Worlds Away

what the nomad brought home

Anima — Sex vs. Spirit

In a fog of fallibility,
Time and space divide,
While sex and spirit somehow form the haze
That happens
To be nothing more
Than life.
But, flawed and finite,
Unenlightened,
Here I stand —
Joyfully divested of my reason,
Relinquished to my humanity —
And I worship at the altar of your bed.

I’ll keep seeking what’s eternal
In a temporary self,
Rejoicing at the forever life-force surge
In your movement through the temple,
Where I fall to my knees in surrender of my spirit
Before the votive
That you light with borrowed breath,
The prayers you beg with lover’s tongue,
And the desperate pilgrimage you endeavor —
Aching, spent, and fallen
With fleeting flesh,
A sacrificial lamb unto your own,
In this transcendental, timeless rite
Of ever-entangling, oft-repeated selves.

November 12, 2008 Posted by | Poetry, Reincarnation, Sex | , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Haunting

You said, “Who’s at the door?”
     I said, “Your slave.”
You said, 
 
“What do you want?”
     “To see you and bow.”
“How long will you wait?”
     “Until you call….”
Why
did you come?”
     “The musk of your wine was in the air….”
(“Talking Through the Door” — Rumi)

I discovered the above poem two weeks after having written what follows and thought I’d include it because it seems to possess a similar theme.  On that note, my own musings follow….

           I hear your voice,
           Turn my face toward the whisper
           That for a second was my name
           And with eyes closed, I inhale a vision
           So unmistakably yours
           That I realize I don’t know who you are.

           Unaware of your restless soul’s digression,
           You visit me as would a teenage lover
           Whose gleeful anticipation eclipses conscious thought
           And we meet in an embrace on this spot we chose
           Lifetimes before.

           You enter through my breath–
           So predictably exotic!–
           And descending upon this flesh,
           You roll over my tongue
           In every language I have ever known
           Only to slip off my fingertips
           And leave me empty-handed,
           Never having seen the thief
           Who robs my reason
           Leaves not but a footprint
           Sows poetry in his wake
           And doesn’t even know that he was there.

March 16, 2008 Posted by | muse, Poetry, Reincarnation, Uncategorized | , , , , , | Leave a comment