Number 1

My God, give me a way of my own to drink from, for I am weary of all the creeds. I don't know what these children are reciting in their schools. The hardships of the road exist for the ease of arrival. If you are the destination, then why are the creeds so many and so different? From far off, the mirage looks like water to thirsty people. You, sun-faced one, show your face, so the stars dissolve in your light. I can't make sense of the jurists, and the philosophers talk nonsense. Come and draw the curtain aside, so the truth of things is revealed. If you are not the aim of all knowledge, what a waste of all that learning. If you are not the meaning behind every word, then pity all our lips. The pearl of the sea of wonder is better left unpierced. Come, you clever ones, let us shatter every drill. Reason's planning accomplishes nothing here; pain is what is needed. No lamp burns through these nights like the brand seared on the heart. Since I am free of learning, what's it to me, Illuminationist or Peripatetic? Since I have fallen into madness, what are creeds to me, or ways of drinking? In separation from him, each limb of mine burns with its own fire. No one's remedy can soothe me; oh, the cry that rises from these fevers! In his name, people are given wings even while caught in the snare of the self. In remembering him, the body becomes a phoenix in its own nest. Tonight the Bountiful One is lifting the trace of grief from my pillow into his lap. I don't know who is prompting me, teaching me the chant of 'O Lord, O Lord.'