The World Will Follow Joy Read online

  But

  Because there is peace

  You would not lose them forever

  But see them next time they come

  To town!

  You could go ice skating

  Or roller skating

  And no guns would go off

  Scaring you.

  You could grow old

  And have a nice long beard

  And no rockets

  Would appear

  To set fire

  To it!

  You could swim in the ocean

  And see turtles

  And whales

  And nothing would interrupt

  You, even if you fell asleep

  On your back!

  Not a single bomb

  Would be going off

  Anywhere!

  And people would let you drift

  To shore

  And then they’d wake

  You

  With music and some food

  That

  Would be strange to you

  But so delicious!

  They’d want you

  To like their peaceful land:

  They’d want to learn about yours.

  Peace is great for this sort of thing.

  And when you went home

  There would be a whole house

  Intact

  Waiting for you.

  Your room warm and cozy

  And your dog happy to see you

  And everything! Even the cat

  Might take a look at you,

  Seriously,

  As if she cared!

  All this can happen in peace.

  Never in war.

  And that is why Peace is always a good idea.

  Earth likes it too! She’s tired of being marched on and hit by crazy humans

  Who never see how sweet she is

  Or appreciate

  Her windstorms

  or

  Her curves.

  ***

  Hope

  Hope never

  to covet

  the neighbors’ house

  with the fragrant

  garden

  from which a family

  has been

  driven by your soldiers;

  mother, father,

  grandparents,

  the toddler and

  the dog

  now homeless:

  huddled, holding on

  to each other,

  stunned

  and friendless

  beneath you

  in the street:

  sitting on

  cobblestones

  as if on the sofas

  inside

  that you have decided

  to clean, recover and

  keep.

  Hope never

  to say yes

  to their misery.

  Hope never to gaze

  down into their faces

  from what used to be

  their rooftop.

  Hope never to believe

  this robbery

  will make you a better

  citizen of your new

  country

  as you unfurl and wave

  its recent

  flag

  that has been given

  to assure you

  of this impossibility.

  ***

  Tranquil

  15 years (!)

  have passed

  since you gave us

  the wicker

  picnic basket

  a gift

  you said

  to

  Our Romance!

  Today

  I took it out

  to use

  for the first time

  marveling at its crisp

  readiness

  after all

  these years.

  I washed

  the two white plates

  with their plain

  blue trim

  and dusted the glasses

  knives and forks

  and ran the still shiny

  bottle opener

  along my sleeve.

  I unwrapped the candle.

  What dreamers we were!

  And how the Universe

  opened itself up

  to us.

  Every moment

  we were not stressed

  our hearts jumping

  and shouting

  for joy.

  Those times

  are long gone

  now

  and I do not long

  for them anymore.

  Life has continued—

  filled

  with companion travelers

  to the stars

  and I

  thumb out

  to the wind

  always manage

  to catch

  a ride.

  I shake out

  the blue and white

  tablecloth and napkins—

  to adorn the pond side

  table

  of a simple cook-out

  with neighbors

  and their boys

  from down

  the hill.

  Happiness—

  with its gaggle of chickens, ducks and dogs—

  floods the scene.

  Still,

  Those were the days!

  I think,

  gloating

  over the Dance of Life

  —and our part in it—

  already done.

  I see

  for an instant

  your bright eyes

  and merry smile

  and savor

  the sweet, sweet music

  of memory

  that resides

  all these years

  later

  in a still

  charmed

  and tranquil

  heart.

  ***

  The Raping of Maids

  Alas,

  you do not know

  who your fathers are:

  they are the very reason

  you felt queasy

  not wanting the little girl

  on the bus

  to sit next to you.

  There she was

  in all her home-made

  finery,

  her hair curly, but with a similar

  drift

  to yours.

  Her eyes

  the ones you see

  briefly

  if he is home

  at breakfast.

  The history

  of this assault is long

  and so is memory

  among the poor.

  When you see your nanny

  attempt to rise

  at last

  go to her defense.

  You can do it now

  you are not a child

  helpless

  as you were

  for too long

  to help

  her stand.

  ***

  This Human Journey

  Don’t waste one moment

  Trying to be someone

  different

  or someplace other

  than where

  you are.

  This human journey

  is like

  finding yourself

  in Brussels

  rather than

  in Broccoli.

  Find out what’s good

  about the place

  —in Brussels

  as in Broccoli—

  there must be something.

  ***

  In This You Are Wrong

  In this

  you are wrong.

  Killing the prophet

  will not make

  you right.

  Her blood sent flying

  in all directions

  by your assault

  will become

  innumerable seeds

  that sprout

>   blades of bright grass

  announcing the truth

  like flags.

  Killing the prophet

  today

  means

  what it always has:

  wandering the desert

  of missed opportunity

  lost

  for another 1000 years.

  ***

  Hope to Sin Only in the Service of Waking Up

  Hope

  never to believe

  it is your duty

  or right

  to harm

  another

  simply because

  you mistakenly believe

  they are not you.

  Hope

  to understand

  suffering

  as the hard assignment

  even in school

  you wished

  to avoid. But

  could not.

  Hope

  to be imperfect

  in all the ways

  that keep you

  growing.

  Hope

  never to see

  another

  not even a blade of grass

  that is beyond your joy.

  Hope

  not to be a snob

  the very day

  Love

  shows up

  in love’s

  work clothes.

  Hope to see

  your own skin

  in the wood

  grains

  of your house.

  Hope

  to talk

  to trees

  & at last

  tell them everything

  you’ve always

  thought.

  Hope

  at the end

  to enter

  the Unknown

  knowing

  yourself. Forgetting

  yourself

  also.

