Giving

To give of oneself is a tremendous gift to all. The thought of giving came to mind while sitting, reading the Covenant of Bahá'u'lláh and drinking my tea. i could explain more about the story but would rather the reader derive their own conclusions from this story.

Giving

The man waited to board the plane. He was on his way to the land of silk and jade. He was going with a purpose, to make a difference in the World and to address a long time need born in him so many years ago, to serve his fellow man. As he waited to board the plane that would take him to his new home, he reflected on those early memories.


The race started. The current race was a foot race between the two oldest men in the group of over a hundred. The two looked to be ancient to the six year old boy watching, however, the combination of a hard life and young eyes made them appear ancient beyond years. Surrounding the boy were dozens of people enjoying a special new year’s celebration and smiles and laughter were found everywhere. Crate upon crate of soft drinks were stacked high above the head of the young boy as he observed the celebrations of the day. The once exotic smell of Bengali food was now a comfort to the boy as he watched the cooks with their open air pots in the drive preparing a huge feast. This was a special day, a day of rejoicing and a day for sharing.


The family compound was large, though not large by ex-patriot standards. The usual compliment of cook, house boy, gardener and night guard were housed by the garage or lived elsewhere. A cement wall, not too high, surrounded the property. The next house by the river housed a family from the West German Consulate. It was here that two days before a cobra was found and brought to show to the boy and his family. Across the street a new house was being built with cement mixers and countless people carrying baskets of cement on their up ramps to what was becoming a second floor of the large house in waiting. Large trees grew in the compound and reached for the sky. A large Pomelo tree grew between the house and the garage. It was by the garage that the occasional chicken would be slaughtered for dinner or the papaya would be plucked from the tree for refreshment. On the other side of the house and the site of much of the celebrations was a swing set that the boy and his brothers would use when the heat was not too oppressive.


This normally spacious yard was filled that day to capacity. It started as a special day as this was the largest group of people he had ever remembered at his house in the very few years of memory that he had. Slowly he spied something that came to his attention. He started to detach himself from the sound of laughter, the smell of food, the taste of drink and the heat of the day. The multi colored flowers blended into the background and his attention became more focused. He walked to the edge of a group of people to see a sight he was not used to. As far as he could see the house was surrounded by what appeared to be countless faces. Looking in from all available angles were people from end to end. They were looking at the group enjoying their holiday. They had neither looks of sadness or happiness, nor were they looking in any way threatening to the boy. It was clear that the represented the multitude of the poor and starving of one of the poorest countries of the World. They were watching the event much as the boy would watch a movie of an African safari, wanting so bad to be the hunter with the pith helmet and white safari cloths, yet knowing that this was a dream that would not happen. He knew that they were starving; he knew that his family was already feeding as many as they could. He had watched his parents help a leper with money to send his daughter to school. But the enormity of the suffering and inequality in life did not hit home to that boy until that new years day as he watched those many faces watching in deep resignation at what they would never have.


Not long after that party an opportunity came to the boy, the kitchen pantry was unlocked. The various servants were occupied and the parents were off elsewhere. While playing in the driveway a beggar came to the gate and in the universal language of need and suffering, indicated to the boy that he was hungry and wanted some food. The boy ran into the house and, finding the pantry unlocked, entered, grabbed the one thing he coveted, a package of cookies and ran back out giving it to the man through the spaces in the gate. He was overjoyed and walked away. One of the staff had just come and rescued the boy from the dangers of being too near the gate and later reported to the parents what he happened to see.


That night his mother, the angel on Earth, came to him and spoke to him about what he had done. She was not sore for his stealing a box of cookies; she was not even upset that he had approached the beggar. The desire to feed the hungry man was noble and she applauded it.


“However”, she said, “What you did was not the best way to help him.” She waited to see if she had the boy’s attention before continuing. “While a package of cookies is a treasure to a six year old, it is not a helpful thing to give a hungry person. The man will most likely eat the whole package at once. He will then be used to more food in his stomach than normal, also resulting in his being more hungry than before he ate the cookies. He may have a stomach ache from the amount of cookies he has eaten. And most of all, the nutritional value of the box of cookies is insignificant and won’t be enough to help the man with his suffering. “


The boy dug himself into his mother’s loving arms, crying and knowing that his mother was right but that she still did not regret the gesture he made in trying to feed the starving.


The moment to embark has arrived; he takes his place in line, and arrives at the plane. His foot raises and crosses the space between the jet way and the plane. He crosses the gap in time and place and his foot strikes down propelling him to his new home and life.


