The Ocean of Love
The Ocean of Love
separated from such a sea as this
we squandered majesty,
our innate bliss;
washed ashore, bubbling foam,
no more to live,
we languish far from home.
I lusted for name,
lusted for more,
lifted on waves,
swept to the shore.
now I see pebbles for their worth;
I’m dried to a crisp curled on the earth;
at the end of my rope,
is there any hope?
far, far from your perfection,
forget him not...
—this froth has yet a grain of salt,
a piece of you, a trace of affection!
I keep vigil through the night;
will I survive the desert
and reach the Light?
this is the anguished cry of every soul,
‘O end the ancient separation,
make me one, make me whole!’
The Ocean speaks:
‘remembrance is both death and a birth;
beginning and an end
and the start of your worth.
‘when longing transcends
everything,
wringing of the heart
speeds you to the king!
‘O prodigals be sure,
separation is both affliction and cure;
mercy descends on one repentant;
we cleanse with tears and music transcendent!
‘heart’s longing echoes the flute,
flowers that weep, yield good fruit;
and darkest dawns yield the day—
communion of soul is not far away!
‘our music is eternal,
it streams from above,
filled with promise
and undying love.’
***
and froth rejoices:
‘a deep and winged prayer,
unfolds hidden radiance everywhere,
melodies thunder in my ear,
my dear’s drawing near,
I will leave the shore,
I will join you once more!
‘my ocean, my everything,
merciful lion with the name of singh;
ineffable, formless, primal,
tumbles like wine
from the cup of Kirpal.
‘some call you Jesus,
some Buddha, some Nanak,
some Kabir;
all are one, all are seers.
‘the touch of your hand,
the rustle of your robe;
your heart my refuge,
your feet my abode.’
*****
eons of separation ended,
a fleck of froth returned;
its salt forever mingled
in love’s great sea.
And this is our destiny.
🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼 🦶 🦶 🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼
(after many iterations, here’s a poem 43 years in the writing! It began in the desert of western Rajasthan in a time of desolation and ended in the rainforest of Vancouver. November 1978–Feb 19, 2021)
~Arran~
The Way of Farers
Wouldn’t it be wonderful to meet You on my path today?
This joyful thought possesses as I venture from sleepy darkness to the Door.
Through a crack some rays strike me;
there is hope, perhaps a glimpse of a glance, my Sweet.
Lovers know that if they are to meet...there is longing,
But no immediate guarantee of meeting.
This is a journey of not moving; it deals with the flight of soul.
So, be gracious, Beloved of whims,
Meet me at the door, take my hand and lead me along the shining way.
Sever the falseness that holds me down,
That I may soar and sing with You, once more.
So, my dearest, be gracious, part the veil and take me by the soul.
I’m knocking at Your door.
It’s a game of Hide and Seek;
You hide and I seek. If You appear, this game is over;
Then the game of love begins.
~arran~
The Happy Garden,
where golden sunflowers nod and say hello
and bright blue borage, nasturtium and golden zinnia dance with bees;
where carrot fronds tickle feet and bean tendrils gently brush arms as we walk through jungled profusion.
And crinkled Savoy cabbage, parsnip, tomatillo, chard and leeks smile up,
berries ripen and hot August sun beats down, making skin a heated glow.
Hummingbirds and dragonflies flit about, emerald throats and wings more jeweled than an emperor’s cape;
red robins take their share, fulsome tomatoes—oversized rubies on the vine,
and heavy green cukes await plucking while squashes bask about, lazy in the sun.
cherries, plum, peaches, asparagus and figs have already come and gone, alas!
The garlic and onions have been plucked and dried in the shed.
Apple, pear, grapes and kiwi are next to harvest.
Oh! Let me not forget the lurking wonders, our life-web heroes beneath the soil!
wriggling worms and microorganisms enabling life itself, all connected, unseen.
In the air, hidden music overrides all, if we but listen close.
