When I Was The Forest
When I was the stream, when I was the
forest, when I was still the field
when I was every hoof, foot,
fin and wing, when I
was the sky itself,
no one ever asked me did I have a purpose, no one ever
wondered was there anything I might need,
for there was nothing
I could not love.
It was when I left all we once were that
the agony began, the fear and questions came,
and I wept, I wept. And tears
I had never known before.
So I returned to the river, I returned to
the mountains. I asked for their hand in marriage again,
I begged—I begged to wed every object and creature,
and when they accepted,
God was ever present in my arms.
And He did not say,
“Where have you
For then I knew my soul—every soul—
has always held
Why So Many Souls
When were you last really happy?
Let that experience ferment,
bring it to mind once
in a while.
Surely in the genesis of that past moment, when you danced,
you would not have wanted a constable
to have knocked
or have said, “You just entered
a restricted ground.”
Why are there so many stars and souls,
with no end in sight for
Because nothing can interrupt God
when He is having
A hand in my soul can reach out and touch Jerusalem
as my other hand tastes the beauty of the Rhine.
And my bare foot can stand upon the holy ashes of rain—each drop a
fallen Phoenix—that sang out from the fire of union
The hills, the valleys, the beasts, the vineyards, the sacred meadows
on our earth and body—they shall pass and ascend as all form does,
tiring of the space within a cage;
for all crowds the soul but the infinite. Ascenders to God we are.
Look though how we enrich this planet with our melting organic
shadows, wondrous shadows are all but He.
What a womb God has—what wild love He must have made to
Himself for days and days without stopping
to have given birth to all you can imagine, and to all you cannot conceive.
Draw a circle around the frontiers of space, barely can God fit a
All language has taken an oath to fail to describe Him;
any attempt to do so is the height of arrogance and will
always declare some kind of war:
the inner ones that undermine our strength, and the outer conflicts
that maim red.
I cried out one night in the madness of separation from love,
in the madness of doing, of trying to add to the Perfect;
for Perfect is All.
The awakened heart is like a luminous sphere—just giving without
thought to any who may come close or gaze at it.
The soul becomes blessedly lost to all
but its own holy
When we cannot be who we are our divine senses become mute,
mute and sick from the insanity of judging
what He made Immaculate.
Who must God have made love to in order to have given birth to all this sound,
to this sacred spectrum of color, scents, and music from the
wind’s body and existence’s plea for mercy—that
plea for the real mercy, unbearable joy?
Once we had four legs and tails so useful to balance our raid into
heaven, and I found them again.
I am a swimming galaxy tonight. Angels prowl around me
hoping I will toss them a fresh piece of light—
here dears, here, my sack is full.
The universe rents space from me, and oceans are drawn
from my well. How can that be?
For I can touch Jerusalem while my other hand tastes
the beauty of the
Yes, I can kiss Jerusalem while my mouth
tastes the wonders of
They are always kissing, they can’t
It is not possible
that any creature can have greater instincts
and perceptions than the
mature human mind.
So I see it is true:
all objects in existence are
Knowledge always deceives.
It always limits the Truth, every concept and image does.
From cage to cage the caravan moves,
but I give thanks,
for at each divine juncture
my wings expand
touch Him more