What do you think of this one, Mashe???????????

BLISS CANNOT BE DESCRIBED Meher Baba Bliss is something quite distinct from happiness and misery. Happiness and misery are gained through experiences of the mind. Bliss is something totally different; after the death of the mind, what the soul gains through God is bliss. Happiness and misery are due to the mind, while bliss exists on account of the soul. Bliss cannot be described. It cannot be grasped. It is to be experienced. LORD MEHER, 1st ed, Vol. 5, p. 1190, Bhau Kalchuri 1986 © Avatar Meher Baba Perpetual Public Charitable Trust

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What do you think of this one, Mashe?????

EVERYONE STANDING BY WAS VERY SURPRISED Mehera J. Irani In November 1928 Baba decided to return to Meherabad. It had been a very wet November, and we were all tired of the dampness. Toka is on the confluence of three rivers, and when leaving Baba crossed one of them by boat to get to His car on the opposite bank. Baba's driver, trying to make it easy for Baba to get into the car, brought it too close to the river bank, and the car got bogged there in a wet, sandy dip. The driver tried to drive it out, but it was too firmly bogged. Baba then called for some bullocks, and the villagers quickly brought six pairs of them. They harnessed the bullocks up to the car, and the villages shouted at the bullocks to move. The six pairs of bullocks pulled and strained, but the car did not budge. Again and again they tried, but still the car would not move. It was stuck in the wet sand. Baba said, "Wait, let the bullocks loose," and He called to Patel, the headman of Arangaon, who loved Baba (he had given Baba a bucket and pail to draw water from the well at Meherabad in 1923) and who had come to Toka with his two bullocks. "Bring your two bullocks and harness them up." Everyone looked at each other wondering how one pair of bullocks could pull the car out when six pairs had failed, but Patel brought his bulls and harnessed them to the car. Baba went up to them, and He gave them a good, hard pat on their rumps with His palm, as if urging them, "Come on, come on, do your best." As they started to pull, very gradually and very slowly the car came out of the wet sand. Everyone standing by was very surprised. Here were two bullocks doing what twelve had not been able to do, and then they realised that it was Baba who given the bullocks the strength to pull the car out. Baba kept these two bullocks when they were brought back to Meherabad, and from that time He did not let them work very hard. When they died Baba did not allow them to be treated like other bullocks. They were buried with great honour in a place selected by Baba. MEHERA, pp. 98-99 1989 © Avatar Meher Baba Perpetual Public Charitable Trust

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Journal Entries, March 2007

3/20/07

Who will do the work?

I see her with Him, existing in eternity,
Where there is no work.
There are no gifts.
There is nothing to do or be.
But, she is me, and I am here in the Now.
Do I work? Am I just Being?
Is there anything for me to do?
For the first time, I feel free to just live in the moment.
No more race to Run.
Baba Ran at a standstill.


3/24/07

In the Now

This morning I left Bill's house and went home to take Sheila's call and do laundry. This afternoon I cried because I won't get married and have a child. In the Now, I remind myself that I am complete — just the way I am. I am at One with Baba in Eternity, and I need nothing else.

The Awakener

GIFT OF GRACE Mary Backett We first met Baba at Kitty Davy's home in London (April, 1932). He was seated in a small room at the top of the house, surrounded by some close devotees. They did not hear me enter, but Baba sprang up with the agility, power and grace that characterize all his movements and came quickly forward. He then signed me to sit beside him — and took my hand with that gentle touch we know so well. Immediately I felt a great upliftment of consciousness, such as I had never experienced with anyone before. I had been searching and reading deeply for many years and knew that now I had found the Master and that the long search was over. He gave me more, far more, in the space of three minutes than I had gained in thirty years of earnest seeking or through others, because I experienced the tangible, definite gift of Grace and Divine Love that he bestowed, whereas others could only talk about it. I knew who Baba is. It was the great event of my life to meet him. It was at Mabel and Margaret's flat a short time later that I met Baba for the second time, and Baba on this evening, to my unspeakable joy, relief and surprise, definitely took us (Will and I) under his own guidance. It is difficult to realize that there was a time when he was not consciously in our life. Some of the most wonderful experiences we have had have been in watching Baba's ways of helping those who come to him for help. Such diverse people with such diverse troubles and needs — and to each he gives with surety and certainty, out of his Divine Wisdom and Love, what is needed. To see his life of Love and Divine Perfection is the greatest assurance and strength and to watch the change of character in oneself and in others is the surest proof of his work. From Spain Baba sent me a small stone and a sprig of herb, and as I held the stone I was conscious of the gift of Grace sent with it, bathing one in its consciousness. The same conscious feeling comes with every letter Baba sends and is spoken of by numbers of those who received letters from him. THE AWAKENER MAGAZINE, Vol. 9, No. 3, pp. 5-6, ed Filis Frederick

At the Risk of Sounding Foolish and Romantic

Ok, so I said I was looking "to the end" and pulling away from relationships.

But, really???