  Hope to be consumed

  to disappear

  into your own

  Love.

  Hope to know

  where you are

  —Paradise—

  if nobody else

  does.

  Hope

  that every failure

  is an arrow

  pointing toward

  enlightenment.

  Hope to sin

  only

  in the service

  of waking up.

  ***

  The Part of God That Stings

  I am in agreement with the Buddha:

  that these are natural

  perhaps inevitable

  human states; that spiritual retreats

  though invaluable

  are not essential

  to their

  achievement.

  One day it will simply become

  crystal clear

  that all creatures

  younger than us

  are

  our children;

  just as all creatures

  and entities

  older than us

  trees

  and oceans

  included

  are our parents.

  Amma

  the hugging saint from Kerala

  has put

  this beautifully:

  She speaks of this awareness

  of being Mother

  of all

  while being Mothered

  by all

  as Divine Love.

  As God.

  One day

  perhaps while sitting blankly

  before a leaping fire

  at home

  or even while stalled in traffic

  on the freeway

  you will realize

  that all creatures

  when they enter

  your house

  are guests

  regardless

  of whether

  they frighten you:

  the ant, the gecko,

  the cockroach,

  the bat;

  and that you are a guest

  also

  in their

  much larger

  home.

  Mutual respect

  though this seldom means

  no killing

  or cursing at all

  is due.

  There will seem to be

  a few exceptions

  but surely

  this is illusion

  as so much is!

  For instance:

  scorpions, vipers, and yellow jackets

  in paradise?

  How to accept

  gracefully

  the part of God

  that stings!

  ***

  9/11: An Irrelevant Truth

  They tell so many lies

  I do not wonder that you have lost trust

  in human beings.

  Now you ask me seriously:

  Auntie, do those who tell humongous lies,

  and get away with it, celebrate their victories the same

  as those who tell, and get away with,

  smaller, “whiter” ones?

  Is it just a matter of bigger bottles

  of champagne,

  more expensive party girls

  and a bigger cake?

  What can I tell you?

  Never believe “the truth” as set before you

  by your enemies,

  is about all I would say.

  Be alert to whatever makes no sense

  to you.

  You are an expert, no matter how much they tell you

  that you are not.

  You know some things fall down

  crooked and some things

  fall down

  in a straight line:

  I am not speaking of your parents, but there too

  you’ve had experience.

  Humans,

  with all of our experience of it

  find absolute evil almost impossible

  to believe. Even looking at it.

  We will stand around

  shot through

  the eye

  and the heart

  and never notice we are being

  bled to death.

  That is why I feel this tenderness

  this overwhelming

  tenderness

  for the human race:

  we are so gullible and so trusting

  and so afraid by now: we are willing to believe

  anything;

  even that Truth itself is irrelevant

  if the lie is big enough.

  ***

  The Buddha’s Disagreeable Relative

  Even the Buddha, the Enlightened one,

  had a disagreeable relative.

  I learned this while on retreat

  in the homeland of

  notable tough relatives:

  the state of Texas

  U.S.A.

  Although it doesn’t really matter

  where we learn

  the bit of news that helps us.

  We are grateful!

  I think I learned he was a cousin, maybe a nephew

  of Gautama

  but anyhow

  he hated Buddha.

  Lied about him, made up stories,

  stole Buddha’s stuff: one of his cloaks, his best begging bowl, maybe, or a couple

  of his walking sticks.

  How much stuff does a Buddha own,

  after all?

  Why should the Buddha of all people

  even need a disagreeable relative?

  our teacher asked.

  He was from Harvard University

  in New England

  where there are

  as many notable disagreeable relatives

  as in Texas

  and where one imagines

  talk of the Buddha

  must take many an elegant academic twist and evasive turn.

  But to the sufferer in the trenches

  of familia
l acrimony

  and abuse

  the only answer

  must be this:

  no one is exempt

  and certainly not a Buddha

  from the need to balance

  enlightenment

  with the

  head bowing despair

  of daily practice.

  ***

  We Who Have Survived

  For Troy Davis

  Though they elicit

  yawns

  from our friends

  we who have survived

  fierce battle

  must tell our war stories

  over and over

  again.

  Our tale is like a lost

  coin

  re-found

  when we are starving

  shining with new power

  of purchase

  as

  fresh light strikes:

  token of our

  deliverance.

  ***

  Racism Dates Us

  (Speciesism does too)

  For Troy Davis

  Racism dates us

  (Speciesism does too).

  I know we don’t care;

  it feels so good

  to feel

  superior

  to other beings

  for reasons

  they do not control.

  There we go

  talking about the blacks

  the browns

  the reds

  the yellows

  and the whites

  as if our children

  haven’t already painted

  and repainted

  God’s face (adding a tattoo—and a feather— here and there)

  and returned it

  glowing

  to Her cosmic

  coloring box.

  ***

  The World We Want Is Us

  It moves my heart to see your awakened faces;

  the look of “aha!”

  shining, finally, in

  so many

  wide open eyes.

  Yes, we are the 99%

  all of us

  refusing to forget

  each other

  no matter, in our hunger, what crumbs

  are dropped by

  the 1%.

  The world we want is on the way; Arundhati

  and now we

  are

  hearing her breathing.

  The world we want is Us; united; already moving

  into it.

  ***

  The Joyful News of Your Arrest

  this sunday morning everything

  is bringing tears.

  in church this morning

  not a church anyone from my childhood

  would

  recognize

  as church

  a brother singing

  ecstatic

  about the bigness of love

  and then this moment

  news of your arrest

  on the steps of the supreme court