One

Because God is within man,
In the twilight of consciousness,
Man claims: I am God therefore I am.

Out of clay God created man in His image,
So man is only a god made of clay,
A god who is a mere man who returns to being dust
In the end.

A prayer

I wanted to share this prayer with those who by chance stray into this blog. I believe it is one of many prayers of the Carthusian monks. I picked it up from a book titled "An infinity of little hours" by Nancy Klein Maguire. Here it is:
“Sustain me, Lord, as you have promised, that I may live; disappoint me not in my hope.”

Mysticism: is it the real thing ?

Liquid like water

If you see me in deep waters,
I ask you to please let me be alone,
I am not drowning. When I am liquid like water
I want to be with the weightless sea.
I want to remain suspended, beneath the surface,
breathing in and breathing out thick marine air
with immense lung of the deep. Because answers
come to me in bits and pieces of undefined questions,
I like to think with the hollowness of wind,
Being liquid I soak up all things – trash and truth.
Like the sea, I am filled with filth and purity
Heavier than many lifetimes.

Sin in sex

If only sex were boring and painful, there would be no worries about sins and ills of illegal sex. Imagine there is no pleasure in sex we would avoid having sex like the plague. The population of course will dwindle and the species will fail. Then, not to have sex would be a grave mortal sin, truly!

Building a sun, one word at a time

You came from those pale blue eyes,
disregarding all my concerns and opinions,
at such a time in my life when I almost did not exist.
You came in my life, like music from another ocean,
With unfamiliar rhythms and tragedy.
Your words and songs made little sense to me.
I had not begun to understand then.
What did you expect of me, I was only
a kid from rough end of the village,
unlettered in your ways and language,
interested more in my existence than your resurrection?

Because it was dark when I came to this world,
I wanted to place another sun in the sky.
I spent hours, working often late into nights,
Trying to build a sun out of my available resources.
In the scheme of things which is greater than I can comprehend,
Perhaps there ought not to be two suns in the same sky,
And half a dozen suns can never dispel the darkness within.
I have realized that certain things must be left the way they are
and original order of creation being one among them. Since then,
I have abandoned my project, although I am no quitter.
Now, I understand, my existence in eternity is
a function of your resurrection in reality.
So, I say let night be night and it is perfect, perfect like the weather.
Let dust cover my face and name and that too is perfect,
As perfect as a flower blooming in the distant memory.
Your words when spelt out become stars in my sky.
Be my sun, simply, O Lord, in the dark sky of my soul.