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a station called patience

there was a station called patience

that few had attained

most got off before that stop

and only knew it in name

those who basked in the sun

but didn’t care for the rain

were perplexed at those few

who remained on the train

paid them no mind and were blind

to the secrets they knew

like, the brightest colors hide

in the deepest of blues

for opposite the direction

most people pursue

there is a station called patience

only known by a few

it may not have neon lights

or the games that amuse

but its beauty exceed

everything that they knew

the other stations always

looked shiney and knew

but this station looked simple

and hidden from view

those who found patience

seemed to find it by chance

perhaps they fell asleep on the train

and woke up in its trance

maybe a dream they had seen

where the question was asked

is there more to this place

than appears at first glance

some were forced there

when the cost of living was high

or the struggles & the troubles

had chased them inside

but those who entered her tavern

and drank from her wine

found the place they called patience

was a station divine

for what looked to be ruins

to the ones that passed by

as they scoffed, or they pitied

those living inside

patience’ people looked back

and they pitied thier pride

which veiled them from what

only patience could reveal or could hide

patience is a trust

the other stations refused

it infuses and transforms

mortal vision anew

patience is not merely waiting

though they’re often confused

patience is a station

you awaken into

once you find the one for whom

patience is due

you’ll see a mysterious relation

between patience and you

like a long lost memory

that finally came into view

you’ll see that patience has been

patiently waiting

for you.

#poetry poem sufi

Tradition (A Sketch)

Tradition is a word that I have been thinking a lot about. It is a weighted word; with many connotations. It seems to mean many different things to different people. I sketched out a few of the things it means to me.

Tradition

Tradition means a million hearts beat when your heart beats

Tradition means a thousand hands touch each grain of rice when you reach toward the shared platter

Tradition means each time you step upon this jeweled dance floor a hundred skilled dancers step in unison behind you

Tradition means a sky-full of wise-one’s-eyes twinkle down at you when your head tilts toward the empyrean

and gaze up at you when you kneel to put your hands in the soil

Tradition means death is no barrier

Tradition means you pass back-and-forth through the curtain depending on which scene is yours to take part in

Tradition means an expanse of compassion is patched into your most intimate stillnesses.

And a thousand intentions accompany each miniscule action.

Tradition means there is an I above every story you play a part in.

who witnesses.

Tradition means you are known, and loved for who you truly are, and have always been.

Tradition means you are never alone.

Tradition means those alone with the Alone caravan when you journey and are home when you’re home

Tradition is time travel; past and future meet cheek to cheek and embrace one another, like old friends, inside your breast.

Tradition means a sea of hands raise in prayer when you raise your hands in prayer.

And when your small broken voice whispers its deepest desires a colorful chorus of majestic voices sing, “Ahhh! Meeen!”

Tradition means the invisible center the dervish whirls around is the same center each one of his masters whirled around no matter if they whirled in Madina or Brooklyn.

Tradition means there is no distance between Madina and Brooklyn.

Tradition means his name on your tongue is really his name on the first tongue to utter his name.

Tradition is a door to a room that has never heard of “before” before.

Tradition means each drop in the river is in communion with the spring at the summit.

It must only whisper to be heard.

Tradition means each drop in the ocean is the ocean in a drop.

Tradition means we never suffer alone

Tradition means we never rejoice alone

Tradition means there is a glorious gathering, a veritable Hu’s who, that shows up with you every time you walk through our door.

When we open that door to let you in you become a door that lets in beings beating drums of celebration and bearing exquisite gifts

Tradition means just like you got your eyes from your father and your brow from your mother; your cheek bones from your grandmother and your grandfather’s chin...

there is an invisible lineage from which you inherited your spiritual visage

and we see all their faces when we look at you.

Alas, they can only be seen through the heart’s eye.

The same eye through which they are looking back at us as you sit here.

But, not all have I’s to see

Tradition means each breath is shared

Tradition means each step is prayer

Tradition means even if you let go of them They will never let go of you.

Tradition means an expanse of compassion is patched into your most intimate stillnesses.

