Journey of Broken Hearts
To love the One True Love,
to burn in the ardor of separation,
is to love every single creature true.
Every soul called into His embrace,
that hath received the adoring light His Face,
each carries a priceless token of His love.
Humbly we must prostrate ourselves
before the threshold of each others hearts,
yearning to receive, some sign of our Beloved
some new fragrance, a new song,
a new light, a new sacred story,
that breaks our heart afresh,
that sets a torch to our spirit,
that burns the veils of our separation,
that we may hold each other
in that place where joy embraceth sorrow,
and cry “Ya-Bahá’u'l-Abha!”
We have found again the Most Great Beauty!
I am bone weary.
Tired of my insufficiency,
my feeling of incapacity,
awkward, fumbling gestures,
meant to please Thee.
And yet still I invoke Thee,
asking to let me please the beloved Guardian.
And if this is not love,
but some selfish reflection,
burn me up, tear asunder my veils,
give me cups of woe,
until I am worthy to even ask:
let me love him,
let me love him more,
let me be consumed,
with desire to give him one tear of joy.
Knowing that if I some day,
give him some atoms breath,
it will only be,
I love to beg this from Thee,
that I may demonstrate my poverty,
and Thy infinitely tender Generosity.
In prostration I pray to Thee,
tearfully, ardently, humbly,
unworthy, yet still I beseech:
“If the heavenly maiden should again descend,
to seek for hearts wherein loves flame
burns steadfast and pure for the Most Great Beauty,
let her not repair to Thy mansions
unfulfilled, bereft in loneliness and grief.
Let my heart be a rose,
an ornament of Thy love,
whose fragrance wafts to her
the chastity of my soul,
the purity of my heart,
the freedom of my spirit,
a broken-winged bird
in its painful, longing flight towards
The One True Love.
Let her ears not hear the clamor of silence,
but rather discern my pure prayer,
the tender song of a nightingale,
impaled upon the thorns,
of the very Rose,
which his song doth praise.
Let her this time return happy unto Thee
and gladden Thine own heart.”
Gorecki: The last poem ending the saga of the "Symphony of Sorrow"
My soul holds many secrets.
I went on a journey to the next world
and have seen:
myriad gifts of spirit,
Lightscapes being birthed,
spectrums of lovelight unseen,
Loves infinite forms
dancing, recreating, flying,
the Beauty of my Most Beloved,
reflected in all and
Yet all, untranslatable,
save as awkward gestures
of my form in this world:
The barking of a dog singing Mozart and Shakespeare.
But now I have returned.
Yet I cannot live in this world nor the next,
rather I live in that in-between place
that commands that I am attached to neither.
I live in the pure fire that is the middle space
where joy and sorrow tearfully embrace.
My medium, my breath, my drink
are those fused tears of flame.
Now I live free of both hatred and love,
I turn aside from the offered cup of ambrosial wine,
that I thought was my happiness and joy,
and swallow broken glass instead,
submitting to the Will of my Ultimate Beloved...
Yet wondrously finding
the final miracle of Gorecki
is that the wine is the glass
and the glass is the wine.