Christmas potatoes, unsalted and ungarnished, to celebrate The King of Ascetics, the Christ, on this blessed Morn.
Dear Viveshwar, I implore you: stop eating pork noodles, and get back to your Roots! And stop hanging out with Motormouth.
Sincerely, Darvish
The Ancient One has come again with his long curly hair,
With nothing but his message of divine love to declare.
Baba’s John was the aged fakir with bright rosy cheek;
She gave him the kiss that tore away his veil, so to speak.
Merwan was drowned in the ocean of such infinite bliss,
He would bang his head on stone to regain gross consciousness.
He would wrap his bruised head with a turban for a bandage,
To conceal the agony that he was now Love’s hostage.
His dinner he would take to his room and hide in a drawer,
Until his quick mother Shireen found it with an uproar!
The Yogi-King wrapped in a burlap rag threw the Vajra
That bestowed the Knowledge of his fate as Avatara.
Yes, Darvish sings his ghazal of joy on this Christmas morn:
The Ancient One with long curly hair has again been born!
Stone cracks and breaks to dust by the hammer of breath-
by the breath of his living name that promises death.
Only when thought by pestle is crushed in mortar,
does heart drink the elixir of divine ardor.
The journey from star to granite to worm to beast
ends with man. But mind must grind back to dust at last!
A torrent of lives babbles to embrace the sea,
but without his silent name babbles ceaselessly.
I drink and drink to praise the god of single malt;
O, how I find all my skill excels despite my fault!
My hand is incited by a drunk pen and pure curve
with such verse the sober and vain lose their nerve.
Darvish’s skull groans with pain as he gasps each breath,
for the beauty of his name is the presence of death.
I often think of my favorite actress, God’s own sister;
She possessed a bright wit, and was beauty’s great lover.
As a little girl, she was a jump rope champion;
She was the Beloved’s Mehera’s lifelong companion.
What a pride she had in pirouetting on a dime!
She was a verbal master, and an excellent mime.
She encouraged me in the study of Persian language;
She herself spoke simple Dari with great advantage.
Her cheerfulness was astonishing and delightful;
Immense patience made her fabulously skillful.
To be God’s sister was not easy, I heard her once say;
She was a serious student who had mastered life’s play.
Mani is a jewel who still sparkles in Darvish’s mind;
Most of all, I think of her as someone very kind.
After receiving several email newsletters/ solicitations from Beloved Archives over the past year or so, and having responded to them, I nonetheless have several outstanding questions about the exact nature of the work you purport to do.
You are endlessly soliciting funds for your archival work, and also for what you strangely and obnoxiously call “The Beloved’s Day of Prayer”, which appears to be a thinly disguised annual fundraising event timed with the Thanksgiving holiday. WHAT is this all about? In my nearly 40 years as a Baba lover, I have not witnessed anything more weird or obnoxious. (Like, Nosh, we really, really do need you as a paid intercessor- especially in light of your self described genius for fervent prayer!)
Why don’t you read and heed Meher Baba’s Last Warning? – i.e., “don’t mix piety with divinity”.
Please take the time to explain how you justify raiding relics and artifacts from behind the back of the UK Baba Group? You say Pete Townsend gave them to you- but this is a disingenuous lie. Mehera and Delia gave these items to a Baba Center hosted at the time by Pete, but which then closed. These items, however, were and are the precious property of the UK Baba lovers. You are fully aware of this fact, and have not publicly accounted for what was an opportunistic theft!
What is all this hyperbole about you and the UN? What does this have to do with archival work? Evidently, you rented a room and gave a rambling speech to maybe 20 students for 25 minutes with vague references to global warming but with special reference to your connection with Meher Baba. Do you want a lecture fee or applause for this? You must be kidding!
Who are the Board of Directors of Beloved Archives? What role do they have in overseeing the integrity of the work you do? Do you or a family member receive monies for work done for Beloved Archives? How much? Are answers to such questions readily available?
Sincerely,
Bill Gannett
PS- Please post your reply to my concerns to my blog so we can have a public discussion of this matter.
O Moon, you are radiant- full of light,
But far from my idol’s brilliant face!
O Narcissus, ‘though you be lit with joy-
Leave excused. You have yet to see her face!
ای ماه اگرچه روشن و پر نوری
از روشنی روی بت من دوری
وی نرگس اگرچه تازه و مخموری
رو چشم بتم ندیده ای معذوری
If you read a single page from our book,
How astonished will you forever be!
And if for a breath you submit to Heart-
O, how the wise will fall to their knees!
گر یک ورق از کتاب ما بر خوانی
حیران ابد شوی زهی حیرانی
گر یک نفسی بدرس دل بنشینی
استادان را بدرس خود بنشانی
A foot that would wander with joy at night,
A hand that would pluck a fist of flowers:
That hand was severed, and that foot crushed
By the ambush of death’s gnashing jaws.
پای که همی رفت بشبستان سر مست
دستی که همی چید زگل دسته بدست
از بند و گشاد دهن دام اجل
ان دست بریده گشت وان پای شکست
When he saw my dear gaunt and sallow face,
With tears of blood flowing from brook-like eyes
He smiled, and with a laugh said: my darling!
O my tortured brat- O my dear nasty child!
چون زرد و نزار دید او رویک من
خونایه روان ز چشم چون جویک من
خندید و بخنده گفت دلجویک من
ای ظالم مظلومک بد خویک من
Since I have known the melodies of love,
I have torn the veil from the face of joy.
I have played my lute with the bard of love
And like daf and ney, both are played as one.
تا پرده عاشقانه بشناخته ایم
از روی طرب پرده بر انداخته ایم
با مطرب عشق چنگ خود در زده ایم
همچون دف و نای هر دو در ساخته ایم
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