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I play a sacred game (some may think it sacreligious)
I pretend iím writing ĎAbduíl-BahŠís correspondence
to the Friends i try to say what He would say.
I try to feel His way, and ways, to know all
like He knows, to write all, like He did.
But sometimes iím Hafez,
dancing about like a fool on coals of fire
that warm me up dearly and tickle my souls.
And sometimes iím Rumi with a head cold,
all stopped up and bold, everso boldy
sneezing out divine fragrances
and blowing my knows it all
at the students of soul.
And sometimes (it doesnít happen much anymore)
iím who i used to be, wondering how
i was ever so content with me.
Arts Dialogue, February 2001, page 15
wool has a way of clinging
to the wool of another's clothes.
closed, closeted doors fling open!
a sufi bares his oaths to friends
and strangers alike, no stranger
than his passionate cries upended;
reversing all his life, inside-out
he journeys, running upon his soul,
stockings all runs, all apparel's torn,
soul shredded into frazzled threads,
heart worn out, and panting,
dead on distant shores,
only his spirit traveling.
returning, he is unborn.
Arts Dialogue, March 1999, page 15
Letter from .ash
A friend gave me a CD of the jazz composer Steve Reich which includes conversations...
He transposed the "speech melodies" of each speaker, then played back their melodies instrumentally ...Everyone is actually a composer of melodies, in everything they say. We already sing our prayers...
Excerpts from Arts Dialogue, September 1999, pages 2 - 3
Arts Dialogue, Dintel 20, NL 7333 MC, Apeldoorn, The Netherlands