Why I Insist Upon Monogamy, It's About Trust.

Perfect inner peace, soul contentment, the tender equilibrium that fosters an open hearted communion with the infinite; this is a fragile state of the utmost delicacy for the majority of us. It does not come easily, but from a great deal of surrender, sacrifice, a visceral opening as raw and as powerful as the rising sun yet as susceptible to ruin as the timely drying of a dragonfly's shrivelled wings upon it's emergence from the cocoon. 

It is for these reasons that the life of the devoted aspirant should be balanced, exhibiting a harmony with it's surrounds and it's content. We must take care then to eliminate all that may upset this balance. The undesirable emotions of the heart, the fears and doubts of the mind; the seven deadly sins, so called for their propensity to upset this fragile communion rather than their inherent badness per se, they must be kept at bay and not fostered by the acceptance of any situation that may harbour or feed them. 

This is the inner purity spoken of in yogic scripture, the right thought of the dharma. We must cultivate a pure and healthy soil of our momentary experience that seeds of negativity do not sprout and grow. A large part of this is our relationships; professional, friendships, but most of all the romantic. How can we maintain any sense of open hearted trust within our being when our loved one, who lays beside us as we sleep in utter vulnerability, is a source of doubt? 

If we suspect that our partner may be abusing our trust and cheating or lying to us then any sense of that tender communion with the Divine is lost. The suspicion, doubt, fear, jealousy or anger fostered by their possible unfaithfulness is a poison that eradicates all the tender blooms of our devotion.

This is not to say that all relationships must be monogamous by rigid law, for we have free will to live of our own choosing. But for one who seeks to forge a crucible of their life strong and pure enough to contain the search for the Divine within their own heart, caution must be shown when choosing a partner.

The gifts that can be brought into a relationship from the depths of one's being, the tenderness, sweetness, the opening to the far reaches of our being from unafraid intimacy to animal passion, may often be cultured only in such an environment as of which we speak. Many may be happier in a more accepting relationship, forgiving and allowing of such amorous wanderings as one fancies, and that is all well and good, but for some of us, maybe just a few, we need to dive deeper, to the very depths, and hence we must make certain rules to maintain the integrity of the vehicle that takes us down so far into our souls. There is no judgement here, just preference, until one breaks the vows that both accepted. Then there may be judgement, retribution, you may very well meet the devil himself if you cross one who has the bravery to show you their angel. That's just the nature of the game, both sides of the coin are equally present in such a being. If you dance with dragons you would do well to dance with integrity. Their fire can melt diamonds.

If we trust one with our heart who will abuse the honour of our trust then surely our state of mind will find itself in turmoil and the soft light of divine communion be overshadowed by dark clouds of tumultuous suffering. 

Better then to cultivate our devotion alone, safe from such impurities of thought and feeling than to offer our precious trust to one who we feel would take the fruits of shared devotion and offer them to the mouth of another behind the very back they were entrusted to protect.

But how do we choose such a one, how can we really know who is to be trusted with such a precious gift?

I do not know, and therein enters the element of chaos without which life would be a stale conveyer belt from birth to grave.

A Response to Hafiz

A Response to Hafiz

Some Fill With Each Good Rain, by Hafiz

“There are different wells within your heart.

Some fill with each good rain,

Others are far too deep for that.

In one well

You have just a few precious cups of water,

That “love” is literally something of yourself,

It can grow as slow as a diamond

If it is lost.

Your love

Should never be offered to the mouth of a

Stranger,

Only to someone

Who has the valour and daring

To cut pieces of their soul off with a knife

Then weave them into a blanket

To protect you.

There are different wells within us.

Some fill with each good rain,

Others are far, far too deep

For that.”

It is late, I cannot sleep and the heart spirals in the dark silence, so I offer a response. 

The knife is sharp. 

The well deep, imperceptibly so. 

Few people have tasted of this precious love.

They are more likely to cut pieces from your own soul 

with a rusty blade 

and tangle the scraps into a tattered rag 

to protect themselves from a passing storm

Before discarding it

To chase butterflies in the sun.

We hope,

We long for,

We deserve

The warmth and the sweetness of one

Who can sat beside us and weave

Before the roaring fire of our shared devotion. 

. . . and then it started to flow

Poetry is strong and moves through me like a tender storm this evening. 

Those who know me will attest to my fire but not my delicacy. These past few days have seen that change, a softening has occurred, grasping became a caress and my soul found it's voice. It may not sing aloud but in every moment it cries silently for the beauty of being. 

I have found some special souls these past few days and my heart weeps for the memories it had forgotten it had forgotten. It took many ways and long times of working but finally the chains fell of their own accord. 

A gypsy gave my heart wings and my soul soared, it dared to dream again and the dreams are written on the wings of angels, and demons, may their sweet love making give us muse our hearts crack in trying to comprehend. 

And can I speak of the visionary? 

I fear to, for words would cripple her sight.

The Door is Open

Bittersweet longing, wanton, unrequited. 

Potent yearning brimming with hope. 

There is a shard of promise 

in that hope, 

like glass it shines 

and like glass it cuts. 

We can live a long time on hope alone, 

empty fuel, delusion made truth by power of imagination. 

Crazy in love, but . . . . still . . . . there is hope. 

And should our reaching hand find friendly fingers intertwined, 

the heart skips a beat, 

a bar, 

the heart skips with delight. 

Then there is the loving, 

the falling, 

the fooling, 

the sticky extrication. 

Every rose loses it's fragrance to rot.

In regret bitter knows no sweet. 

Better then to live in hope without risking loss,

or to suffer the torture of longing fulfilled?

But what of the other love, 

so pure, so complete,

so very much so there is no need to compete?

My heart sings in simply knowing. 

I celebrate your freedom,

offer you a golden cage

with no door. 

The space you may never visit again, 

holy by your absence, 

because that hole bears your shape. 

Memory of you a silent song. 

The sun dims in awe and stars cluster to adorn your dreams. 

Dreams dream of you, and I with them. 

What makes the difference then between these types of love? 

Heaven and hell inhabit the same coin, 

is it the chance of the toss, 

is it the hand of Fate that decides?

I wish I knew. 

How I wish I knew.