The Futility of the Intellect
Sailing on a very large lake one day, I saw
Rowing a dinghy, I thought for the shore
A man, whose posture displayed intent;
Then I saw he was not for the shore bent.
I saw him the next day’ and the next as well,
He was there every day as far as I could tell.
That, in itself, is not very exciting for sure,
But I wondered what he was looking for.
Then one time I stopped to ask if he was lost.
He was all skin and bones, a virtual ghost.
He said; ‘Well I have rowed for many a day
As far as I can tell there is absolutely no way
To the shore, this ocean is surely infinity.’
I could see he had forgot that his boat and he,
To be launched, must have been once on shore.
He continued ‘Now I have a purpose that’s more
Important to me - to find the very centre of infinity’.
I must admit for a moment I was more lost than he.
Still, he had books and papers, wore glasses,
and had so
Many letters after his name I thought I’d better let him go.
The upshot was I left him with food and supplies
To row round in the circles of his mind’s own lies.
You know The Merciful sets the example of charity
It’s incumbent on you and it is incumbent on me,
But His Mercy beyond understanding is,
Indeed it is the only sure way to His bliss.
He took mercy on this ascetic’s plight
Leading him from darkness into the light.
I never ever saw him again, except once in a dream,
He told me what happened, and this was his theme.
I will try to be brief: the end of his story
Is that one day his circling seemed to be
More rapid somehow, till it became far too fast
Puzzled, he laughed, then understood at last
He’d been caught in whirlpool of immense size,
And knew for certain he would soon capsize.
In the reality of the whirlpool he gave up the fight
Of thinking he could find truth with his pitiful might.
He earnestly prayed, then prayed more earnestly still,
And said ‘Now I know, I know nothing, and my little will
And intellectual skill, is nothing but complete vanity:
Open the gates of Thy Mercy, O All Powerful, see
My plight is so dire. The prayer was made so sincerely
That His Mercy was stirred and came flowing to me.
The watery world seemed to be spinning around,
In the centre, me, with my feet on the ground!
‘So this is what its like’ something inside me said,
And I was flung upward; it was like nothing I ever read.
The next thing I knew I was kissing the shore
Thanking Him. But there is something more.
My mission is now crystal clear to me
To others an example I will always be
God’s infinity our intellect cannot know, for sure
Do good works for your soul, here on the shore!”
Sailing on a very large lake one day, I saw
Rowing a dinghy, I thought for the shore
A man, whose posture displayed intent;
Then I saw he was not for the shore bent.
I saw him the next day’ and the next as well,
He was there every day as far as I could tell.
That, in itself, is not very exciting for sure,
But I wondered what he was looking for.
Then one time I stopped to ask if he was lost.
He was all skin and bones, a virtual ghost.
He said; ‘Well I have rowed for many a day
As far as I can tell there is absolutely no way
To the shore, this ocean is surely infinity.’
I could see he had forgot that his boat and he,
To be launched, must have been once on shore.
He continued ‘Now I have a purpose that’s more
Important to me - to find the very centre of infinity’.
I must admit for a moment I was more lost than he.
Still, he had books and papers, wore glasses,
and had so
Many letters after his name I thought I’d better let him go.
The upshot was I left him with food and supplies
To row round in the circles of his mind’s own lies.
You know The Merciful sets the example of charity
It’s incumbent on you and it is incumbent on me,
But His Mercy beyond understanding is,
Indeed it is the only sure way to His bliss.
He took mercy on this ascetic’s plight
Leading him from darkness into the light.
I never ever saw him again, except once in a dream,
He told me what happened, and this was his theme.
I will try to be brief: the end of his story
Is that one day his circling seemed to be
More rapid somehow, till it became far too fast
Puzzled, he laughed, then understood at last
He’d been caught in whirlpool of immense size,
And knew for certain he would soon capsize.
In the reality of the whirlpool he gave up the fight
Of thinking he could find truth with his pitiful might.
He earnestly prayed, then prayed more earnestly still,
And said ‘Now I know, I know nothing, and my little will
And intellectual skill, is nothing but complete vanity:
Open the gates of Thy Mercy, O All Powerful, see
My plight is so dire. The prayer was made so sincerely
That His Mercy was stirred and came flowing to me.
The watery world seemed to be spinning around,
In the centre, me, with my feet on the ground!
‘So this is what its like’ something inside me said,
And I was flung upward; it was like nothing I ever read.
The next thing I knew I was kissing the shore
Thanking Him. But there is something more.
My mission is now crystal clear to me
To others an example I will always be
God’s infinity our intellect cannot know, for sure
Do good works for your soul, here on the shore!”
For the Murids
I wish I could show you somehow,
The beauty of your souls, just now;
Without messing up your mind;
But human clay must be refined,
For man is surely made that way.
The best I can do is hope and pray,
That you will see it too some day,
And then for me, you too, will pray.
For Ann and a Little Robin We Know
A little poem flew out of my hand today!
She perched on a branch, cocked her head,
Looked for a moment, and then flew away.
High in the sky, she circled, and off she sped;
A diminishing dot that vanished from view.
Of course I know what she intends to do,
Look for a place of rest, in which she can nest.
Not a thorny critical tree, full of self interest,
But a warm, attentive and appreciative place,
Downy soft, with a welcoming kindly grace.
It maybe she will choose a tree like you?
She’ll be picky mind, there are only a few
She’ll practice her art for;
And sing out her heart for.
She is only a small poem as you can see
But whether you hear her, or not, she will be,
Before the sun’s rising (and afterwards too)
Praising the One who made me, her, and you!
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