so long deceiving myself when it came to my reasons for staying, I had truly come to believe that I was stranded. Abandoned off some highway so distant and untraveled, that my weary wings would never be able to bear me to civilization ever again.

And I lay on the ever hardening, burning Earth, convinced that what I felt was coldness inside. Was it? I don’t know anymore.. Have no way of knowing. At least not immediately. But, fighting pain with more pain is a hatchling habit that should have died a long time ago. Except my obsession with souvenirs includes saving remnants of who I have been. Living ghost memories of parallel personalities that allowed me to sneak past life events before being able to fully comprehend them. Guardians that  may or may not have outlived their purposes, but it doesn’t matter, because I never learned to let go.

And we have sailed, with inappropriate laughter and tears, to this utterly bizarre point in time, all out of sync except when it comes to the burning rage at the core of us all. I think it’s the scintillating fusion of burning rage and the helplessness that comes with being not strong enough that gave birth to most of these ghosts in the first place, not quite unlike every other phoenix. Except since they never die, they are never reborn – simply frozen in time like ghosts that should fade, but never learned how to.

These are the ghosts that bind me. The remnants of a past so distant, I cannot even think of that person – those persons – as myself. And thus my frozen portraits bind me to the present, unable to move forward in time long enough to burn to ashes and be reborn. My sentimental heart longs for one more rain before it will allow me to go. But she is untrustworthy, and no amount of water will ever be enough. She shall always be thirsty.

I remember an old professor now. Back when I was so young that even the dreariest day brought with it abundant hope and the promise of adventure. The World was our’s. And he told us how it worked. How sometimes, it didn’t matter how much effort, time, capital or energy you had invested in a project. Sometimes, you had to realize that there would be no returns. Sometimes, you had to simply cut your losses. Those losses are your “Sunk Costs”, and well, it was an economical serenade to the concept of letting go. Harsh, practical and so true.

Except, I must be bird brained. Because despite knowing that, here I am. Cooking in the middle of a desert where I’m not even wanted, and where I have *never* wanted to be. What for? For years and years of sunk costs, I say. Years and years. And I’ve been putting away my turning to ashes and being reborn by one last thunderstorm and one last volcanic eruption and one last winter and one last smile – but my time has run out.

Change or Die.

That is not the question.

That’s the answer.

Avenging Expectations

Dated: Mid 2013

I know that you expect

Songs of vengeance and fire

Clinging complaints of neglect

But, my love, I am tired..

.

I know you still expect

Accusations of cruelty

But pleading for attention

Has never been my specialty

.

I could clutch at your hand

and keep asking you why

I could say I still cared

And I could try and cry

.

But, baby, if you want me gone,

Well then, tell me, who am I?

Who am I to ask to stay?

Baby, who am I to ask why?

.

And I could chase some fantasy

And hope that half of it comes true

Or maybe find the man of my dreams

Except on nights I dream of you

.

And in the midst of all your fire

I crave only to burn

Like a torch to some inner darkness

That only I have earned

.

And I would make my way to you

Come rain-storms or hell-fire

Not for empty words

Only all my form desires

.

And if you asked me to leave

I would pack my bags and go

Live out forgotten fantasies

Hidden behind some nameless door

.

Maybe I’d even forget

The sound of your voice

Pretend that when I was leaving

You gave me no choice

.

And maybe I’d forget you too

Though I hope it isn’t so

Or cry into rainy nights

While he holds my body close

.

And I cannot help but wonder

Whether his skin, too, would be smooth as ice

And I can’t help but wonder

If any other fire would ever suffice.

.

You owe me nothing

And I owe nothing to you

And in this nothingness what we choose to give

Is all that must be true

.

So if lessons and space are what I’ve earned

Tell me, of what shall I complain?

When I would give you my immortality

What price is mortal pain?

The Tower of Peace // Shelter from the Storm

She ran through the rain, the cold water dripping down the sides of her face and into the flowery dress that now clung scandalously to her body. The sun hovered lazily at the edge of the horizon, darkness only moments away. It was not far now. The Tower. She could already see it in the distance, rising up to the faintly star-studded sky, perfectly camouflaged against its surroundings. Hidden away from everybody else. It was sanctuary, her refuge. And as she made her way through the dense jungle, eyes focused only on her destination, she nearly stumbled and fell into a deep puddle of disturbed water. A stab of pain in her right ankle accompanied her regaining her balance. This was no time to fall.

Not much further now..

He was waiting at the foot of the tower when she got there. ‘You’re all drenched,’ he said, smiling. She wanted to throw herself into his arms like the long lost friends that they were. Instead, she insipidly nodded, looking around to see what had changed since the last time she had visited him here. The garden had grown wild, and there were flowers everywhere, yet she could see that he thought they bloomed to spite him, and she did her best not to speak of them or even think of them.

The flowers rustled quietly in the wind, as if begging to be touched.

