NEW GNOSTIC

Forget your life–say God is great.  Get up.  You think you know what time it is?  It’s time to pray.  You’ve carved so many little figurines–too many.  Don’t knock on any random door, like a beggar.  Reach your long hand out to another door–beyond where you go on the street, the street where everyone says, “How are you?” and no one says, “How aren’t you?”  Tomorrow you’ll see what you’ve broken and torn tonight–flashing in the dark.  Inside you, there’s an artist you don’t know about.  He’s not interested in how things look different in the moonlight.  If you’re here unfaithfully with us, you’re causing terrible damage.  If you’ve opened your love to God’s love, you’re helping people you don’t know, and have never seen.  Is what I say true?  Say yes quickly, if you know–if you’ve known it from before the beginning of the universe.  A new, rambunctious craziness comes–dragging our chains, tearing and spilling the full sacks.  Some nameless Bedouins buy Joseph for eighteen coins–and that story begins again.  All night, we pasture on jasmine and narcissus.  We leap up for the dawn.  Anemones sprout in the stone cracks and the trees.  God has given a new world, new lover, new gnostic, new friend.  God has chosen you to read this poem out loud–because you’re the one with the love-bites on you.  Don’t say anything.  Go outside.  Take a long walk, and just look.

Rumi

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