If you've looked through the tabs on this site, you will see that I have begun to publish my novel. Within the pages of this work is an epic poem, which really *begins* and *ends* as a truly romantic love story.

If he's reading, my Kenyan friend may find something interesting in Verse Five of The Song of Baba Ran.

                                               5. Michael
                                                                                           26
In her sleeping dreaming
Her dreaming full of sleep
Baba Ran unconscious
Wild company does keep.
Michael is her sergeant,
Uncompromising lord.
The warrior is training
For eventual release.
The bloodthirsty Angel
A death sword in his hand
Keeps Baba Ran in boot camp
His love a secret stored.
No time to waste in loving
Her heart as hard as stone,
Baba Ran prepares for battle
And victory's reward.
                                                                                           27
It is an epic battle,
The evil and the good.
In every rung of heaven
The battlefield is laid.
There can be no weaklings
In the terror game.
A soldier is a killer
No matter what her name.
Call her Baba Ran,
Call her June the meek,
The woman in the armor
Is destined to succeed.
Unconscious of the fighting
June blindly lives her life.
Unconscious of the Earthly
Baba Ran prepares to fight.
                                                                                           28
The stunning Angel Michael,
A handsome, growling star,
Watches Baba Ran and June
Loving from afar.
The angels all assembled
Listen silently to him
As he barks out orders
And hands out pints of gin.
This is a manly army
And angels all are men
As usual the girl child
Gets disrespect again.
But Baba Ran is different
From June the crying girl.
Her bravery is rocklike,
Her battle armor thin.
                                                                                           29
No blows dealt out defeat her
No tripping as she runs
In hurdles she outjumps them
Maneuvers just for fun
She doesn't need a rifle
Her weapons are her eyes
With bolts of lightning shocking
And arson fingers fire
Incinerate the enemy
And disappear in smoke
A grip so tight the victim
Has no time left to choke
Excelling so in war
She doesn't need to practice
But Michael keeps the pressure on
Wanting her Perfection.
                                                                                           30
The years of life fly by
For June and Baba Ran,
In dreaming meet each other
And then forget again.
Baba Ran unloving
And June who sadly sits.
Both waiting, and still waiting
For God's untimely call.
In the meantime learning
A little of the other
A glimpse in dreams or nightmares
A sister who will help.
"Baba Ran will teach me"
June dreaming oft will quote
"June will love me healthy"
Lonely Baba Ran does hope.
                                                                                           31
And always there is Michael,
June's childhood Angel friend,
And Baba Ran's commander.
To make her become One
God has given Michael
As a holy charge
This woman-child divided
A lover in his arms.
The feeling she engenders
Brings him close to tears.
He watches while she suffers
And grows throughout the years.
He cannot tell his secret
Until she has become
The unified Deliverer
Prophesied in song.
                                                                                           32
In dreaming June can feel him
A tender, loving gaze
A gentle lilting whisper
A manly touching graze.
Michael is invisible,
But June can plainly see
True Love is waiting for her.
Somewhere her lover holds
Her prayers and all the answers.
A man to change her life.
In every face she searches,
Her loving brings her strife.
Human love is lacking
An Angel's righteous heart.
For Michael she is pining
The Angel in the dark.

Endings

For the millionth time, it seems, I have embraced an "ending." Again.

I have been preparing for the ultimate "ending" . . . for a long time . . . and anybody who knows me well (and has any clue about my spiritual path and my studies) knows what I'm talking about. Meher Baba described his Manifestation in many ways, and referred to this period in history as Kaliyuga . . . and Baba people have been pondering the meaning of these terms (or really should have been) since he began discussing them nearly a century ago. All of this, after a lifetime of hearing my Christian friends prepare for "Armageddon" or "Rapture" or "The Second Coming of Christ" . . . the Y2K scare, the 911 scare, the Muslim "jihad," and on and on and on about "the end."

The END of what??? The end of TIME?? The end of the WORLD?? or simply the END of pain and suffering??

In minute ways, all my life, I have approached my goals as if they were indeed the "end" of my life. I have said to myself, so many times, things like "Ok, God. I intend to graduate from college in 4 years. If I do that, I will be able to die happy." And, I did it. And, when I did, I told God "I am happy now," and I prepared to die. But, after waiting for a while to see what would happen, I never actually died. So, I had to come up with a new goal or two along the way. One of those goals was to get a good job at a very prestigious university here in the Boston area . . . which I did, after a quite strenuous effort. But, upon reaching that goal, again I said "Ok! I'm happy. I can die, now." Again, no death. Time for a new goal.

I won't get into how painful life became after a while, and how for so long I was actually begging for death, and how even happiness no longer mattered . . . only death. So, truly, the worry over Armageddon and all that "end of the world" stuff really never got to me so much. My world ended for me on a daily basis — every time I woke up in the morning — for *years.*

Finally, though, there seemed to be some intriguing aspects to actually staying alive. Of course, there was always my daughter and the commitment I had to being as good a mother as I could, despite my history of depression. So, happiness in motherhood was always there and always a saving grace. And after my divorce, there were several long term relationships that offered some relief and glimpses into possible happiness. But, what I found out about relationships with the men in my life was that the only way to survive them with any happiness intact was to actually *end* them as soon as possible.