Shiidon December 2007

Valley of Love

This was the first story i wrote. It was written in 1998 at a time when i was missing my children. i read this to Shervin who was eight years old at the time. He asked some questions of me and i thought little about it until one night while tucking him in to sleep. In lonliness and missing his siblings i told him that he (my children) was the most important thing to me. He said "no Daddy, God is, then me."
Somehow the story reached him. i will never forget that night.



Valley of Love
I want to tell you a story about a little boy named Shunga. He was a happy boy and loved to see the birds in the sky. They flew and flew so high in the sky. Shunga thought that one-day maybe he too could fly high in the sky like the birds he loved. Of course he knew that birds can fly and little boys can not, nevertheless he like to think of himself as a little bird. He loved birds so much that he would pretend to fly himself. He would hold a feather in each hand and run around the back yard with both of his arms out pretending to be a bird. One day Shunga was walking with his dad in a park when he saw a sight that hurt him very much. He saw a little bird, lying dead on the ground. Shunga cried and cried and told his daddy to fix the little bird and to let him live again, daddy can fix anything. Shunga’s daddy looked at little Shunga and explained to him that once something leaves this earth and goes to God that it can’t be made to come back. Shunga and his daddy buried the little bird and said a little prayer for it. This made Shunga feel a little better but he was still hurt and went to his room to be sad. No matter what he did he kept thinking about the bird. His brother came in and wanted to go outside to play with him. Shunga did not want to do this because he would see the birds. Every time he thought about the birds he would be sad again.

When Shunga would come to eat dinner he did not eat much because he was so sad. This was too much for his mommy and daddy. After Shunga went to bed his parents talked about what to do with little Shunga. The next day Shunga’s mommy was outside with his brother when she had an idea. She called to Shunga to come outside. “Shunga! I see your little bird in the sky!” This made Shunga jump up and run outside to see his little bird. When he came out he saw where his mother was pointing and saw nothing. “Where mommy, where?”
“Look at that cloud, see how it looks like a bird?”
Shunga looked up at the cloud and saw that it did look like a bird, just a little. Just then something moved in the tree in front of him. Shunga looked carefully and saw the most beautiful red bird. The reddest bird he had ever seen. It was so beautiful! He looked at it and it seemed that the bird was looking back at him. Then all of a sudden the bird flew away. It was so pretty flying into the sky. Shunga found that he was not sad anymore. He remembered what mommy and daddy said that there were many, many birds in the world and that birds live and then die and that others are born. He looked at the bird flying again and saw that it was flying higher than he could remember. It was higher than even his kite would go.

From that day on, Shunga would look at each bird and, even though he remembered the little bird that he buried, he would be a little happier because he knew that the bird and everything was from God and to not be so sad because there are other birds in the sky and that bird is in Heaven.

Unity

What is evident from this blog is that i write poetry (good or bad is up to the reader). i also write stories of various lengths. The longest is my narrative of my four visits to Israel. However, most of my stories are short and usually have a point to make. This was one thought that i had and put down on paper called "Unity."

Unity
i sit looking out my window as the wind drives the rain in torrents. i contemplate the fate of those simple drops that gather together in collaboration as then begin the stream that leads to the lake. Some sacrificing themselves for the betterment of the plants around while others bid them farewell as they gather in momentum. They join the lake and make their way to the river that leads to the next phase. They pour, drive and race through the river until they are finally reunited in that great destination, the sea of Unity.

We all begin as drops and slowly gather momentum as our lives ramp up and we prepare ourselves for eternity. This eternity that we race to, year by year, approaching faster and faster is that unity with the Abhá* and the great souls that have passed before us, leading the way, setting the path with their example of obedience, sacrifice, love and unity.

Shiidon, March 27, 2007
*Heaven

The Falcon

This is a story that i wrote at Naw Ruz (Bahá'í New Year). This is the first day of Spring and it was written in 1996. It was this point and this story that reawakened in me the desire to write again. It can be said in the ancient terms that i found my muse. i wrote more up to the point that i went on Pilgrimage and them documented my Pilgrimage with a 55,000 word narrative. If nothing else that also helped hone my writing. i had occasion to speak with a few friend and family members and this story came up a few times. As a result i thought i would post it here.


The Falcon

The relationship between the Falcon and the Falconer is not dissimilar to any other pair; each one, in a way, needing the other. The nature is not unlike a symbiotic relationship, a partnership or a team. When working together they make a spectacular team and are a joy for all to see.

