Mystical Union

Where lies my Beloved?
Will I find him in the forest, is he at the meadows hand?
Can I touch him on the mountain?
Will he know me when I call?


Where stands my Beloved?
Shall I seek him in the sea, if I sail all the way there,
will he know it is me?
Will he hold me as his own, caress me in the night?
Where is my Beloved? I have been seeking so very long....


Is that you my Beloved? Is it you, in the moment,
you in my very breath, is it there you stand, there
in my walk, in my hearts own beating? -

Now,  I understand - you are there
in the eyes of  a stranger and in the eyes that I bear
looking back at me through the mysteries of
life's mystical mirror.....


bkmackenzie
copyrighted 2011

There is of course something mystical about the concept of living, of life.  We all feel this connection whether we choose to acknowledge it or not and with the word mystical summons magic and magic summons fantasy and maybe faith.   A world for wizards and witches, saint or schizophrenic not the common man or woman, not you or me. We work, plan, produce daily through orderly system and science of our earthly existence.  Yet it holds us captive this mystery in verse, prayer or vision of a springtime flower...and we take the word mystical to heart though it may not pass through our lips...the poet seeks to pen it, the artist paint it, sculpture it, the physicist prove it in theory and the musician bring to our ears and to our heart. 

And at the end of day we may find it hard to sleep because we place it in the window of our waking, but there it is running through our dreams and begs our notice of this - mystery.

"And he to whom worshipping is a window, to open but also to shut, has not yet visited the house of his soul whose windows are from dawn to dawn."  Kahlil Gibran

Who possess this mystical soul? Where is this window that Gibran speaks of and why would we open it only to shut it at close of day?  That window resides within us, in our heart and in our pen, in our instrument of work or wisdom and with it we breathe in its grace and breathe out its beauty.  We are all mystics and when we look into the eyes of  sorrow or joy it is there and we partake in the mystical union of life and with that we hold a responsibility to love all that is given, life's adversities and life's glory.

And as we question -Who is my  mother, my father?  Is it that we are all born from the womb of some eternal virgin, fathered by a merciful maker, a giver, a conceiver of life, melding light to matter breathing existence into being? And is it  in joy and in pain we seek our maker, crying out are you there in the desert, there on the mountain, there beneath the sea of my sorrow? Where are you.? Who are you?  We cry for this our Beloved as we walk in the faith of our fathers, or in in the faith of  another,  a saint, or the scientist, maybe through the alchemist's hand, or through the blessings of a servant of grace, but seek it we do.

Who will find it for us...this mystical union ...only us..separate, alone and eternally one with all - and that is the mystery..
our separateness -
our wholeness...
the eternal mystery of blood, of salt, of a cosmic seafarer...

And if you would know God be not therefore a solver of riddles.
Rather look about you and you shall see Him playing with your children.

And look into space; you shall see Him walking in the cloud, outstretching His arms in the lightning and descending in rain.

You shall see Him smiling in flowers, then rising and waving His hands in trees.  Kahil Gibran


And in our seeking we will find ....our way home....bkm


Writings from the Prophet: Speak to Me of Religion.....Kahil Gibran 1923