And a thousand intentions accompany each miniscule action.

Tradition means there is an I above every story you play a part in.

who witnesses.

Death

Death studies the fire altar that leads to heaven.

Death takes field notes on obscure botanical specimens.

Death evesdrops on family picknicks and on intimate lovers under quilt canopies.

Death skips along the side walk, holding an empty lunch pail, without a care in the world, on its way home.

Death sits silent while being reprimanded.

Explanations are demanded of Death but Death won't cough up any answers.

Is Death defiant?

Is Death apathetic?

Is Death afraid?

Death swings on a rope far above the river and at the highest point: lets go.

Death sits in the window seat of a 747 and looks down at the world below.

Death doesn't wear a seat belt.

Death goes to the yacht club, and sips bourbon on the rocks.

Death waters the plants one-by-one, with great care, and doesn't miss a single leaf.

Death goes for a leisurely meandering through the meadow at noontime.

Before supper Death sits silent during grace holding hands with the person beside him.

Death struts on the cat walk.

Death rubs sun tan lotion on the back of a bronzed beach babe.

When it's fourth and goal Death is in the huddle.

Of both teams.

Death is in the dugout digging its cleats into the earth.

Death is in the back alley strung out.

Death is in the hospital late at night

With penny loafers on.

Death's slow foot steps reverberate down the halls.

Death steps eerily slow.

Death pauses before your door.

And you hold your breath

Paralyzed in fear that Death will walk in.

But Death continues on down the hall.

Death didn't come in. This time.

Death sings Happy Birthday around the cake and helps blow out the candles.

Death dresses in all black and stands melancholy in a sea of somber umbrellas during the well- rehearsed eulogy on a rainy day funeral.

Death tucks you in for bed.

Death goes alone to the movie theatre.

Death kneels at all houses of worship.

Death prostrates at the Ka'ba.

Death sits beneath the Boddhi tree.

Death warms itself at the burning bush.

Death is in the Virgin's womb.

Death can't turn water to wine. But it can turn wine to blood.

Of course, Death is in the eagle's talons and the lion's paws

But it is also in the just-opening-rose and the lady bug's tiny spots.

Death is present on Arjuna's battlefield.

Death is present on every battlefield.

Death is there on the Day of Rising When Death is brought in the form of a salt-colored-ram and slaughtered.

But until then, Death is present at every joyous birth every wedding every first budding love and every goodbye-for- the-last-time.

Death is there at every intimate lover's ecstatic union

Death is part of that ecstasy. Without death it wouldn't be quite as pleasurable

Death is invited and addressed intimately in every mystic's mountaintop seclusion every monk's cloister every dervish's orbit around an invisible center every sadhu's barefooted step every shaman's solitary vision quest into the unknown inner infinite mystery of being.

Death wrote every sacred scripture. Or at least, without Death, they would never have been written.

Death goes out dancing at night with fancy shoes on.

Death's slow foot steps reverberate down the dance floor.

Death steps eerily slow.

Death pauses before you.

And you hold your breath paralyzed in fear that Death will walk up and ask for this dance.

But Death continues on again down the dance floor. Death didn't ask. This time.

She Wrote Poems in Secret

She wrote poems in secret She wrote secrets in poems And said she only felt communion When she sat silent all alone

She appeared odd and quiet But sat politely just the same She wore the clothes of the simple And her room was small and plain

But within it was a window That looked out upon the sea The firmament beyond it, And the fire underneath

Those who ventured in her chamber Said no such window they could find She'd just look at them with sadness And say, "This window's in the mind."

They'd say, "Come outside, it's springtime There's a world out here to see". She'd say, "There's nothing in the cosmos That's not already here with me."

