The Beloved is kindness itself, he grants every prayer.
But it is a wise man who knows for what he prays.... so beware.
Awake or asleep, on every breath is a smoking desire....
Yet who would believe his nostrils are a dragon's breathing fire?
Each thinks he is a lamb or a lily.... or at least
Not stink-wort or one of the more obnoxious types of beast.
Smoothly, soundlessly the wheel of birth and death whirls round.
Only God's Grace can save one....but where can God be found?
All right! Whether lamb or ox or ass, the road is shorter
If you stop seeking pasture, and offer yourself for slaughter.
Slaughter! Well, why not? The Lamb of God is slaughtered every day.
If one objects to a little spilt blood one is not yet fit for the way.
The simplest way if you would really see love's lovely shape:
Sew up your lips so that you cannot ask, nor may complaint escape.
From ‘In Dust I Sing’. The title is mine.
Copyright: Avatar’s Abode Trust, Woombye Queensland.
All rights reserved.
Published in the USA by THE BEGUINE LIBRARY
Berkeley, California 94701