when you look back, smile.

barefoot and beautiful

"I do not want my house to be walled in on all sides and my windows to be stuffed. I want the cultures of all the lands to be blown about my house as freely as possible. But I refuse to be blown off my feet by any." Mahatma Ghandi

love is the main thing

Darkness hath enveloped most of the peoples: Where is the brightness of Thy splendor, O Radiance of the worlds? (Bahá’u’lláh)// Grieve thou not...This is but the early dawn (‘Abdu’l-Bahá)//Lament not because of the wicked. Thou wert created to bear and endure, O Patience of the worlds.(Bahá’u’lláh)//My calamity is My providence, outwardly it is fire and vengeance, but inwardly it is light and mercy (Bahá’u’lláh)

That one indeed is a man who, today, dedicateth himself to the service, of the entire human race (Bahá’u’lláh)

If we are lovers of the light, we adore it in whatever lamp it may become manifest, but if we love the lamp itself and the light is transferred to another lamp, we will neither accept nor sanction it. Therefore, we must follow and adore the virtues revealed in the Messengers of God—whether in Abraham, Moses,Jesus or other Prophets—but we must not adhere to and adore the lamp…we are lovers of sunlight and not of orientation. We are lovers of illumination and not of lamps and candles (Bahá’u’lláh)//The essence of Bahá’u’lláh’s Teaching is all-embracing love, for love includeth every excellence of humankind. It causeth every soul to go forward. It bestoweth on each one, for a heritage, immortal life. Erelong shalt thou bear witness that His celestial Teachings, the very glory of reality itself, shall light up the skies of the world."‘(Abdu’l-Bahá)

love is the main thing...love is the ground of all things 'Abdu'l-Baha

somewhere between heaven and here

prayer for poets

i wonder

if words wander off our tongues like lost hearts searching for their soul-mates,

and maybe my pen could quench their longing,

and maybe poets are really matchmakers -- writing unions onto paper aisles--

waiting,

hoping beauty may be birthed therein

i wonder if prayer is the only perfection of this art

where married words hold hands,

flow like golden ink into the vessels of papyrus hearts

their grip firm and old as constellations

but ever-changing

wombs so ripe they could nurture all God's children to so(u)lace.

feeding the ocean their tears through placenta river deltas

i wonder if prayer is the only perfection of this union

because in its arms lay latent a hundred different ways for words to kiss,

for hands to praise,

for tears to dry

on a hundred thousand different shades of cheek

so

in our language and with our hand let us pray the night away. // and if the pen moves let it move and Thank God, and if it does not, let it not,

and Thank God.