Alan Jacobs

A Rhymester's Dilemma

A balmy bard had a bee in his bonnet;
       Strolling down the Strand one sunny day
       He heard an Angelic Band begin to play
A hymn, sweet as honey, oh so sun-lit!
Inspired by music of the spheres he wrote a Sonnet
       On 'Spirit's Plan To Be Clad in Mortal Clay',
       Celestials thought it funny and flew away.
In silence, the sorry poet pondered 'pon it.

If you have a visit from a heavenly haloed Being
       Then stop the wandering mind pondering on it
       It is better far to restrain one's mental wit
Not think on other things but just start kneeling
       Don't cleverly endeavour to compose a silly Sonnet
When in awe of the Ethereal Host one could be Seeing!

Alan Jacobs

I am that One

Pure, as the mountain stream after a fall of April snow
Conscious as he who wakens from deepest sleep, aglow
Aware as the cat who senses all before she prepares to go
Blissful as a babe in arms fondled like an endearing doe
Alone, I AM

Self-existent
Here in the Heart from where I AM is found
Now, in the Heart from where I AM is ground.
I am space for this beautiful place to happen in, and
My Earth is a grain of sand on Being's strand
Whatever's on the screen, whatever wave the spectral band,
Goodly Air, stormy Sea or merely mediocre Land
All is in me, this I truly recognise and understand.

I am not a tortured victim in a tormented world
A twin-holed meat ball, hairily curled,
I am no thing, no name, no body, no word,
I am single-eyed and feeling very headless
There's no thing on theses shoulders, mind's no longer restless
Where I'm seeing from is a boundless window, frameless.

Alan Jacobs

Spring

The spring sun streams through my window frame
Opening wide to limitless vistas of sapphire blue,
Red roses sparkling, diamonds of dew,
My heart hymns praises to Him without a Name
An equal love for Self and all, the same.
I drew the curtains of my room, enlarge the view,
From tattered folds a powdery dust soon flew
Across the scene, obscuring sunlight's flame.

As cloud did clear I saw each dusty grain
A world held in solar radiant beam,
Universes in Brahman's mighty magic dream.
My mind fell into heart, no words explain,
I am the light, the sun, the room, the view
The dust, the Self, and Brahman; so are you.

Alan Jacobs

The Pundit

    A preacher, a teacher, erudite, learned and grave
With mind wizened by wizard computing power
Schooled all his pupils strictly hour by hour
    Expounding scripture in brave effort to save
    Them from downfall of nescience, so they'd behave
With saintly decorum to always embower
    His repute as scholar. His disciples would rave
Against evil and ignorance as hail in a shower!

    But pundit grew old, his health faded away,
After lifetime of teaching scripture he knew
And sadly regretted Self knowledge still flew
    Far away. So he sought, one auspicious day,
A Sage who uttered in words terse and true,
"Experience alone brings the Self - there's no other way!"

Alan Jacobs

Trading Faces

Observing closely face to face
As a scientist might
When peering into a mirror
Through his microscopic
Focus of attention,
I note the landscape
You are wearing,
Its hills, ridges,
Valleys, plains,
Twin pools, surrounded
By a forest of lash and brow,
Ears like swallow wings,
A mouth with the enigmatic
Simper of the Mona Lisa.

Mysteriously
You own my face
At the open place
Where yours should be.
Study the terrain,
So now, head to no head,
Out of this hollow transparent emptiness,
There is an authentic space to take you in.

Alan Jacobs