The relationships I have been through, and have ended peacefully, seem to have finally prepared me somehow to live freely *without* a relationship at all. Despite all the drive I had to "be in love" or "get married" . . . it was the freeing myself of these wishes, not the indulgence in them, that actually brought the peace and relief. At a time in my life where one of these temptations seems to have started up again,  I am again shedding myself of this age-old and somewhat crusty "need" and searching for an ending before there is even a beginning. It is the only way I am able to face Kaliyuga on my own . . . my own personal Armageddon . . . my interior Jihad . . . the shedding of the low desires in search of something higher and more meaningful. I pray that it, eventually, allows me to *actually* die happy.

Peace, friends. Shalom.

Baba Ran

Baba Ran

Now is the time for leaving
When the trees are red
In the future's grieving
Selfishness is dead

Too many souls are sleeping
Now that Maya rules
Forlorn and desperate weeping
In ever deepening pools

The coming of hope's winning
In this terrible game
Keeps the righteous grinning
Wondering at her name

She is the starlight shining
She is the blazing sun
She is the lover pining
She the victorious one

Praise her gentle loving
Praise her constant care
Her essence overhovering
Earth's crying child laid bare

More Poetry

The Tree

The tree is the hiding place
for nuts in winter.
Are they playing or fighting,
the ones who can climb it?
A wild eye, chattering teeth,
heart fluttering with the breath,
They race around the trunk
endlessly protecting what they think
is theirs.
The tree is unmoved by
the grey, furry game.
It shelters the nuts,
the squirrels,
the grass,
as if they all were one.



The Nurses

I have seen these women before
in a vague dream.
They are healers.
Her skin is bad,
and I am grateful
for all she has done
helping others.
I wonder how
a woman in a pink shirt
can be so blessed
with clear skin
and helping hands.



The Braid

My hair is too thin
to be this long.
I must wear it
in a twist
upon my head.
Will they cut my braid
when I die?



A Fat Girl

I eat constantly
and drink deep.
I love chocolate
and avocados,
but I am full.



One

One in all things
and yet apart.
The nameless existence
Speaks.



Today

When will I be full?
Today.
When will I have peace?
Today.
What is the answer?
Today.
Where are You?
Today.



The Blood

My suffering is bliss,
And I stab myself.
The blood is painless.
The wound does not burn.
Yet I am here
writing with this razor.



Candy

I am gaining weight.
Always the candy on my tongue
grows heavier and sweeter.
I drink it in,
and spill it from my lips.
It cannot quench the thirst
of the one who sips it.
But, the one who soaks in it
will finally taste it.



The Mirage

My heart is restless and I want to run
forward into the mirage.
The breath is hard to catch,
The limbs are heavy,
The guts are laden and bloated,
This garment no longer hides the
    nakedness,
And my restlessness is only the
    shadow of nothing.

Forever and Today

In a Maze of Darkness

wandering aimlessly
I find myself everywhere
I do not ask why
the man in the hat limps
I ask why
she smiles at him
and not at me
If they see me
from the corners of their eyes
I will smile
They do not look my way
I smile anyway

On Safari

In this latitude, we are quite insulated from the concerns over tiger attacks. I find this to be a very fortunate thing, having had quite a grave fear of this for some reason growing up. It must be my sensitivity to the possibility that I lived in India during my last lifetime, in a vulnerable period where the land was wild and untamed. I can feel the beauty of that land so sincerely, so much so that I actually wish for a dung floor in my home sometimes. So strange, to be an American, with so much at my fingertips, and to wish for something so earthy. By the way, in no way does a dung floor resemble "dirt" to me, a la my last post regarding the scummy stuff at the bottom of a lake. A dung floor smells of grass and heather. It is cool and easy to sweep. It will keep the moisture in during a very hot season. I know all of this, without ever stepping foot on one, and never having discussed it with anybody. I have no fear of a dung floor . . . only tigers.

Tigers on the prowl must be very sure that they are willing to do battle with my fear of them. It is such a chilling fear that it can squeeze the love out of me completely. A tiger must have drained me of blood at one point, because in the face of them I become bloodless, indeed. I am willing to face one, as I always do, but I will have my guard up. Be careful, tiger. Be gentle and warned. I love to face my fear of you, I love to overcome, and I do love you dearly. You are majestic and beautiful, and I long for the day that you will rest your snarly toothed head on my lap in surrender. I would love to stroke your face and gaze into your eyes, unadorned by sunglasses. But, those eyes hold a terror and a longing that entrances. Be ready for my Arabian daggers and gently lift the veils. I come to you via Allah and Baba and the forty thieves. Krishna was a happy man, but was too entranced by his flute to protect me from the tigers. It will be a much better day when we become brave in this land, together.

Blessed be.