Ahh, this blessed last gasp of summer won’t stay;
soon, crisp autum will descend and the verdant garden will curl and brown and die,
then starkcold winter will come to lay down a mantle of rain and snow.
The long frigid stasis will rebirth again in spring—she hasn’t failed us yet. .
Sun’s benison will rise even if clouds obscure.
Thank you for your bounty, Happy Garden!
And for Happy Gardens everywhere. You’ve more than rewarded our labour!
(Late August, 2020)
SOME POEMS OF SORTS:
A Drunkard, A Lover & a Moth
A drunkard,
a lover and a moth
began their circling of the Flame;
Friend, I found a great bargain:
the sacrifice of mine and wine.
Trading, I found the inebriate eyes
of the Beloved dancing me
in the tavern of the Timeless
Nothing is Everything
When the Master of Life says,
'Nothing for you!’
what, then, is left?
The grape, the olive and the seed
Yield their juice and oil
under the press or the screw;
That place of fire where steel is forged,
diamonds are made and suns are born.
To remember is to die in Love,
To rise reborn through separation’s turning;
It was You who turned the press;
You who gave; Who took away;
You, merciful in grace
You, merciless in extracting and distilling,
You who brought me separation,
You who dragged me through the door
And across the threshold to that
Place of Light and endless Beauty
In nothing is everything, that is Your secret.
Lightsong
Into the Light,
Golden bright;
Shining dewdrop returns to the Sea
One with Thee in blissful eternity.
We are all bubbles, Lord,
Make us the Sea, make us the Sea.
Into the Light, into the Light,
Golden bright.
Moth to the Flame
When intellect exhausts itself,
from inky darkness
Soul launches into the luminous void;
Moth flutters toward the Midnight Sun.
The Ancient One
Here sits the ancient One—a glowing center
transmitting life into our dust...
no dream or fantasy, this!
Out-flowing, in-flowing Light,
unfolds Creation’s lyric story,
Separation and Union—the song of Everything.
He speaks, and an arching spark leaps
from Eye to eye, to heart, to soul,
and back, again & again,
one seamless circle;
Timelessness finds its locus.
Light coalescing, translucent, blazing, yet cool.
Tell me whose eyes peer from beneath your brows?
Kirpal or Sawan, Kabir or Namelessness?
Whose Light? One Light, the Light of the Creator
that burns bright in every soul!
You have revealed your secret, O’ Darshan!
By comparison, all fortunes are ashes,
for tonight there is no separation!
Froth of the Endless Sea (Rap)
My words are but froth upon the shore:
From endless Sea parted I evermore;
’Though far from Ocean’s perfection,
This froth is salted with Thy affection.
Froth remembers:
“Great joy in the Ocean knew I,
Where currents thrill,
swirling, yet still.
Conscious pearls in millions found I;
None carries them back to the shore, says I.”
Ocean speaks:
“Within My depths rise mountains of Light;
O timid Soul, leave foam and froth;
With wing-ed love, find flight…in the Light.”
Froth prays:
“You control my dogs, cannot I;
Call off the hounds lest I die;
Allow entry and at thy threshold lie,
to cry, says I, to die, to fly.
“Yearning for immersion, not the ‘me’ of me,
but the ‘You’ of me, to the You of YOU.”
“Ineffable, endless, formless, pri-mal
Tumbled like wine from the cup of Kir-pal.
The touch of your hand, the rustle of your robe;
Your heart my refuge, your feet my Abode.
Let it be, heart sweet. Let it be!”
Ocean replies:
“Remembrance is both a death and a birth;
A beginning and an end,
and the start of your worth;
When longing transcends
all bounds and chains,
Contractions of the heart
speed you to the King,
Yea, to the love-dom of the King.”
Froth implores:
"I now see false pebbles for their worth;
I have dried to a crisp, curled on the earth;
At the end of my rope;
All is lost, is there any hope?
“I keep vigil through the night;
Will you bless my sight?