Instead, she reached out and touched him, once, gently, the skin above his collar warm against her icy fingers. (Though perhaps that was the rain’s fault) She would have kissed him then, too, but they were supposed to be adults, and she was supposed to be a certain way that existed between two narrow lines of acceptable behavior. She satisfied herself by studying his profile instead, and as he spoke to her of troubles and amusements, she ached to run her fingers through his midnight hair. He smiled at her indulgently as she concentrated on the pieces of him that she could still see, that were still open to her, and then he turned away, leaving her to make her own way up the tower. It would take him a while to put away his weapons, lead the horses back to their stables and then join her. So she climbed the endless spiraling staircase herself, fingers curled around the cold railing in the dark, ankle still throbbing with a dull pain that she tried her best to ignore, water still dripping down her body in tiny rivulets and large drops.

It was a long way down.

Standing at the top, she felt a rush of giddy feeling sweeping over her. Perhaps things were finally changing for the better. Perhaps, the war was finally done with them. Perhaps, tonight, they could begin rebuilding everything that the fire had destroyed. Perhaps he would even remember what he had once sworn to her, a long long time ago, before the first war had started. But, somewhere within, she already knew what he always had; that the damage was done.

There was no going back.

Still, she thought wistfully, as she heard the wooden door rattle, and rushed to the door to let him in, beaming from ear to ear even as he breathed deeply, in an attempt to catch his breath after the steep climb. His hair was disheveled and wild as he stripped away his sweat soaked shirt and changed into the torn colorless gray garb that he seemed to favor. His eyes were always tired, even before the war, but lately it felt like even his own smiles stopped before they could reach his eyes. Still, he was beautiful to her.

And she smiled as she touched him again.

War or no war, every single ounce of pain was worth being able to stand here, so close to him, worth being able to touch him, even if he distractedly moved her hand away, or quickly sat down to pour over his books and maps before she had even finished saying what she was saying. It wasn’t important, surely. Not as vital as this memory of a present yet to be transformed into the past. His eyes glowed tirelessly as he sat at his desk late into the night, and she watched him sitting there for hours, until sleep tugged at her eye-lids and dragged her to its realm. Even then, she only truly breathed easy when she felt him climb into bed with her, his presence all the reassurance that she had ever needed.

The nights were the hardest part of her exile.

But in the present, (or maybe it was already the past, she thought sadly), her hand sought his as the World continued its indiscriminate and cruelly pre-meditated murdering and looting by bombs and missiles and soldiers all around their fortified turret. And even though he drew away from her subconscious need to feel his skin against her own, they both sighed peacefully and leaned into one another.

Like the last two trees in a parched desert.

Excerpt from Is Se Pahale Ke Bevafaa Ho Jaayein (By Ahmed Faraz)

“Is se pehle ke bevafaa ho jaayein
kyon na ai dost hum juda ho jaayein?
tu bhi hiire se ban gaya patthar
hum bhi kal kya se kya ho jaayein”
– By Ahmed Faraz
Translation:

Before that day we become disloyal
why not, my friend, go our separate ways
you also turned from a jewel to stone
i too will change to another tomorrow

To Read More, visit: http://www.egothemag.com/urdupoetry/archives/2005/11/is_se_pahale.html

Honesty gets you Nowhere

It breaks my heart
to wrap you up
only to have to put you away
But, my love of loves
I have no choice
If it is sane that I must stay

I’ve tried my best
to love you whole
and shower you in pieces of my heart
But they bother you,
poke your eye and soul
and you’d rather be safe and far

Well, I’ll let you go
I am no chain
Only a lost, forlorn, ebbing tide
I came to you
jagged and broken,
and bleeding on the inside

And you fixed me up
with the calmest voice
and laughter that I still hear at night
Only to leave me there
on that darkening shore
Lost in the dazzle of your light

Where do I go?
Won’t someone let me know?
I tire of this sunless, deafening dawn
Bring back the dark
and your softest touch
Or at least tell me the words to your song..

The one I heard
When all was quiet
drowning out the voices in my head
That swallow me whole
and laugh at my fight
and whisper how they’d like to see me dead

Oh, we all must die
that is no lie
but must I do it so far away from you?
Burned and blinded
Lost and wounded
And still searching the seas for the truth

For I had found it once
in the shade of your smile
and the color of your loudest voice
Claim me now
or send me the tide
and end this illusion of choice.

It’s always cold
This ache, it grows
There’s only ice in your veins of stone
You light your fires
and dance and desire
but it’s all only games of the throne

The ocean calls
in a voice so low
I know it isn’t in me to ignore
The mountains hear
my whispered vows
judging me as I turn to go

Do I really have a choice?
You pillars of stone!
Have any of you left me with anywhere I can go?
You fill your lands
with pain and lies
and then wonder why my answer is always No.

No, I am done with you
You Earth of cold
And your endless cycle of lies
The ocean calls
In words that are true
and remembers the truth you all so conveniently deny

So let me go
I don’t want to stay
trapped in your den of vice
My sins, they bleed
My goodness weeps
For hell is as much fire as it is ice.