the awakened ones

March 4, 2012 § 2 Comments

There are amongst us those of elevated standing— of insight of faith so great
that it emanates in waves
that they cannot contain in their pores
they are walking magnetic fields
attracting and repelling according to sacred codes deeper than DNA
they are conduits breathing signals
surrounded by supernatural sentinels
the cloak they don a cloak of the dawn of understanding

There are those whose foreheads bore the marks of prostrating
whose digits of their fingers calloused and bleeding light
from counting countless cycles of 33×3 = 99
that’s one for every one of the divine names revealed to mankind
signs that came to show them openings paths to find

The Highest Companion

There are those who still heed the order
to enter the gates prostrating
those who lightly tread the path of
Umar son of the speech maker,
who knew truth from falsehood
and came through the gates of Jerusalem as the victor
his servant riding his camel while he walked
donning a tattered battle tunic
clutching the keys to the city he’d conquered
with his head held in humility to the sky

There are those who act as if they have seen The Throne
with their own eyes
whose hand of discernment allows them
to pull beauty from ugly and love from fear
as Arthur draw the sword from the stone and then
slash and break like a kesara vowel
through the howl of phantom fogs

Who recognize that trying to rewrite what the Author has written
is an exercise like
writing on water with invisible ink

Those who shielded their eyes from certain sights
and in return were given the delighted eye of certainty
The eye that see that the stars against a black sky are but holes in a black cloak
that would one day be thrown back revealing a blinding brightness
light upon light
and that time lay not far away

Those who would trade an entire globe of riches
for one act of complete sincerity
and not so much as bat an eyelash

Those who have not allowed certain ways of the world to pick at their heart
in the way that vultures’s beaks at dead rotting things
Those who don’t allow themselves to pick at their own hearts
in the way children do scabs in the process of healing

Those who don’t dig for findings that suit themselves
dolling up their desires so fancifully in charades of sincerity
acts of meta-okie doke doing the hokey pokey until they’re so dizzy
that they don’t know themselves

Those whose ears are trained to the pitch of the Call
and fall in response
whose respiration corresponds to the revolution of celestial bodies
Who have fine tuned their limbs as antennas
that sway and bend like branches in the wind of winter
synchronized to Higher Purpose

Who have tied their emotions with their intellect
But yet have not handicapped themselves with the latter

Those who would rather busy themselves with removing the impurities
in their own homes than go peering into the windows of others

There are those of elevated standing buried in our ranks
hidden well amongst us
unassuming in appearance
their marks are so subtle that
those too busy drowning in their own shallowness of thinking
would not notice if they came into contact with one
maybe they have come to you from time to time
and maybe you received them properly
and maybe you refused them

there are those who are strangers
who don’t sit at the feet of kings
who never cared to have their face frozen by cameras
who bled Revolution but don’t try to make their bread off it just live it
whether they do whether they do not,  so be it
who live as if they are already dead like Malcolm X once said
who are passersby and pass away quietly and unknown like
the woman known only as the black one who swept the Mosque

there are those
who go about their affairs
as the tree that falls in the woods with none to hear
and they take delight in being this way

there are those who are truly living
the awakened ones


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