Group 1 — On our Relationship with the Divine

Once upon a time, a fish in the ocean Asked me about the river's notion. I told the fish that the river Water to the ocean deliver. The fish scoffed at my logic To fish it was hopeless, tragic. Fish said ocean makes the river The river returns to its life giver. It is absurd; you must stop To think the ocean needs a drop; The ocean fills the river's cup And puts the Ark on mountain top.

I heard the story of a saint The light of God for her was faint But with much faith, her God she'd ask What is the deed, what is her task? She heard her God say in her head "Leave everything, pretend you're dead." Straight away she left her bed, Upon the road, needing some bread; Left everything but a penny To buy some bread, but not many; She heard her God speak again "To that penny, slave remain! Where is thy faith? Have you any? How can you trust a single penny? If ye have faith, have total faith This is what unto Thee I saith!" Our saint, our friend, swift and fast Into the distance that penny cast And in her God put all her trust For in sainthood, this is a must. I am no saint, not even faint With but a penny, my future paint; Yet in truth, all I pretend Is but a mirage, fake in the end. Ghostly visions of future send Away; and to my God's will bend; And have full faith without debate The only God, omniscient, great Will be with me in desert heat My hand will hold, my face will greet. Penny or pound make no difference No longer will sit on the fence; I will let go of future fear Live in the now, and right here. I need not be even a half-saint No amount of money my soul shall taint.

Along my path climbing this steep incline Driven by passion of intoxicating mystical wine The only hope, wish and desire of mine To see the face of God, God's light upon me shine And I continue surrendering to the will of divine And proceed if God this wish of mine decline For this mystical wine, serving the divine, my only line.

In hypnosis I could relate To my prenatal state Comfortably perched, I was a foetus To worldly good and bad, oblivious. My lifeline, umbilical chord Nourished me as though I was a Lord; I was nourished there by blood My mother's milk, drowning flood. Dark it was, comfortable, warm I didn't need a holding arm, All I heard was a muffled hum I saw nothing, to touch was numb; I was an ocean creature Constantly changed every feature. Going back to that state In no way could I relate To the process that gave me birth Nor ways of life upon the earth. If someone described the sea There was no way that I could see, Nor could I relate to the motion Of the unbounded ocean, To lightening and thunder, Dry deserts and yonder, Forest green and mountain high, The beautiful curves of a thigh, To feelings and sensuality, To this earth, this reality, To music, or the priest, The joys of a wedding feast, Children playing in the park, Twinkling stars, midnight dark, Dusk and dawn were all the same, Oblivious was my frame; At least a thousand other things Each sadness or joy brings, To me, the foetus, all the same That's how it is, no-one's to blame. Later that day a story was told A sage that lived in times of old Died in this life, his spirit fled His soul his mortal shell thus shed. Inside a dark endless space Emerged a light with much grace; Through this womb his soul fled With confusion to grace was led. Into a new space was born His old reality was torn, His spirit leaving this earth To new adventures gave birth. After a while he was returned His human frailties were burned. To everyone a world he told Shining bright, pure as gold, A world in which no-one gets old All are loving, courageous, bold; Of pure love, beauty and grace, A world in which there is no space; At least a thousand other things Each of which wonder brings, To my mortal frame, its all the same That's how I am, no-one's to blame. In mother's womb, foetal state Sensual experience cannot relate; In mortal life, my foetal soul Cannot relate to divine whole.

I remember the time I became interested in spirituality Everywhere spiritual window-shopping, trying every modality Tried the old thought, as well as the "New Age" Read many books, turned many many a page; Found a "Guru", sought the wisdom of that sage False it was, trapped myself in my own cage, Disillusioned, disappointed, broke out in rage, Healed my anger, the wisdom from the experience my wage. Still I continued on my heroic quest Spent much time to sit, think and rest And discovered that all my window-shopping, my search Hand-me-down from others, even the "New Age" church, Was the wrong way to look upon a spiritual quest It is neither the discipline of the East, nor science of the West It is simply the mastery of an art in my own way, Be, learn, step along my path, even in the way I pray. Simply allow my talents, my flower within Grow, flourish, and bloom, purify me from sin; Embraced by divine light, or any other means Purge my dross, my morality I cleanse. Spirituality is not something I achieve, attain or reach, It is a way of life that I can learn, but not teach.

I am holy, thou art divine I belong to Thee, and thou art mine I am the grape, thou art the vine Thy fruit is grape, and mine is wine. But holy wine is just a sign Of vine divine, further up the line.