They said she's gone agoraphobic By depression she’s been had Anxiety has gripped her And a fever's made her mad

But the poems she had written Were of sweet September rain Love's immortal flowers Gardens green that never fade

How truth itself and beauty Become one beneath the grave And really always have been, Though a tongue can scarce explain

She wrote her poems in secret She wrote secrets in her poems And though no one could match her She died humble and unknown

| ‘She Wrote Poems In Secret’ c - #BarakaBlue 2016 | For Emily Dickinson & Rabia al-‘Adawiyya

#poetry sufi transcendentalist

Beyond Beyond stars, beyond ours Beyond planets and spheres Beyond quarks and quasars Beyond far, beyond near Beyond space, beyond time Beyond races and climes Beyond what we be on Beyond beings and signs Beyond letters, beyond words Beyond spoken and heard Beyond every thing that will And will never occur Beyond every number and shape You could ever conjure Beyond beyond Beyond beyond beyond, Ad infinitum absurd Beyond present, beyond presence Beyond the center and edges Beyond measure, beyond measured Beyond breath and the essence Beyond less than is more And more or less and the Lessons Of every messenger sent And every saint that ascended The seven heavens & escaped the veil of self in the presence And rent the illusion asunder in a thunder of blessings Where the lovers and the ascetics, And the mystical brethren Are dipping forever reverently in the rivers of heaven Beyond all that And all else a pen Could etch on this dead skin Beyond all recollection Every answer & question Every medicine, Every poison, Every cure, every weapon Beyond every poor fool Who ever tried to express him Beyond him or her With all these feeble expressions And all tongues fell prostrate For God's sake and direction Beyond the veils, Veils that separate From beyond What is destined Be and we were yonder realm That we already met in All praise to the beyond What they ascribe and profess, And associate and describe And debate in their lessons So beyond that it is nearer than the vein in your neck, And the thought in your mind And your heart to your spine And the clock to the time And the mirror To the reflection Then, let us stop here for reflection For, that is the secret That gives perception To the blind And gives the intellect to fall prostrate By design For, when you reach the furthest reaches of beyond You will find That the only thing beyond this Beyond is the Nigh.

Amber prostrations Meeting God at all stations Getting off At all stations Staying on It's all patience All along We're all patients Here Of all places So much that I could say But really it feels weightless A lot that I could claim Really it's all baseless Are we all nations? Tribes? All races? Are we beyond But entered incarnated Reincarnations Every breath taken Every step sacred Or else it's all wasted Every step sacred Else it's all wasted What if we all made it? Pearly gate greatness Eternity bliss The fire all vacant For what are we waiting? Now is all ancient Etched in eternities form We stand naked Every step sacred Or else it's all wasted Living the states Or else it's just statements Becoming the book Or else it's just language Live and embrace it Or else it's all vacant What will you leave with & what is it you came with? For what is gratitude? And for what is complaining? What if this were God's painting Then what is worth hating? If we're all brush strokes Then what is worth debating? What is worth attachment If this is all changing If this is all fading Amber prostrations Meeting God at all stations Getting off At all stations Staying on It's all patience All along We're all patients Here Of all places So much that I could say But really it feels weightless A lot that I could claim Really it's all baseless Are we all nations? Tribes? All races? Are we beyond But entered incarnated

"Before" does not outstrip Him, "after" does not interrupt Him "of" does not vie with Him for precedence "from" does not accord with Him "to" does not join with Him "in" does not inhabit Him "when" does not stop Him "if" does not consult with Him "over" does not overshadow Him "under" does not support Him "opposite" does not face Him "with" does not press Him "behind" does not limit Him "previous" does not display Him "after" does not cause Him to pass away "all" does not unite Him "is" does not bring Him into being "is not" does not deprive Him from Being. Concealment does not veil Him His pre-existence preceded time, His being preceded non-being, His eternity preceded limit. If thou sayest 'when', His existing has outstripped time; If thou sayest 'before', before is after Him; If thou sayest 'He', 'h' and 'e' are His creation; If thou sayest 'how', His essence is veiled from description; If thou sayest 'where', His being preceded space; If thou sayest 'ipseity' (ma huwa), His ipseity (huwiwah) is apart from things. Other than He cannot be qualified by two (opposite) qualities at one time; yet With Him they do not create opposition. He is hidden in His manifestation, manifest in His concealing. He is outward and inward, near and far; and in this respect He is removed beyond the resemblance of creation. He acts without contact, instructs without meeting, guides without pointing. Desires do not conflict with Him, thoughts do not mingle with Him: His essence is without qualification (takyeef), His action without effort (takleef).

