Morning at the New Park, Jamatkhana and Museum

CONTEMPLATION

300px-Z_axis

By Navyn Naran

If x is a first dimension,
y the second,
z is the third,
with the fourth being Time,
and Space being the fifth,
then ishq may be the sixth.
Seventh be
the absence of thought where
the Soul meets the Eye.
Could that be it?
ishq is prerequisite for Nur.
Maybe seventh is the ism-e-azam,
as springboard to forward roll
you into the Eye of the One Soul?

~~~~~~~~~

MORNING AT WYNFORD

By Navyn Naran

PARK

Grass

There is the sound of a water droplet,
in the quiet of the darkness.
You were sitting by the fountain in silence,
perhaps emptying your mind of thought,
in the present.
The chill of the cool air,
watching the stream clear, travel to its destination
only to return again through the fountain.

Some molecules may evaporate
in tomorrow’s sunlight,
and some may freeze and
move at glacier place in their journey.
Who is to tell where, and which,
this H or that O will arrive,
where and when?
You rise, search  the sky…it’s a blue ceiling
in the reflected lights on this side of Toronto.

Taking a deep breath with hands
stretching out the pockets of your coat,
you snuggle your head into the vestiges
of the hooded duffle and walk,
a crisp gait, to the Center.

In the quiet dimness you enter
a lovely world and space;
scents of incense.
‘Individual Hs and Os’ you think to yourself,
as speckled under the large dome,
each one sits.
You proceed directly to your space, as if
that very spot is embedded in your mind’s eye.
For this is where you continue to the page
where you’ve left off but not twenty-four hours ago.

JAMATKHANA

jamatkhana

And there, in the center of your universe,
a kaleidoscope begins. An empty canvas.
The crystal sparkle of stars reflecting
mirror on mirror, opening prism-like,
an accordion of Time stretching and
constricting, spiraling and twisting,
through and from which,
One Connection breeds.
And what happens hence is sacred and
intangible, to memory, thought, or word.

Suddenly, as in birth, you are abruptly
born by brightening dim light and human voice.
“Jamat ke haizanda”
Is there Knowledge of it,
or is it imagination?
Strangely confusing, unreachable,
Time happened.
Time has that space. Peace.

The sounds and light accompanied by
your mechanistic body returning to
the ritual and presence of morning;
a sadness almost, as this hour has Been
stealing from you minutes of Something of
Joy!

No one can understand your space nor
take it away from you,
except Time interrupting!
How you long for another
twenty-three hours to pass!
Light has risen.
Through the transparent dome,
through your transparent eye,
to the invisible soul. Your eyes aware of
the beauty of this space.

Can Love be contained in a space?
The most one can offer is their Truth…
what else is worth more?

MUSEUM

akmuseum astrolable

Artifacts of beauty, skill and ages,
mere reflections and works of
a Great Truth and Mastery.
Yesterday packaged in today’s
exquisite architecture. Huh!
Does anything really matter much
now you have experienced your Joy?
A part of the past it is however
in the present, external, sufficient.

PARK, JAMATKHANA AND MUSEUM

park, museum and centre

Outside, an orange glow; trees glisten
sunlit as if mirrored, bright!!
Inhaling deeply, face to the sun you
str-e-tch; “mmmmmmmmmm!!”
A bird sits on the marble in front of you,
its head tilted, your eyes meet,
a quizzical look you think.
“What are you saying to me, o friend? ”
Well! you throw your head up and back,
mischievously laugh!

The object artwork of practiced skill,
composed in an orgasmic flow of
precision and rhythm,
Is it just, just, just, the very same beam of,
shall we call it, Light?
the Grace-centered prism,
collectively fissioned.
As in your very own body,
the very same Joy, Untenable, Present.
The Museum makes sense, you nod.
Where in the flows is this H?
Twenty-one hours to go…

In all the buildings and homes,
the elders…crotcheting
the most intricate designs from memory,
like bees, without a recipe.
The simplest acts you would think,
as  mechanics and calculators
mechanistically…
how indeed each an architect.
Artists, all races, creeds, genders…
In opportunity and safety and talent.

Everywhere, in Toronto, Gaza, Syria,
Badakshan, Shangrila, Patagonian pampas
to Rome to Timbuktu.
Grace-centered rainbow of One Light
in this key of the Accordion,
In this dimension, transparent under
One Greater Dome,
We are one.
This is our building,
our fountain, our Soul.
“One Soul”

Copyright: Navyn Naran/Simerg. 2014
Date posted:  Monday, September 8, 2014.

______________________

A selection of more poems by Navyn Naran on this website:

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We welcome feedback/letters from our readers. Please use the LEAVE A REPLY box which appears below. Your feedback may be edited for length and brevity, and is subject to moderation. We are unable to acknowledge unpublished letters. Please visit the Simerg Home page for links to articles posted most recently. For links to articles posted on this Web site since its launch in March 2009, please click TABLE OF CONTENTS.

4 thoughts on “Morning at the New Park, Jamatkhana and Museum

  1. Beautiful prose!–Thought provoking!, Spiritually Enlightening and Rumi-neseque!— in your delivery!– Brilliant work sister.! By the way, are you related to the Naran family of the yester years in UPANGA/Dar-es-Salaam?

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