Perchance there was a Falcon that loved to soar in the celestial heights. The Falcon would stay aloft as long as possible, riding the currents to conserve energy when needed. It would fly without care of observation from below or without regard to the strong winds that would sometimes buffet it about. It was undaunted in its joyous ventures above. Like any other creature, it would have to return to the earth to alight from time to time. It should, in the best of times be as leaving the true Beloved above for the beloved below. This is not to imply that the Falconer below is beneath the Falcon or not as significant. The Falconer has its own joys in watching the Falcon, in caring for it and in helping there be a purpose to the endeavors of the team, inspiration and love if nothing more. This particular Falcon we speak of had two masters, to use the term loosely, and in both cases there was an unhealthy turn of events.

These masters loved the Falcon when they first caught eye of it. They would marvel at its beauty and its joy of flight. Each time the Falcon thought it had found it’s beloved. It did everything to serve the Falconer and was faithful to the relationship that was theirs. However, on both occasions the Falconer, upon gaining possession of the Falcon, became guarded and jealous. As time would go on the Falconer would hood the Falcon more and would keep it from flight lest others should see that beauty that was the Falcon in flight. Eventually the Falcon would fall ill and would become so sickly that the Falconer would not wish to care for it any longer and in a sense of desperation and with a purpose of distancing themselves, they would set the Falcon free.

Each time the Falcon was free from its prison it would fly as long and as high as it could. It would not hesitate or falter but would fly until the point of exhaustion. You see, this Falcon was destined to be paired with a Falconer, one that would understand and appreciate the Falcon and would relish in the joy of being a part of that team.

One day the Falcon was flying with particular zeal. It was flying to the fullest of its nature without the lost hope of future promise. It was on this occasion that a soul was watching with unburdened joy at the beauty that was the Falcon in flight. The Falcon was enjoying the first day of spring with great relish. It was thanking all of nature and God for the opportunities that it had been given. It was on this occasion that the Falcon spied a fresh clear pond that beckoned with purity and promise. The Falcon dropped to the water to get its fill when it spied the statue that it had seen from above. The Falcon watched that soul and looked into its eyes. The eyes were as pure as the water and as deep as the ocean. They were full of promise and pure unattached appreciation for the Falcon and all other creatures. One simple act changed the Falcons life forever; the soul raised its hand, and waved its fingers in welcome to the tired but dedicated bird. Words did not need to be spoken for the two to understand, nor was it necessary for the Falcon to fear a repeat of its past experiences. These two souls connected and without a word, they knew that it would be different and that there would be final understanding.

When two such creatures are meant to be together, and many are, it is a sight of beauty. It is a confirmation of the divine and brings meaning to this journey we call life. When two work together they work on building something bigger than themselves. When this is not the case it is the cause of destruction. Each one of us is both Falcon and Falconer to each other. We strive for the greater glory and yet can come home to the nurture of our beloved. Each one serving the true Beloved while serving each other. We are all that soul and we are that Falcon.

"On the outspread tablet of this world, ye are the verses of His singleness; and atop lofty palace towers, ye are the banners of the Lord. In His bowers are ye the blossoms and sweet-smelling herbs, in the rose garden of the spirit the nightingales that utter plaintive cries. Ye are the birds that soar upward into the firmament of knowledge, the royal falcons on the wrist of God."
(Abdu'l-Bahá, Selections from the Writings of Abdu'l-Bahá, p. 266)


Shiidon, Náw Ruz, 2006

'Abdu'l-Bahá

i was reading a book on the Bahá'í Covenant and 'Abdu'l-Bahá, the Center of the Covenant of Bahá'u'lláh. The suffering that He went through and the way He guided the community through some perilous times. i was moved to tears and found the need to write this poem. Usually i walk then write. This time it was the other way around.


'Abdu'l-Bahá

As tears pour down my cheek
My voice choked,
Unable to speak
Overwhelmingly weak

What suffering You endured
The Covenant assured
At what great cost
A community cured

Guiding the loved ones
With each step
Living Your life
So full of strife
Serving His servants
For the Blessed Beauty
An example to all
Of our duty

With crying heart
From You apart
Wishing to be
With You and see
The many wonders
now read
Seeing You in my heart
instead

To give and serve
Is all that’s left
Focus on the plan
That came from Your hand
With doubled effort
serving
Towards a reunion so
undeserving
yet Your love showers down
unswerving

Shiidon, 12/07

Skye

i was at a gathering this last Sunday with a lot of the youth, around my children's age. i was so impressed with the love and care that they share with each other. i was moved to write a poem about one of them, but it is really about all of them.

