A Persian Rapture

A Poem by Paul Carrizales, edited by Daniel Brick Overtaken by that other mind I sit beside myself - the eye of flesh staring at the precipice - wondering where you are: Heart of my soul, where are you? Behind these carnal eyes lies the beacon's object, the still point: the last weapon in the armory rusts, poor people steal the tools, No one objects when the osprey turns into a swan. The rest stumble in slumber. At coral dawn I awaken from this world of dream, water and West Wind at my face. The questions were expected: What is the name of the sun? Does a fish know its appellation? Can purple morning glory thank new day's growing warmth? I sit beside myself wearing that other mind: Beloved, how marvelous is your face! The Face of faces, which fleshly eyes have not seen. Who will tear the veil? Fleet gazelles graze in a unseen garden behind the eyes, where understanding grows, and he who tastes knows. Lovely women feel no obligation. Khayyam learns what Kalabadhi knows: the Secret of the Peacock Poet's silvered tongue. I sit beside myself watching the fine essence descending. A Persian shepherd boy becomes a soul in wonder, Jasmine blooms, fragrances of Amber and Shalamar blend, water and the West Wind stir things momentarily. No fear remains... After the rain, the rainbow mends the sky, the day of colors appears again. Heart of my soul, your sky bow waters my eyes, and I know the name of the sun. My friend Paul and I determied to write SUFI-inflected poems during the summer of 1986. To that end, we both bought copies of Annemarie Schimmel's THE MYSTICAL DIMENSIONS OF ISLAM, a beautifully written work of scholarship. For that summer Paul and I wrote, conversed, and drank wine from a SUFI vineyard. I cannot tell in a SUFI poem where the poetry ends and the prayer begins, they are so completely intermixed. And so it should be.