En Kutsali Yaratmak
(To Create Is Most Sacred)

How can one say anything but
..............."YES!"

"Yes!" to this
this buried mystery
this sacred seed
this upward pushing
this urgent invitation

  to create

what has always been possible.

In another time and in another place
a storyteller
is gathering a thousand flowers.
His careful fingers call you back
to the gathering time.
You remember how sunlight feels on your closed eyelids,
how earth feels on
a mountain
rising out of the sea
emerging from deep within
the place of mystic energy.
Rising
as mountains do
from the place where George Burns, Jack Benny
and Lucille Ball come from.....
those geniuses of laughter.

That place
is in you.
Let it rise.
Then stand astride the mountain top
and sing out joyful Anatolian stories.
Let the vibrations return as echoes of laughter
across surprised waters.
Original laughter
from the cradle
of laughter.
To create laughter is most sacred.

Remembering this
you lift your eyelids.
The storyteller fills your vision.
He is weaving a thousand gathered flowers
into a tale of his homeland.
"My land is beautiful!"
he begins.
You know the story well.
It has been in your blood for thousands of years,
except for his beginning.
In your story, life began in a watery envelope.
You swam in a sea of stories amid rising mountains.

You want to tell your beginning.
You want to tell it now.
But now it is the flowers turn,
and they whisper
"Isn't this the feeling of our future?
Isn't this the feeling of sunshine on closed eyelids?
Isn't this the feeling of creating a new beginning to every story?
Isn't this the feeling of earth without boundaries?
Isn't this the feeling you desire
and would dance any dream for?
Isn't this the buried mystery?"

You have waited long enough.
Now it is your turn.

& how?

How can you say anything but
"YES!"?
"YES! to the feeling of our future
"YES!" to the feeling of sunshine on your eyelids
"YES!" to the feeling of creating your chosen beginning
"YES!" to the feeling of earth without boundaries
"YES!" to desiring and dancing and dreaming.

 
Wed, 23 April 2003

* * *

"On The Road To Ruin"

It was on the Road To Ruin
That I met a fiddler playin'.
I asked 'What's that you're doin'?"
But he just wasn't sayin'....
That fiddler kept on playin'.

His music moved like throbbin'.
I lost track of keepin' time
As my head began a bobbin' and
My blood turned into wine
Of the finest reddest kind.

"Forget about that question!
Forget about your code!
I rule this intersection
On Ruination Road!"

Like that The Fiddler vanished;
I believe he's only smoke.
But tell me, am I banished
From the meaning of his  joke?
From this strange elusive joke?

So I walk the Road To Ruin
Where I met a fiddler playin'.
Where I'll ever be pursuin'
What he was or wasn't sayin' .

That fiddler