Maybe I Cared Too Much…

Maybe I cared too much,

Maybe I loved too hard,

All I wanted to do was save you,

All I wanted was to take care of you.

But, here is the cold hard bitter truth:

I couldn’t save you,

I couldn’t take care of you,

But then, I ask, why did I want to fix you?

Was I too scared to admit that I wanted to fix you so you would fix me?

That by saving your world I would save mine, too.

I had it wrong,

I had to find me before I found you.

So here, I sit knowing who can help me;

Who can fix me.

A thousand emotions scream in me,

I’m tired;

I’m scared.

But, no longer do I have a choice,

This inward journey is the one I must take.

Time to look at the reflection;

Time to meet the one I avoided;

Time, now, to go home.

Zahir Khan

The Lament of The Dervish

In despair, the Dervish looked to the heavens,

And cried out.

My Beloved, why have you forsaken me?

Have I not been faithful?

Have I not been true?

Have I not helped your servants?

And yet, I wander from place to place.

A dervish with his begging bowl,

I concede, I am angry,

I am impatient,

I have faults,

And my vision is limited,

And I cannot see what you see for me.

The Beloved smiled.

Your fear I understand,

You look for the next moment,

When there is only now.

Rest now, Dervish,

Your reward you must accept.

I cried…

My Beloved, I am in fear.

Long have I dwelled in your tavern,

And now you want me to leave.

To finally experience the happiness;

The happiness I have helped others see.

Am I to be rewarded on this earthly plain?

When I believed my reward was in the eternal hereafter.

Have I sinned?

Have I transgressed against you?

Why would you deny me your face?

The Beloved smiled.

In this life and the next,

Here and now,

You will be my friend and I, yours.

A great silence overcame the Dervish.

Nothing remained,

All that remained was the Beloved’s smile.

Zahir Khan

On anxiety

I am scared and anxious. This is not a feeling I am used to. Again, it makes sense that I sit down with this new friend. We stare at each other attentively; something is so familiar about this new arrival. Why could he possibly be here? I know I am experiencing stress, I am fearful of this work I do. It seems to be changing, another transition is afoot and yet this transition occurs in the now. I know this, I experience this, and yet, this new arrival has me baffled. My mind throws up explanations - “oh, you are changing, this work is changing, there is more responsibility and let’s be honest, you don’t do to well with responsibility do you?”

The mind, now in a frenzy, paints ever-detailed paintings sending me into a tailspin of fear and anxiety.

‘Stop, stop, stop,’ I cry. The laboured breathing slows down; the racing mind stills. In that moment, acknowledgement of my new friend occurs. In this acknowledgement, I see that my new friend is not separate from me and I am not separate from him. The idea of two, the subject and the object ceases and a realisation emanates from where I know not. This is not who I am, this is a story I created. A construct I constructed to help me navigate through this illusory existence called life. This isn’t me. Wherever this emanates and returns to is who I am. A simple moment; an immediacy. Just this.

On fear

A thousand emotions light up in me. I have been here before and I am here again. An opportunity exists for real transformation, for real change, and I find myself frozen with fear. Hello my old friend. We are here again. We sit and stare at each other. I offer no judgement or desire to fix this, instead, we simply sit with each other. We sit together for what feels like an eternity. We sit and stare; time passes until even time stops. Suddenly something starts to change, at first a simple and ever so subtle glimmer and then a realisation that I am not separate from this fear. THAT IT IS ME AND I AM IT. That no one witnesses and no one experiences this fear. That, can there even be fear if no one is there to know it or experience it? Instantly, the edifice of the two collapses, it dies, and there is only this. This moment, this instant, this aliveness, this being. This knowing, this birthright, supposedly lost but always here. This shining, resplendent and magnificent moment. This is all there is.

What would you like me to say?

From the silence, words emanate like a wave rising from the ocean and as quickly as they appear, they disappear. Sometimes the words are measured and sometimes frenetic. I have recently been saying that, for someone in silence, much is being said. I ask you, then, the question, “what would you like me to say?”

“What would you like me to say to ease the separation that ‘supposedly’ exists?”

The aching heart; what words can soothe that ache, like a soothing balm? How can I help? Knowing that these words are useless and yet, for the very few, some may prove useful as they move in the direction the words point to and dive deeply into the ocean of recognition. The recognition that in the annihilation of the drop is the life of the ocean. An openness; an aliveness; a resting occurs which informs us that my pain and my story is not real. That I have always rested as the ocean, whether consciously aware of it or not. My words are useless and yet, useful for those who will answer my question of,

“What would you like me to say?”