My Sufi teacher told me I had the penetrating gaze
I turned this gaze on many and it helped them dissolve
One day the Inner Voice imparted,
“Turn this gaze on your Self.”
The Beacon of Light annihilated all that was-not
And what remains simply Is
The end of the world, at the close of the day,
comes not as holocaust, but a soft melting away
of terrors, and errors, and mad masquerades,
so that who we seem changes as the nightmare fades.
The heart sounds the trumpet and light is reborn
to show us our shadows are all we must mourn,
that this solid seeming we clung to so dear
was but a phantasm disguising our fear.
All physical senses that we humans cherish
burn away in the truth, where only lies perish.
And when we awaken in that last day’s last phase
we’ll blaze there like novae in endless arrays.
In the blink of an instant we’ll know as we’re known
and love will enfold another orphan come home.
At last we’ll prove what creations we are
a singular miracle outshining all stars.
And when we’ve remembered, and illusions have gone,
We’ll all wake eternal in one endless dawn.
Eschaton is a fancy word for “end of the world”
Thank you, Oscar Senn, for your beautiful poem.
Read MoreHe says it’s not so serious, that everything’s all right;
in a voice so clear and certain, so low and calmly quiet,
that when he speaks, peace is present, palpable and real,
carried not by sounds in air, but what my heart can feel.
Sudden recognition of a forgotten friend’s return
Brings a lifting of the spirit, absolution from concern.
It’s an instant of remembering, a moment unrehearsed –
time outside of time, where disorder is reversed.
His voice falls soft and thoughtful, behind and to my right –
he must have been been there all along, just outside of sight.
So winding was our road, so rapt was I in thought,
I forgot he paced my every step in that unseen spot.
He doesn’t even mention what a stranger I have been,
or all the ways I’ve wandered since last I spoke with him.
No question comes between us, not a single why or how,
a seeming lifetime’s passage cannot separate us now.
In a smiling voice he answers the last doubt that crossed my mind
with such simple stunning wisdom, so artfully opined,
that the path before us vanishes, the trees all fade away,
but in their passing shadows sparkle stars and suns at play.
The stately ordered movements of the cosmos, moon and stars,
flow from his speech like richest wine from finest earthen jars.
I drink, and heaven opens, dimensions reflect all ‘round,
in mirrored halls of the elder king where a prince reclaims a crown.
A prince who traveled with me as a brother and a friend,
who never once asked a thing of me, neither homage nor amends,
but calm and patient, shared my search, whispering in one ear,
reminding, teaching, persuading me to love instead of fear.
Thank you, Oscar, for giving me permission to reprint your beautiful poem. For those of you who loved this one, you can find more ACIM poetry at www.miracleshare.org
Copyright 2013 Oscar Senn
Read MoreWe dangled our legs over the precipice and gazed at the sea.
Only one star glittered in the milky night sky.
The sea bled backwards into the past,
lingered imperceptibly on the horizon,
then rose up, spreading an opaque dome over our heads
We sat, formless, on the cool sand
surrounded by night-noise and sea-shells,
savoring the immediacy of the moment.
Heading home, car lurching over pitted ground,
we passed a farmhouse growing out of the earth.
One yellow window gleamed like a cat’s eye
in the night, reminding me not to forget.
© 1976 Amy Torres
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