for a single tear

For a single tear. That is a title to one of my Hafiz poems in The Gift, and it also appears in A Year With Hafiz, on page 147. 

Of the some 700 Hafiz poems-renderings I have published with Penguin in four books, this poem is one that I might recite to myself most often, as my teacher created a very special connection to it, that I in part tell.

Like just the other night when I was out alone in public, at a bar & restaurant I usually visit a couple of times a week. I spend most all my time alone, even in pubic; and often wish no one would approach me, talk to me, as I just like being in my own world ... even amongst people. But if someone does approach me, and says “hello,” seems I can always very sincerely kiss them on their shoulder or head, and/or exchange a few friendly words. That is: my heart wells up for them. And I often mentally bow to people, as I know the average person suffers so much. 

Original haiku, or a story about my teacher, can often come to mind when I am alone. I then might post—via my phone— on an international Meher Baba chat-website I often offer things to. Being a servant to my pen—and poems—is really my life.

I think soooo much of the writing we can see in books is what I might call: a writing up, at its best. That is: the author can start off grounded in this world in some ways, from some past experience. And then, from there, maybe branch out and even then hopefully lift theirself and many into some region of the sky.

I think something about the poetry of—say, Hafiz and Rumi is, that it is often a unique, sacred: writing down. That is: a making tangible to us something we may never have quite seen, experienced or thought of before. Like maybe they turning even something very common into something we have not done all the math on, or hardly any real math on: helping us realize more of its true nature— its heart, soul, wonder— its miracle.

In some ways, to me, Rumi and Hafiz are like the true science teachers. Showing us and revealing a physics to everything. A physics we can then utilize for the enrichment of our own life, and that of others. A physics we can use to more unfurl our golden wings, and/or get our feet and body to more rock-n-roll— crank the party up.

But back to this poem, “For A Single Tear.” It started out like this in its most original form-edition, but it got changed as can now be seen in my books and on the link below. Maybe I was trying to make it more accessible, and not lose the reader. But it, in its more original, was like this, the opening lines:

                       I know of beauty that no one in existence 

                       has ever known,

                      but how could that be possible when I may

                      seem so new in infinite time and space?

You can read the rest of that poem here. https://www.theculturium.com/hafiz-the-gift/ It is about the 12th poem down. And I like very much the presentation The Culturium put together with some of my Hafiz poems here—with the exceptional art work-photos of Marwa Adel. All on this link was a big sweet surprise to me I came across I think a year or two after it was first posted in 2018. And have since been in touch with their very fine editor there.

And I once recited this Hafiz poem-rendering to my teacher Eruch, who I have mentioned several times in my blogs. And Eruch's comment was: 

“It is very beautiful, but really beyond most everyone (such a destiny of Divine Oneness—with All Existence; when one is fully Awake, fully Alive), even though Hafiz tries to break it down for the reader-listener—so one's heart might more grasp a wonderful, wonderful profundity of God. And indeed—everyone’s sublime destiny!"

For A Single Tear. Yes, I started to weep just the other night, sitting in that restaurant and bar. There was a young Americanized-looking East Indian woman of maybe about 20, sitting with her mother; they had sat down very close to me. She looked very intelligent and was maybe aimed to become a doctor. And all of a sudden for a minute I was seeing into her future, and she was crying from a broken heart; and then so was I, for her. And I started to recite this poem to myself, silently. And unspoken—wish her the best I could. And in my mind—placed my head on her feet.

And when I read this poem to Eruch, as I said above, he recited the last two lines back to me. So please do that for yourself. Plug into some physics—jeweled metaphysics there. And taste more of God’s profundity, and astounding future gift—for a single tear.

And it is rare that I carry any of my books with me. But happened to have a copy of A Year With Hafiz with me that night this young Indian woman and her mom sat literally a couple feet from me that evening; they were listening to some live music in the restaurant that night as I was. And I gave her a copy of that book as I was leaving; signed it for her, and said:

                        “I bet you and Hafiz will become friends.”

I hope you and he buddy up tooooo! Hafiz will help ya smooch with the Moon. And teach you how to sit on the thin branch—existence—and bend it less than a sparrow (aka: helping your only footprint in this world to be one that can benefit others). 

You can become a Zen master sitting midair on a butterfly wing—and high-fiving everyone. Or at least more bowing to others in your heart. 

We need ya! Your angel dust coming from your eyes!