(Mansour Al-Hallaj; Trans. A.J. Arberry)

Maybe there was worse than death And we'd been running from the wrong Direction Maybe, death Is the safety We've been yearning For Maybe we Suffocated with breath Have been Clutching a corpse Frantically clinging to our demise Fiendishly killing ourselves off with life Feverishly, Prostrating to poison Fanglike frozen icicles Dangling around our necks for Fashion Forward foot over foot To the end Of the plank walk The sea of sharks in my breast Are only fed with little chopped up pieces of my dignity I throw overboard to appease them Maybe this praise is killing me Apathy and indifference medicinal Every funeral freedom Every accolade sandbag every trophy atrophy Every round of applause a firing squad Every dollar earned a cycle of prostrations to A false god And at this very moment a voice comes to me, "Stop at once with this writing you need to go find an income. The sun is nearly at its zenith and what have you to show for your words? Your rent is due and what debts have you..." But maybe it's the revenue that has impoverished me Maybe the medicine has poisoned me That doctor has made me sick, Maybe it's the bleeding that's the cure Cupping, my hands helplessly To the heavens That is the answer Maybe it's the falling Face first In the mud Of existence That is pure And purifying Maybe success is in the trying Or even in the giving up And living up to my mental constructs of Success Much less than I will ever be Maybe I'll die broke and lonely and thereby gain the secret And the solace Maybe I'll be Siddhartha smothered in the Palace And thereby miss the starving search That might bring me to the balance Maybe I would only find peace in this Barrage of ammunition And maybe I would only find silence if i Screamed loud enough to listen Maybe "I don't know" Is my knowledge And if so, I'm a knower to the core Maybe those so safe and sound Are in the most destructive war Maybe here and now Is all we'll find forever more And only drowning in this ocean Will bring us finally to the shore

Nothing isn't a poem

To the Unseeable Animal

My Daughter: "I hope there's an animal Somewhere that nobody has ever seen. And I hope nobody ever sees it." Being, whose flesh dissolves at our glance, knower of the secret sums and measures, you are always here, dwelling in the oldest sycamores, visiting the faithful springs when they are dark and the foxes have crept to their edges. I have come upon pools in streams, places overgrown with the woods' shadow, where I knew you had rested, watching the little fish hang still in the flow; as I approached they seemed particles of your clear mind disappearing among the rocks. I have waked deep in the woods in the early morning, sure that while I slept your gaze passed over me. That we do not know you is your perfection and our hope. The darkness keeps us near you. Wendell Berry

i thank You God for most this amazing day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees and a blue true dream of sky;and for everything which is natural which is infinite which is yes (i who have died am alive again today, and this is the sun's birthday;this is the birth day of life and love and wings:and of the gay great happening illimitably earth) how should tasting touching hearing seeing breathing any-lifted from the no of all nothing-human merely being doubt unimaginable You? (now the ears of my ears awake and now the eyes of my eyes are opened) ee Cummings

Who made the world? Who made the swan, and the black bear? Who made the grasshopper? This grasshopper, I mean - the one who has flung herself out of the grass, the one who is eating sugar out of my hand, who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down - who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes. Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face. Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away. I don't know exactly what a prayer is. I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass, how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields, which is what I have been doing all day. Tell me, what else should I have done? Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon? Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life? - Mary Oliver

I don’t know when we became strangers But I know you now more than ever

Dear Gratitude, Thank you.

