But
Because there is peace
You would not lose them forever
But see them next time they come
To town!
You could go ice skating
Or roller skating
And no guns would go off
Scaring you.
You could grow old
And have a nice long beard
And no rockets
Would appear
To set fire
To it!
You could swim in the ocean
And see turtles
And whales
And nothing would interrupt
You, even if you fell asleep
On your back!
Not a single bomb
Would be going off
Anywhere!
And people would let you drift
To shore
And then they’d wake
You
With music and some food
That
Would be strange to you
But so delicious!
They’d want you
To like their peaceful land:
They’d want to learn about yours.
Peace is great for this sort of thing.
And when you went home
There would be a whole house
Intact
Waiting for you.
Your room warm and cozy
And your dog happy to see you
And everything! Even the cat
Might take a look at you,
Seriously,
As if she cared!
All this can happen in peace.
Never in war.
And that is why Peace is always a good idea.
Earth likes it too! She’s tired of being marched on and hit by crazy humans
Who never see how sweet she is
Or appreciate
Her windstorms
or
Her curves.
***
Hope
Hope never
to covet
the neighbors’ house
with the fragrant
garden
from which a family
has been
driven by your soldiers;
mother, father,
grandparents,
the toddler and
the dog
now homeless:
huddled, holding on
to each other,
stunned
and friendless
beneath you
in the street:
sitting on
cobblestones
as if on the sofas
inside
that you have decided
to clean, recover and
keep.
Hope never
to say yes
to their misery.
Hope never to gaze
down into their faces
from what used to be
their rooftop.
Hope never to believe
this robbery
will make you a better
citizen of your new
country
as you unfurl and wave
its recent
flag
that has been given
to assure you
of this impossibility.
***
Tranquil
15 years (!)
have passed
since you gave us
the wicker
picnic basket
a gift
you said
to
Our Romance!
Today
I took it out
to use
for the first time
marveling at its crisp
readiness
after all
these years.
I washed
the two white plates
with their plain
blue trim
and dusted the glasses
knives and forks
and ran the still shiny
bottle opener
along my sleeve.
I unwrapped the candle.
What dreamers we were!
And how the Universe
opened itself up
to us.
Every moment
we were not stressed
our hearts jumping
and shouting
for joy.
Those times
are long gone
now
and I do not long
for them anymore.
Life has continued—
filled
with companion travelers
to the stars
thumb out
to the wind
always manage
to catch
a ride.
I shake out
the blue and white
tablecloth and napkins—
to adorn the pond side
table
of a simple cook-out
with neighbors
and their boys
from down
the hill.
Happiness—
with its gaggle of chickens, ducks and dogs—
floods the scene.
Still,
Those were the days!
I think,
gloating
over the Dance of Life
—and our part in it—
already done.
I see
for an instant
your bright eyes
and merry smile
and savor
the sweet, sweet music
of memory
that resides
all these years
later
in a still
charmed
and tranquil
heart.
***
The Raping of Maids
Alas,
you do not know
who your fathers are:
they are the very reason
you felt queasy
not wanting the little girl
on the bus
to sit next to you.
There she was
in all her home-made
finery,
her hair curly, but with a similar
drift
to yours.
Her eyes
the ones you see
briefly
if he is home
at breakfast.
The history
of this assault is long
and so is memory
among the poor.
When you see your nanny
attempt to rise
at last
go to her defense.
You can do it now
you are not a child
helpless
as you were
for too long
to help
her stand.
***
This Human Journey
Don’t waste one moment
Trying to be someone
different
or someplace other
than where
you are.
This human journey
is like
finding yourself
in Brussels
rather than
in Broccoli.
Find out what’s good
about the place
—in Brussels
as in Broccoli—
there must be something.
***
In This You Are Wrong
In this
you are wrong.
Killing the prophet
will not make
you right.
Her blood sent flying
in all directions
by your assault
will become
innumerable seeds
that sprout
blades of bright grass
announcing the truth
like flags.
Killing the prophet
today
means
what it always has:
wandering the desert
of missed opportunity
lost
for another 1000 years.
***
Hope to Sin Only in the Service of Waking Up
Hope
never to believe
it is your duty
or right
to harm
another
simply because
you mistakenly believe
they are not you.
Hope
to understand
suffering
as the hard assignment
even in school
you wished
to avoid. But
could not.
Hope
to be imperfect
in all the ways
that keep you
growing.
Hope
never to see
another
not even a blade of grass
that is beyond your joy.
Hope
not to be a snob
the very day
Love
shows up
in love’s
work clothes.
Hope to see
your own skin
in the wood
grains
of your house.
Hope
to talk
to trees
& at last
tell them everything
you’ve always
thought.
Hope
at the end
to enter
the Unknown
knowing
yourself. Forgetting
yourself
also.
Hope to be consumed
to disappear
into your own
Love.
