Fruit Fly

Oh to be fearless like the fruit fly, willing to die, as it leaps and drowns in a glass of wine.

Initiation

Initiation in the shadow of the trees on one's knees; in a pool of water, wings flutter, dancing flame on one's head, to our old self dead.

Leon Bahrman.

Subtle and Soft

Subtle and Soft

Soothing waves caress

A motion -

Emotion -

I am blessed

Speak to me

A thousand words

A thousand valkyries

Save me from the field

I will yield

Come bear me up

Take to flight

Take me to your halls of light

Shield bearing arms of silk

Softly alight across the field

Ever so near - Yet

Cannot grasp.

Leon Bahrman 12/19/10

His Presence is Near

His Presence is near,

Can you hear His love song?
All along He was here,
Why did you fear as if He would not hear you call?

The fall is by working the law,
Sin begins to gnaw on your soul;
The hole, so dark and black,
Feel the lack of your power to act-
React to His drawing you to Himself.

The Self: let go of you,
And He will be He,
Then there is no need to try;
Die to your i,
Only be as He is He,
and you will be you:
And then you will fly.

Leon

Reflection of Glory

O Man, Who walked the shores of Galilee,
What reflection do you have of me?

The new nature who walks within,
Free of guilt, and free of sin.

To turn the pages of a mirror,
is to see your face disappear;
In place is the Love,
displaced is the fear.

O Mirror, Who walked the shores of Galilee,
What reflection do you have of me?

The Face of the Father:
But could it be?
I in Him, and He in me.

To mirror the pages of a book,
You must see, you must look;
Not to gaze on what once was,
Nor on what should be,
But on the Face of Eternity.


Leon

Infancy Gospel

Your Glories are Your own,
revealed to Your Self Alone;
What steps can I take to be annihilated in You?

Where am I at?
Where is my entity fixed?
In Your mind, Your omniscience:
Somewhere between I Am, and I am not.

I am the color Grey:
A harmony of White, Holy as the Ancient of Days;
And of Black, impoverished toward the Light for which I beg.

One: Alone in transcendence, Independent of the worlds;
You are Unknown, You are not found;
Ain-Nothing, Where?

A Birth, and a Son:
A Father is revealed in His Revelation;
A mystery is reveiled in Its concealing.

A Book sent forth, a scroll unfurled:
We sent it down with Holy lips;
A wind rushing passed, a Herald gone forth:
I prophesy the coming of the Holy Ancient One.

A Birth, a nativity: O Holy Silent Night.
In Bethlehem?
No. In your heart.
Where is He that is born King of the Jews?
For we have seen His star in the east, and are come for to worship Him.

Come and see:
In the former stall for animals,
for the beast nature;
There is no place for Him in the Inn of this world:
It is filled up with lusts, and distractions;
Only in the lowly place have we prepared Him room.

See? we have provided straw and a manger in our lowly stable.

Lay Your blessed Holy head down upon the straw which we provide;
Sleep that deep and Holy sleep,
Your eyes shut as our eyes awake.

I enter into your rest:
let me be your Infancy Gospel.

The Babe cries, uttering forth the vowels of creation;
The Babe awakens, and smiles;
My heart is illumined by His love.

I have wine to drink, and bread to eat:
Will you not join Me in My feast?

I have been depraved, and so deprived I myself in this foolish fast.

Why?
Toward what end has been this pallid languishing?

Toward the night, I saw not the Light as if it were dimly lit:
I said, How can I come in clothes so tattered and torn, smelling of rotted flesh so rancid?

Yet sought I comfort in the brothel,
enticed by the warm red light that shone upon Salome.

What can I give you on this my birthday?
Up to half my kingdom would I give for this dance.

That will not do, nor would it suffice:
that you should pay me only half a price:

This is what I ask, nay, what I demand:
Serve up now the head of the Baptist in your hand.

For all that will do, and only all would suffice:
give me all your soul, all your life,
bound up as it is in the words he preached:
Repent ye, the Kingdom of heaven is at hand.

Do you not know, and can you not see?
This brothel is a church for the damned.
Do they bow?
Do they worship?
O yes, they bow and worship:
These filthy dreamers having eyes full of adultery!

Flee!
Get you out, leave your garment in her hand,
her bloody hand:
This whore shall not drink of your blood from her cup.

He lifted my face to His,
With one kiss He set me free:
His lips drink deep the wine of shame and suffering.

The Bread I give is My flesh, Which I give for the life of the world; This cup I pour is My blood, Shed for the forgiveness of sin.

I am brought to Your banqueting house,
A bountiful feast;
I have become your house of wine:
O taste and see that the Lord is good!

I stumbled out of the house of wine, and staggered into the Night:
Where did I go?
Where will I be found?

Stupified, intoxicated from the wine:
The room spins, swirling round as I take in all colors:
My grey is polished to a reflective plane.

Silent Night, Holy Night:
I emerge as the Light.

Shining forth from the dark:
A Word of all words, letters spanning A to Z;
When I saw Him, I swooned at His feet as dead;
Fear not.
His hand reaffirms me again:
I Am the First and the Last, glad you could join Me in this repast.



Leon Bahrman