8/20/09

Things Like That are Happening

Hey, ya know, I was doin' some stinkin' thinkin' and I just solved the health care crisis:
Government sponsored socialist healthcare should be offered to those who are socialists and those who hate socialism in all of its forms, but fire houses, public schools, and policery, should decline said coverage. The hindsightly choice is for Michael Moore to privately fund insurance for every uninsured person in the US from the profits from Sicko instead of putting it all into getting Obama elected, a more entertaining option than the John C. Mellancamp, Bruce Springsteen, and James Taylor "We are the (Insured) World" cd you can buy next to the beef jerky next time you're gassing up.

Today was painting the kitchen, saying, "Don't throw E's dog's soppy tennis ball (she'd smartly fished out of the boys' toy box) in the house," and laughing at my daughter for having the gall to ask me to come get her from her boyfriend's house where she stayed the night (which we allow with permission-- only 'cause we're either realists or heathens) without our permission after deciding to stand me up from picking her up last evening. There was some, "Please don't throw plastic corn, which you purport will explode into a handful of popcorn, at me, " a praying mantis in the window, and some delectable Vietnamese take-out with the best-ever orange chicken (not only for it's not-friedness, but for the perfect orange peel flavor all the others are missing).

Following my shaky, but best, long-time coming, decision-made-during-therapy to move out by way of paying a monthly rate at the State Park 15 minutes from our house, Mr. Bee promised to throw away his pot pipe and give up on the sauce (which I pointed out was something I wanted no part of after having been blamed for unwilling sober spurts in the past, usually coupled with benders which are blamed on me), insisting it's what he wants, having nothing to do with me, only to come home drunker than usual bearing the afore mentioned Vietnamese food, thinking feigning charm and joviality would impress someone, maybe E, thereby reconfirming my resolve to live in a tent for my last semester of college, like one of those rich kids who slum it in Europe with their backpacks and their Eurail passes, propping Mr. Bee up like a twice-baked weekend at Bernie's by assisting financially and being after-school-time-get-the-kids-home-dinnered-and-homeworked person until he gets home each evening from work. Figures, I'd feel like the house is better than ever. I have been married to this house we have been renting the last three years from our friend who wants to sell it to us at the end of this lease or sell to someone else. Mr. Bee called dibs, plus I am too torn about wanting to be within bussable range of my daily activities and/ or wanting to be open to take a job that is so fulfilling I perpetually feel as I felt reading this poem by Hafiz for the first time tonight (warning, for those of you who fear the word God with its 346dg66625.34503 meanings, insert, in its stead, mashed potatoes, Darwin's sperm, Jesus's boner, thatwhichiswithinwhichweresideincomprehensibly, whatever is ribbed for your pleasure):
Of Course Things Like That Can Happen

Once God made love to a great saint
Who had a hairy belly.

Of course things like that can happen!

And it was a surprise
Only to the novice on the path
When the saint's stomach began to swell
Just like a woman's.

Weeks went by, then months.
The saint's cheeks
Turned into beautiful roses.
He became like a young bride
Who was carrying a holy child,
And his gratitude was speechless.
But his eyes shone
Like two planets making love.

The town began to stand outside his house
At night,

For it had come to the attention of the faithful
That as the moon passed by on its round,
It would sometimes bend over and kiss the roof!

Of course things like that can happen.

Life went on
Amidst the other ten thousand wonders:
Whiskers and weeds and trees and charming babies
Kept emerging.
People and cattle and bees worked side by side,
All sweetly humming,
And, come lunch,
All dined on the same Mysterious
Divine manna of nourishing Love -
Disguised in a thousand shapes, colors and forms.

Galaxies gave away their ingenious ideas
And told us of their private body functions.
So man, too,
Eats, burps and excretes more worlds.

How is it that invisible thoughts can lift heavy matter
And build cities and armies and altars?

All contain a Hidden Strategy
To be transformed again
Into Divine Music and Love and Light!

The sun rolls through
The sky meadows every day,
And a billion cells run
To the top of a leaf to scream and applaud
And smash things in their joy.

Of course things like that can happen.

Rivers stay up all night and chant;
Luminous fish jump out of the water
Spitting emeralds at all talk of Heaven
Being anywhere else but -- Right Here!

Clouds pull each other's pants down
And point and laugh.

O my dear,
Of course things like that can happen.

For all is written within the Mind
To help and instruct the dervish
In dance and romance and prayer.

The stars get clearly drunk
And crazy at night
And throw themselves
Across the sky.

Only an insane being or compound
Is not going mad with excitement
At this Wonderful Performance by God!

And still,
Light stretches its arms
Open ever more
And shouts to you, because you are His lover,
To forget your harsh actions of the past
And just Dance!

Look! Angels and flowers
Are playing hooky in graveyards,
Laughing and rolling naked on cool stones.

Why go to sleep tonight
Exhausted from the folly of ignorance,

When even the Beloved is Drunk
And is doing wonderful, ecstatic somersaults
And is giving wild lessons between the sheets
And between His handstands
All up and down the Tavern floor and ceiling!

Indeed,
Indeed, things like that can happen.

A few days
Before the delivery of God's baby,
The saint had to visit a city close by
Where few knew him.

He was walking unnoticed past a mosque,
And the shouts of God's lovers
Happened to fill the air, calling,

"Allah, Allah! Where are you?
Where are You, Beautiful One?"

And the child in the womb of the Master
Could not remain silent and shouted back,
In an astounding voice,

"I am Here!
I am Here -- dear world!"

The crowd in the mosque became frantic,
And they picked up shoes, clubs and stones.
You know what then happened -
The story became grim.

But the moon cannot hold a grudge.
It still stops by some nights
And leans over this gentle earth, as over a crib,
And gives a full, wet kiss.

For the moon knows
That God is always amorous -

He will never stop making Love,

For the Truth has been Divinely Conceived
Deeply within each of us.

O Hafiz,
Look at the Splendor of God's Grace:
The Sun has been planted in a thousand furrows
Across every soul's brow.

Of course, my dear,
Everything God and I say
Can Happen!

("I Heard God Laughing -- Renderings of Hafiz" by Daniel Ladinsky

4 comments:

Randal Graves said...

I think it works with mashed potatoes but really, why did you have to mention John Cougar Mellonhead? I'm telling Jesus' boner on you, especially after I learned that the phrase 'pitching a tent' actually does have a literal meaning.

Dr. Zaius said...

Buy the house! A praying mantis in the window is good luck. ;o)

Pagan Sphinx said...

This is a fantastic poem. It just doesn't let up with its punches. I like that kind of writing.

Liberality said...

you are a writer Ms. Freida Bee.