Will I survive the desert & reach the Light?
“A distant beauty call I start to hear,
Your Wavesong thundering in my ear.
Is my Dear drawing near?
Will I leave the shore,
Will I see Him once more?”
Ocean answers:
“Patience, loved child, be sure.
Separation is both affliction and a cure.
Leave your flotsam on the shore.
Forget ‘me’, ‘my’, ‘mine’ and ‘I’,
Enter the portal of My Eye,
it’s an endless Sea;
Come Home once more;
Come Home, come Home to Me.”
This poem/now rap began in 1978 while in a state of profound separation from Kirpal, my great Guru (1894-1974). It started while sitting on parched earth in Rajasthan, far from water, and traveled with me—to places seen and unseen. After days of vigil and meditation, results began to manifest to my great surprise and relief. With firm resolve, I was led through the teeming labyrinth of Old Delhi to the ineffable manifestation of my Guru, although He had left the body more than four years before. He appeared before me, to my great surprise, and in perfect radiance, in the guise of Sant Darshan Singh Ji Maharaj. He was not only successor, but an exalted poet. In a verse he had written, “…play on the instrument of the heart, even if it be broken… That one night spent in your assembly, was the fulfilment of a lifetime of yearning.” That remarkable night and those that followed, changed my life forever. ——Arran Stephens, Vancouver, October 3, 2014
Dew Macrocosm, Mendocino county, 1963
If Only One Prayer…
If only one prayer in a thousand
Reaches the door of my beloved
That is sufficient for me...
When the veil is parted,
All my longings are fulfilled
In beholding your face.
His glory was cloaked in humility,
He drank the seven seas, yet his lips were dry.
His perfume of lilac and roses engulfed us;
He took us to the Promised Land.
—A
Diary, 2017
Journal October 29, 2018
Admission’s Price. Journal, 12/14/18. Master Kirpal often called me Arun or Arran ji. Arun is a kind of Hindi version of Arran, Arun or Aruna is the morning light as it breaks at dawn. Arran is the name my mother gave me, named after the Isle of Arran in Scotland. Ji means respect, but certainly not deserved in my case! These poems attempt to describe states that are indescribable, but crows must caw, frogs must croak and birds must sing!
poem from Nikos Kazantzakis
Love Walks With Me
Though I must pass
Through the gates of
uncertainty & danger,
Love, my companion,
Walks with me,
Unseen by others.
What else do I need,
Other than Your love?
It's the meaning of my existence.
Keep me always close to You
And my ear ever-open
To the Song of Songs,
And eye drawn upward
Into the Light.
Yea, Love, my companion,
Walks with me, through the day
And the darkest night.
- Arran
My first poem at age 16, 1960
another little 17 year old poem from the Beat era, North Beach, San Francisco
Thinking of Rumi & Kirpal
Not my words, but wish they were!
A Science of Soul that never ends!
Lotus of the Heart 2017
“To share His love is to receive His love.” SRS
Lazarus Soul dec 25 2017
It’s a path of love…
Big slice of humble pie
Guru is Shabad (Sound Principle that created all worlds), handwriting of my Satguru, Sant Kirpal Singh Ji Maharaj (1894-1974).
The Shabad permeates all space and is heard by the initiate in meditation—a Music that transcends and superior to the greatest music on earth. It loosens the gordian knot between the body and the soul. A true gift from Master to disciple, the Unstruck Sound transports the soul to the Source from whence it came. As Rumi has written: “listen to the sound of the reed flute; hear its tale of separation and woe; even since it was severed from the reed bed, it has been enduring its long separation. O, I want a heart torn by separation that I may unfold to such, the pain of love, for one long separated far from his source, wishes back the time when he was one with it.” It is the transcendent Sound of the Infinite that reunites the soul with its creator.
Rising above iniquities of mind,
we find Light and more,
a higher, unchained Melody
—the supreme practice.
September, 2020