thank you breath. thank you light. thank you pain. thank you ego. thank you loss. thank you friends. thank you reminders. thank you synchronicities. thank you trust. thank you faith. thank you thank you. thank you nourishing nutrients. thank you plants. thank you animals. thank you all beings. thank you teachers. thank you wisdom. thank you mother. thank you father. thank you sister. thank you brother. thank you elders. thank you all beings. thank you source. thank you one. thank you compassion. thank you gentleness. thank you strength. thank you understanding. thank you time. thank you words. thank you beyond words. thank you trust. thank you faith. thank you body. thank you all. thank you stomach. thank you spine. thank you mind. thank you cells. thank you teachers. thank you visions. thank you yearning. thank you contentment. thank you vessel. thank you wine. thank you beloved. thank you bartender. thank you stumbling drunk. thank you raging mad. thank you wits end. thank you storm. thank you outward. thank you inward. thank you transcendent. thank you close. thank you too much. thank you too little. thank you just right. thank you thank you. thank you again. thank you song. thank you voice. thank you choice. thank you destiny. thank you blessing. thank you baraka. thank you chosen one. thank you neglected one. thank you hypocrite. thank you smoke. thank you fire. thank you spark. thank you eye. thank you heart. thank you art. thank you inspiration. thank you day. thank you night. thank you sun. thank you all. thank you wrath. thank you justice. thank you fear. thank you power. thank you will. thank you worries. thank you growth. thank you humility. thank you arrogance. thank you light. thank you dark. thank you shadow. thank you serpent. thank you lessons. thank you rain. thank you discipline. thank you practice. thank you death. thank you life. thank you epiphany. thank you infinity. thank you memories. thank you then. thank you now. thank you eternity. thank you eternally. thank you again until there is no time. and thank you then just the same. thank you gratitude.

Time & Space

Time is silly So is space I'm here, I'm there. I'm then, I'm now There it's then now. Here it's not yet then He was And no longer is As all of us Will be. We once weren't And yet we are It never wasn't now And then has never come Yet I wait for a moment when I'll be finally all I've ever been Time is silly So is space Here & now is all we've ever found Though we've searched for then and there It always slipped our grasp somehow The future was a lie the past is but a dream There is just a place no one has never been When I finally got to then it had turned itself to now & every now and then I would find that then was here somehow When I finally got to there here is all that I could see Oh I kept seeking you but when I got to you My I was you and you were me

Very excited to be on the road for the next few months. Hitting 9 countries on 5 continents. Many places for the first time (France, Indonesia, Malaysia, Singapore, Australia). I'll be posting regular updates on dates & venues, performance footage, pictures and videos from the road and just basic tour shenanigans on www.facebook.com/barakabluemusic . Stay tuned. Love & Light!

If you wish to understand this way. (A sketch).

If you wish to understand this way watch a simple man wash his feet for prayer A desert man. A forest man. All you'll need to understand this Deen is the amount of time it takes a mountain man to mount his steed To watch a poor woman who never learned to read pick the Book up in her wrinkled hands when everyones asleep press it to her forehead and lips is all you need to understand its contents and everything it means. Listen only to a man who hears the silence in the sound If you can hear his heart beat when his forehead hits the ground you will understand the meaning the meaning of this way and when you understand there will be little left to say. and when you understand there will be little left to say. For you'll be listening to signs all around you and on that day when finding them has found you you will no longer object to the fools and what they say You have never seen, if you've never seen a blind man pray. Or a mute man tell you with his eyes what no language can convey. Or a murderer shed tears of repentance in a cage never finding freedom until he became a slave. Many men are filled to the brim with very little in ignorance of ignorance and think they hold the riddle a simple man's head is empty only an emptiness can fit the truth only when the sand has settled can you see the waters through Only when you learn to read the symbols can you see the author's view only when you polish the mirrors face can you see the authors you. When the shots were fired crowd feet fled, dust grew only when the smoke cleared could you see who you shot was you And there you lay smoke rising from your barrel Moses' people running free the flood engulfing Pharaoh And there you lay Joseph in the well the brothers running home with the tales that they will tell and there you lay in peace in horror there you stood everything and nothingness merging in a yellow wood. As they diverge again for good and you must choose a way follow an unlettered orphan and you'll never go astray. You'll never go astray you'll never go astray. Watch how he plants his feet and you will understand this way.

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