Mira, Francis, the Baal Shem Tov
were anarchists for love.
King David danced naked before the Ark,
an anarchist for love.
With only a broken jug, a brick for a pillow,
Rabia refused the princes’ hand:
an anarchist for love.
Whitman, cummings, Teilhard de Chardin,
all ambulance drivers and poets
who bound up warriors’ wounds,
anarchists for love.
Jesus too: he burst the old wine skin of law
with the new wine of I AM.
Ferment your marrow, distil your blood.
Burst what contains you, drink who you are.
Burst the wine skin of Marx and Trump,
the wine skin of Mohammed and Jesus –
they won’t mind.
Burst the wine skin of all government,
the wine skin of belief and non-belief.
Don’t bottle your sparkling heart:
you’re the hard stuff, exploding with joy.
You cause timid people to dance.
Don’t waste time scrawling
your laws in the sky.
Don’t look for Kali’s form in shattered glass.
Get beyond drunk or sober,
beyond violence and non-violence,
beyond ideas, to a place called Peace.
Live in the garden where
the lion-headed serpent sings
to the violin zebra, the winged elk flies
through the ripeness of the pomegranate,
and the Bridegroom marries the Bride
with a kiss that signifies the mingling
of all juices.
This garden is everywhere,
your taste buds make it real.
This kingdom needs no king.
It’s laws are inscribed in the palm
of the hand that hold a soup pot.
Ideology dissolves into a tear.
The revolution is to breathe.
The radical act is to be present.
Nourish the earth with your secret joy.
Be an anarchist for love.

Published in Savor Eternity  One Moment At A Time