Hope to know
where you are
—Paradise—
if nobody else
does.
Hope
that every failure
is an arrow
pointing toward
enlightenment.
Hope to sin
only
in the service
of waking up.
***
The Part of God That Stings
I am in agreement with the Buddha:
that these are natural
perhaps inevitable
human states; that spiritual retreats
though invaluable
are not essential
to their
achievement.
One day it will simply become
crystal clear
that all creatures
younger than us
are
our children;
just as all creatures
and entities
older than us
trees
and oceans
included
are our parents.
Amma
the hugging saint from Kerala
has put
this beautifully:
She speaks of this awareness
of being Mother
of all
while being Mothered
by all
as Divine Love.
As God.
One day
perhaps while sitting blankly
before a leaping fire
at home
or even while stalled in traffic
on the freeway
you will realize
that all creatures
when they enter
your house
are guests
regardless
of whether
they frighten you:
the ant, the gecko,
the cockroach,
the bat;
and that you are a guest
also
in their
much larger
home.
Mutual respect
though this seldom means
no killing
or cursing at all
is due.
There will seem to be
a few exceptions
but surely
this is illusion
as so much is!
For instance:
scorpions, vipers, and yellow jackets
in paradise?
How to accept
gracefully
the part of God
that stings!
***
9/11: An Irrelevant Truth
They tell so many lies
I do not wonder that you have lost trust
in human beings.
Now you ask me seriously:
Auntie, do those who tell humongous lies,
and get away with it, celebrate their victories the same
as those who tell, and get away with,
smaller, “whiter” ones?
Is it just a matter of bigger bottles
of champagne,
more expensive party girls
and a bigger cake?
What can I tell you?
Never believe “the truth” as set before you
by your enemies,
is about all I would say.
Be alert to whatever makes no sense
to you.
You are an expert, no matter how much they tell you
that you are not.
You know some things fall down
crooked and some things
fall down
in a straight line:
I am not speaking of your parents, but there too
you’ve had experience.
Humans,
with all of our experience of it
find absolute evil almost impossible
to believe. Even looking at it.
We will stand around
shot through
the eye
and the heart
and never notice we are being
bled to death.
That is why I feel this tenderness
this overwhelming
tenderness
for the human race:
we are so gullible and so trusting
and so afraid by now: we are willing to believe
anything;
even that Truth itself is irrelevant
if the lie is big enough.
***
The Buddha’s Disagreeable Relative
Even the Buddha, the Enlightened one,
had a disagreeable relative.
I learned this while on retreat
in the homeland of
notable tough relatives:
the state of Texas
U.S.A.
Although it doesn’t really matter
where we learn
the bit of news that helps us.
We are grateful!
I think I learned he was a cousin, maybe a nephew
of Gautama
but anyhow
he hated Buddha.
Lied about him, made up stories,
stole Buddha’s stuff: one of his cloaks, his best begging bowl, maybe, or a couple
of his walking sticks.
How much stuff does a Buddha own,
after all?
Why should the Buddha of all people
even need a disagreeable relative?
our teacher asked.
He was from Harvard University
in New England
where there are
as many notable disagreeable relatives
as in Texas
and where one imagines
talk of the Buddha
must take many an elegant academic twist and evasive turn.
But to the sufferer in the trenches
of familia
l acrimony
and abuse
the only answer
must be this:
no one is exempt
and certainly not a Buddha
from the need to balance
enlightenment
with the
head bowing despair
of daily practice.
***
We Who Have Survived
For Troy Davis
Though they elicit
yawns
from our friends
we who have survived
fierce battle
must tell our war stories
over and over
again.
Our tale is like a lost
coin
re-found
when we are starving
shining with new power
of purchase
as
fresh light strikes:
token of our
deliverance.
***
Racism Dates Us
(Speciesism does too)
For Troy Davis
Racism dates us
(Speciesism does too).
I know we don’t care;
it feels so good
to feel
superior
to other beings
for reasons
they do not control.
There we go
talking about the blacks
the browns
the reds
the yellows
and the whites
as if our children
haven’t already painted
and repainted
God’s face (adding a tattoo—and a feather— here and there)
and returned it
glowing
to Her cosmic
coloring box.
***
The World We Want Is Us
It moves my heart to see your awakened faces;
the look of “aha!”
shining, finally, in
so many
wide open eyes.
Yes, we are the 99%
all of us
refusing to forget
each other
no matter, in our hunger, what crumbs
are dropped by
the 1%.
The world we want is on the way; Arundhati
and now we
are
hearing her breathing.
The world we want is Us; united; already moving
into it.
***
The Joyful News of Your Arrest
this sunday morning everything
is bringing tears.
in church this morning
not a church anyone from my childhood
would
recognize
as church
a brother singing
ecstatic
about the bigness of love
and then this moment
news of your arrest
on the steps of the supreme court