I Do Nothing
The self that people once tried to praise,
Has become invisible.
All comments and critiques,
Go straight to God.
Like a baby who crawls away from it’s mother’s breasts,
Towards a bag of uncooked grain,
I have tried, in a thousand foolish ways,
To feed myself
Without the nourishing milk of the cosmic Mother.
Like a seed that tries to grow upon a sheet of steel,
I have tired, in a thousand foolish ways,
To grow myself
without Her fertile soil.
“I” don’t really do anything.
“I” don’t seem to make anything happen.
It’s all a stem from the root
Of the Beloved.
Like a starving dog towards meat,
Now I naturally go towards what is desirable
Now I recognize, without question,
When Spirit sings within me as
The sweet voice of
Passion and joy.
Like an always gurgling stream,
my lips are whispering:
“My Life and the Life of God are One,
I am here to do Your good work.”
And when I follow this flowering joy
I am touching the Beloved’s most pleasurable spots.
I am tickling, massaging and kissing the Great One,
Till we collapse upon the floor
In a living embrace that is
In a promise that is
– SamWell Mascari