All I have to offer

is my yearning,

my limitedness.

Too human

and too small.

But you take it

and then

you take some more.

As though it were the first gift

from the first child.

Is there any better thanks for such love

than to offer away

still more of my so-human smallness?

Make a crack in the pot,

let all the water drain out.

It won't be so heavy anymore ;-)

The complacency is jarring.

Every action seems like a pretense,

an attempt at evasion.

There is a discontent

that stirs from within the depths of the soul

and everything crumbles before it.

The last drops of consolation have fallen.

Still,

there is some peace in emptiness.

Locked doors
and tightly shut windows
are earnest
in their attempt
to trap you within the shadows.

The brick walls
only get stronger
that are held in place
by your envy.

Until you hear a tapping.
Love knocks at your life;
and it is only
immensity that is left
to clear the cobwebs,
to sing life back into the house,
dancing in the darkness.

But can these
blood-painted lips then say
"I did my best"
or do they cry out
to the stranger at the door
"why must you chose me for your loving?"

These pillars that you build

to hold the Self up,

will crumble.

Your palace

will crash to the ground.

All that is left

in the ruins,

is a message from the river.

To pour yourself

into it,

allow it

to take you where it will.

Pray,

that these rough,

hard rocks

may be smooth once more.

Firm,

so that they may

form the river-bed.

Kabir Bhajan

नैहरवा हम का न भावे...

साई कि नगरी ...परम अति सुन्दर,

जहाँ कोई जाए ना आवे

चाँद सुरज जहाँ, पवन न पानी,

कौ संदेस पहुँचावै

दरद यह... साई को सुनावै

आगे चालौ पंथ नहीं सूझे,

पीछे दोष लगावै

केहि बिधि ससुरे जाऊँ मोरी सजनी,

बिरहा जोर जरावे

विषै रस नाच नचावे

बिन सतगुरु आपनों नहिं कोई,

जो यह राह बतावे

कहत कबीर कबीर सुनो भाई साधो,

सपने में प्रीतम आवे

तपन यह जिया की बुझावे

Translation

I am listless in this house of my parents
my Beloved's town is most beautiful,
from which no-one comes or goes
Neither sun nor moon
wind or water
make their residence there.

Who will carry this message there?
Who can tell my Beloved of this pain?

I see no path to light my way forward
and for this
I blame what has passed.

How do I build a bridge to reach that house?
with these pangs of seperation
burning like a fire within.

Duality dances before me.

There is none other than the Guru
who can show me this path.

"Your Beloved will come to you
as though it were a fantasy,
and that alone
will quench your thirst."
said Kabir to the aspirant.

Passion does not come
in manageable proportions.
Bite sized,
and neat.
Wrapping paper
and ribbons,
don't seem to fit.

It is a life force
that carves it's own path.
Just as
the white mountain river
cuts it's course
through the
steep,
hard rocks.

It is the song that
sings itself
within the soul.
Your work is
to dance
to the music.

It will come to you;
In the quiet of the night,
in the crowd
of a busy street,
and in those moments between
the beating
of your heart.

You must stop then,
and dance.