in the desert of our lives
the apparent void of juice and passion
exists a niche
a haven
sheltering the sacred spring,
the unfettered effervescence of our percolating hearts,
and there arises a sense
that the void,
the sense of isolation
is not wholesale
but the unintended result of our own amorous efflorescence —
a sensuous conflagration
heartfires flaring in romantic rendezvous
souls come full circle
in a cycle of self…
..and the enduring selflessness
which is the essence of family
and the anchor of generations
becomes a beacon
in a wilderness of values
across the cultural wasteland
the rising presence
of whole over self
of service as exaltation
rekindles joyful waters
& clear visions of a greater we
amidst the desert of our lives —
forty times forty, and the trek has just begun…
through the dry and soulless canyons
hearts, the water-bearers,
through their meeting
their merging
are urging us to emulate their example —
the children of Obatala arise again,
pointing with their hearts
embracing truth recognized
hiding in our eyes —
afraid of what we see within…
the mind is dry
abstract
without heart
the heart lush
and undirected without her bed
without a head
shaping
directing one another…
from the dust of dreams
our hearts produce the fertile mud of our imagination
nurturing Ori’s seeds
we are our own spiritual harvest —
the first fruits
life in the desert
remnants of a forest of hearts
ancestors to the new forest
the coming harvest —
the rising living dreams of those sacrificed
the new unknowing of their course,
a people thick with promise
their direction threadbare
and wind-driven
a crop in need of cultivation
that their hearts may rise,
bear wise fruit
expanding the forest family
linking our lives to the land,
a land we may someday remember
as the desert of our lives…..
by
jamal
ali
© 31 aug 1999
