To me, a good poem has utility; and a great poem has great utility. I think I have rarely seen a Hafiz, Rumi, or Kabir poem that is as wired as this one— to give and help one to really rock-n-roll. 

An inspired poem contains vital elements from the Sky and the heart of the earth, that one can plug into like a solar panel or like a footprint of Buddha right next to your house, you can follow.

To my mind & heart, the foundation of this poem (besides Hafiz himself) was my teacher in India.  He issued me a rare invitation so that I lived with him for two years (off and on) over the last 12 years of his life. And I walked with him hundreds of times in the early mornings, often alone or with his remarkable brother.

My teacher's name was Eruch Jessawala, and he was the person closest to Meher Baba. Just as The Dhammapada talks about all of us someday becoming a buddha— I think Eruch very much did become one. And to spend time around him— well, I know for certain I would not have one Hafiz book or any book of mine reaching so many without his extraordinary, extraordinary help. 

In some ways, to me, Eruch was such a personification of a true Zen master; he could make anyone think he was just basically a normal man; and most always dressed like that. But it seemed he could not fool very young children, animals, birds, or trees. They all seemed to have the lowdown on him. And he let me, and a few others— know something of what he knew.

Remembrance of God or of the Ultimate Self seems a pillar, a cornerstone, in many esoteric paths, back to Self. Back to some kind of astounding Oneness with All!

And this poem I linked above, can sprinkle upon ya (and any sincere seekers of very solid advice) some angel dust to help unfurl your wings (your spirit), so they can more taste the Sky— that holy ruby mine inside, aka: God.

This poem is in The Gift, page 71, and featured as the head of chapter Five, and can be seen above; and as is often the case not at all properly credited. Just glad it has reached so many around the world, as it has, and still is. 

Becoming a Solar Panel. That thought occurred to me this morning for the very first time. I guess that is what a real Zen master is; or a real saint; or any great person— some kind of a Solar Panel others can plug into, and so help them also become a SP. 

There is really such a physics or metaphysics to everything. One sticks a bare hand in water and it gets wet. One puts a bare hand in a fire, and you might quickly think: Why in the hell did I ever do that?

And one starts, “swinging a golden pick with each step,” as this poem mentions; and then Bingo. And then Bingo— you start to see Buddha left his footprints all over you, heading in a very clear direction. And all the once-internal traffic lights in your life are becoming more green, and lead to tasting and knowing more of God.