Skye

Sitting on the beach
Watching the sea
Birds fly by
So high so free

Oh what would it be
For her to fly
High in the sky
So open so free

Surrounding her
With arms open wide
Friends and family
Without divide

Standing with open arms
She receives their love
And looking above
Reaches for the sky
And on waves of love
Never alone
Flying high
Free to roam
Heart to heart
Never apart

Shiidon, 12/07

Traveler

i wrote this in April but never posted it. i have only recently been posting most of my poems and short stories but there are many still on the computer. Before blogging i would send a copy of each story or poem without much in the way of explanation. This piece keeps haunting me in that i am constantly feeling thethat i need to post it.

This story was inspired by the story of Badí (explanation to follow). In May of 2006 i boarded a plane and a few hours later found myself at the Tel Aviv, Airport. From there i was but a little more than an hour from Haifa, Israel. In the days when Bahá'u'lláh lived in the Holy Land people would travel, primarily from Iran, on a pilgrimage to see Him. They would travel by horse, camel, caravan,cart etc. However, they mostly traveled by foot.

One youth felt the need to attain the presence of Bahá'u'lláh. He travelled by foot and after many weeks and months of travel he attained His presence. He asked for and was given a task. He was to take Bahá'u'lláhs proclamation to the Shah of Iran. Badí left and without hesitation returned to Iran and found the Shahs encampment. He waited for days until the Shah, out of curiosity, gave him a hearing. The response to the Tablet from Bahá'u'llah was to torture Badí and then end his life in a cruel and viscious manner. Many Bahá'í's can be found with the name Badí today.

This is a story inspired by the story of Badí, it is a story of detachment.

Traveler

His foot came down and struck the earth with the purposeful step and weight of his body, the dust kicking up momentarily and then settling until the next time it would be of service to yet another traveler. With each step reunion was ever closer. How is it that after a brief life of waywardness, direction would be found? The other leg, having already been lifted from this earth was drawn back to it with purpose and struck with another small plume of dust. How could i have forgotten my Beloved and followed my earthly desires, loves with a singular selfish purpose? Another strike of the foot upon the earth, this time with the surprise of a small stone, was a reminder to the traveler that the path to the Beloved is not without its pain. Without care, the traveler ignored the stone as if it was nothing and continued with purpose. The heat of the road radiated up to the traveler as the heat of the sun beat down upon him, this was nothing to the traveler as his thoughts were constantly on the Beloved. This journey was not one of hours or days but of months and in many ways years. Time, place, hunger, and indeed those things of this earth had lost their meaning to this thirsty one. The state of detachment increased with the drop of every foot and each step drew the traveler closer to his Beloved. The dust kicked up by a horse passing the other way flew up as a wall to remind the traveler that he was still part of this earth. The traveler ignored the dust as no more than any other earthly obstacle placed in the way of recognition and attainment of the Beloved.


The rhythm of the steps was undaunted and the traveler, after many weeks of travel and many years of spiritual separation, reached the proximity of the Beloved. He reached the steps that would lead to the fire of reunion, the moth about to reach its heart’s desire, the soul about to be consumed in the fire of reunion with the Beloved. He purposefully climbed each step up leading to the outer chamber, the dust of his travels coming off of him onto the stairs, knowing that it had lost its attachment to the traveler to One much greater, like a friend letting go it fell down and with it all other forms of attachment was shed on those steps. He entered the outer chamber, no longer of this world, the others he found within standing, like shadows or statues pulled aside and making a path that would lead to the Beloved and his heart’s desire. He was burning with the fire of reunion, the flames surrounding him as he approached the open doorway, he entered and was consumed. A new creature, never before seen was born, a new soul, a recreated being, with one more mission for the Beloved.

shiidon, April 15, 2007

Tiny Seed

My son's have had two, and at times, many more friends over consistently over the last few years. One of these youth, John, decided to become a Bahá'í this summer on his fifteenth birthday. His mother gave permission and he enrolled. Both he and Travis have been great joys to be around and they are great friends. i was sitting at a planning committee meeting with Shervin and John. i was overwhelmed that here was my son (age 17)helping plan a Touchstone youth retreat with my friend Jeff. i was seventeen or so when i attended the first Touchstone and Jeff was the organizer. The other overwhelming thought was here sat John helping plan something that was only two years ago the first Bahá'í activity he went to.

This poem is inspired by John. it could be about Shervin, my other children or anyone in particular that one watches grow and develop in life.

Tiny Seed

A seed was given
Deep in the soil ‘twas driven
Watered, fed and loved
It slowly made its way above

emerging vigorous and tall
Withstanding all
that would befall
the tests befitting one so small

Eventually a flower did bloom
Shining for all to see
What a gift from God can be
Radiantly facing the sun above
Accepting from all, deep love

That flower once in need
And but a tiny seed
Gives freely to all
With energy freed

…..i look in wonderment!

Shiidon, 12/07