Eternity
Eternity is in love with the productions of time — William Blake, The Marriage of Heaven a…
The world went away on a hunting trip
and left us alone in the
long and short corridors and sudden
staircases ascending heavenly levels
A gray light entered around us with
whispering tread and a soft
electrical energy whose crackle was a
new language to our ears but whose
words seemed to emanate from our
hearts
There were no edges or slopes no
ledges or shale cliffs no
entrances or exits all simply
spacelessly spacious and
timelessly timeless in a
placeless place whose
air was our selves obliterated
and whose Presence was
Allah
What kind of rose speaks to us out of the
grave of our selves?
What eyes look into our eyes
in the new place?
What road are we on when
all roads are gone?
If the truth speaks through us would
birds scatter from the trees?
How do we refer to this or that when the
self is obliterated
or is there a this or that instead of simply
one This and for all else the
same rose multiply
multiplied?
The beauty of a horse assuages the pain of
separation
The glistening gait of a horse
dissolves separation
The ecstatic gallop of a horse through
light after light brings
unity and separation both
into this place at last
and no rose blooms that isn’t
the golden rose of a nothingness
that brings us face to face with the
rose of His Face
unveiled
I awake from a deep sleep into a
deep sleep
I could be aboard a windy galleon
tilting dangerously in a
thunderous sea
but I’m in Philadelphia in the same
room I went to sleep in
The same glow of a lamp overhead
keeping vigil above me
and any angels who might be near
whose world is this world as well as
the unseen
intersectioned by our visionary treks in
sleep or in waking states
opening doors and
entering rooms in which
the Prophet Muhammad God’s
peace be upon him might be
sitting surrounded by his
Companions
in the same glow of a
lamp keeping vigil above them
and he might just look up as we
enter and his soft strong eyes
lock for a moment with ours and
burn everything away that isn’t
Allah in that sweet
incendiary instant
10/28/11 (from The Match That Becomes a Conflagration)
Categories: Poems, The Prophet Muhammad (salallahu alayhi wa sallam)