Seeker Magazine
AVANT SOUL
Rhapsodies in Words
to reawaken our fascination with the ever-original SOUL
Return to the Table of Contents
To Receive or Not to Receive
(A Poem About Love Spurned
and Not Returned)
That is the question. If I were to FedEx
Cherries jubilee & whipped cream right to your door,
Would you eat them? You've practically confessed
The stock of our friendship has been downrated
From sublime blessings that once you adored
To "quit sending me junk!" Ah, lass,
You were like a spiritual icon in my pumpkin patch
Of fancies. I even called you Sri Pumpkin
And I was Swami Zucchini. Tell me,
When did the boundaries for our joyful laughs
Become so marginalized & skinny?
From you I've learned hard lessons. Alas,
There are angels in this world that a lad
Can try to shower with gifts and cosmic presence,
Yet they want to dwell alone on a far country cloud,
Stroking their majestic feathers just like a cat
Who licks its fur from burrs and troubles, as if
To cleanse its soft, lovable wounds & memories in solitude.
Some people want only the peace to be alone with their process
And a fumbling man is fool to try to win the heart of a woman
Who's made God her lover.
How can I compete with the Holy Spirit
When I'm just a bumbling Jew?
How few are the kindnesses you show me these days.
You think you know what I want from you,
And reduce it to a Capricorn eye. Ayin, you devil!
What I truly want is the gift of communication
And not new rules for parking and walking,
Sharing and talking at your lofty retreat.
I'd send the Man in the Moon in a pink jump suit
If it meant getting through to your heart
Which is barricaded in the countryside.
In truth, your friendship is priceless and
Your money means terribly little. You crassly
Say that I've sent missives at the ends of the months
When in fact my goal was to move your immovable soul.
Who am I to tell you how to see me? You don't even ask
To hear my inner cello, to laugh at your self-seriousness,
To brashly lift the road blocks carefully placed on a winding path
Leading to a flowering zucchini in a bonny garden patch.
Fair maiden, I cannot compete with a crone
Or all your wisdom hidden in prayer books
Or wound wrapped around like Torah's
To some distant soulful God or Goddess
You embrace carefully, judiciously, not letting even
The Shekinah come too close. The female part of the Creator
Is not bound by your rules, and loves you unconditionally,
Whenever you open the powerful, guarded gates
To your inner throne. I am still a man
Who still wishes to say amen with you,
To pray at the laughter & light of life together,
Not this crucible of seriousness born one December 25th
Long ago. So let this flawed poem be our memories
Before you became so wise and sanctified.
I will take my imperfections
And my gifts of friendship
And my attempts to excavate a heart of stone.
What a silly mason I am, this free and troubled Chiron,
Seeking to build bridges to meadows where flowers
Are told how and when to bloom, and ask not to be bothered.
Foolish boy! When will I learn to quit speaking to you,
When will I find my own garden and let it bloom unfettered,
Who am I to tell you how to see me?
But here are my unasked-for eyedrops of care & compassion.
Now go out & conquer the world. Sweet dreams, sweet angel
(Copyright 2000 by Shaun Darius Gottlieb - No reproduction without express permission from the author)
Letter to the Author at CelloMorpheus@aol.com
Table of Contents