“now we terminate those who oversee the nuclear weapons, my lord”
I have said to the
crude-minded Fakhruddin Razi
and the dull King Khwarazmshah and
several other joyless philosophers, With your way
you leave behind the beauty of flowers and peacefulness
and walk steadily into darkness. You ignore the obvious miracles
in favor of smoke and ghosts. The false self of ego makes your
decisions. You feel confused and blocked, but wisdom
knows that this material world is a door to spirit.
Specific actions are required, and careful
We live in a place where
thorns and poisonous plants grow wild,
but fruit trees, roses, and vegetables need tending.
The diligent farming work is virtue. Fakhruddin and Khwarazmshah
disagree. They’re like the locusts who descend and eat crops rather than help
them grow. I wrap myself like Muhammad in this robe of torso, limbs,
and face, this splendid covering of phenomenal existence,
where I grow toward some destiny I know not,
only that I must live fully here
to reach the next.
