the wild and the holy

I've had these two poems on mind this week, playing with the paradox and harmony of wild and holy.

Sometimes I believe that some of the keys I drop are from the knowingness of specific intimacies of my wild, rowdy prisoner days. And hopefully I look back in 10 years and see I was a rowdy prisoner right now (thank you avidya).

And dropping keys is made possible because I've put down the knife and (sometimes conscious) choice to forge a key to hold and share. I sometimes think the keys regenerate themselves and we can produce more than we even know. It's a generous system.

I shared these poems with a friend and she asked me if we have different knives for ourselves and others. My answer today is it's one knife, but maybe one side is serrated and the other is smooth.

The small man
Builds cages for everyone
He
Knows.
While the sage,
Who has to duck his head
When the moon is low,
Keeps dropping keys all night long
For the
Beautiful
Rowdy
Prisoners.
~Hāfiz

“Once a young woman said to me,
“Hafiz, what is the sign
of someone who knows God?”

I became very quiet,
and looked deep into her eyes,
then replied,

“My dear, they have dropped the knife.
Someone who knows God has dropped
the cruel knife that most so often use upon their tender self
and others.”
~Hāfiz