Jerusalem

A hand in my soul can reach out and touch Jerusalem

as my other hand tastes the beauty of the Rhine.

And my bare foot can stand upon the holy ashes of rain – each drop a

fallen Phoenix – that sang out from the fire of union

with clay.

The hills, the valleys, the beasts, the vineyards, the sacred meadows

on our earth and body – they shall pass and ascend as all form does,

tiring of the space within a cage;

for all crowds the soul but the infinite. Ascenders to God we are.

Look though how we enrich this planet with our melting organic

shadows, wondrous shadows are all but He.

What a womb God has – what wild love He must have made to

Himself for days and days without stopping

to have given birth to all you can imagine, and to all you cannot

conceive.

All language has taken an oath to fail to describe Him;

any attempt to do so is the height of arrogance and will

always declare some kind of war:

the inner ones that undermine our strength, and the outer conflicts

that maim red.

I cried out one night in the madness of separation from love,

in the madness of doing, of trying to add to the Perfect;

for Perfect is All.

The awakened heart is like a luminous sphere – just giving without

thought to any who may come close or gaze at it.

The soul becomes blessedly lost to all

but its own holy

being.

When we cannot be who we are our divine senses become mute,

mute and sick from the insanity of judging

what He made Immaculate.

Who must God have made love to in order to have given birth to

all this sound,

to this sacred spectrum of color, scents, and music from the

wind’s body and existence’s plea for mercy – that

plea for the real mercy, unbearable joy?

Once we had four legs and tails so useful to balance our raid into

heaven, and I found them again.

I am a swimming galaxy tonight. Angels prowl around me

hoping I will toss them a fresh piece of light -

here dears, here, my sack is full.

The universe rents space from me, and oceans are drawn

from my will. How can that be?

For I can touch Jerusalem while my other hand tastes

the beauty of the

Rhine.

Yes, I can kiss Jerusalem while my mouth

tastes the wonders of

the Rhine.

~ Meister Eckhart