Some like to sit on fences, admire the view in safety;

why, it’s none other than Kabir!reading a book entitled The Poems of Kabir;he’s smiling, laughing, waving his hands –how can he be enjoying himself so much?The manuscript doesn’t tell you this;only Kabir can tell you, in that other place..of all the poems, he only recognises twoas poems that he wrote himself..but here’s Kabir’s delight today:many…

his human sweetness – rarely so visiblein the male of the species – andthat inner beauty that seemsto shine through human eyes –they’ve just grown, so thatjust seeing him makes me –makes you? –feel good about being humanand an artistic note: over the years,especially with his pate so shaved,his head is like a sculpture in…

feeling scraped and trimmed and scented and almost younger,we slip into a familiar ritual,a little touch of theatrewhich takes us briefly out of ourselvesor perhaps even into ourselves a little,come to think of it:‘Something for the weekend, sir? ‘He doesn’t say this sotto voce like the other barbers,but rather louder than normalin his ex-actor’s voiceto…

Some traditions say, thatwe all have an inner sound; whichwe can train; or can leave it be..as gold for Midas; Midas, so, for gold;and this, it’s said, calls pupil to their teacher;teacher to their pupil; it isthat yearning to know morethat draws the two to unity;anmd so the holy menshow no surprise to see you…

are now comical – ‘only used humorously’… And yet, readat a funeral pace, in solemnity, toll out the dead…(with acknowledgements to M.G. and the Princeton Encyclopaedia of Poetry…)

in conversation, not until some detailof an action, person, or a deedsparks their mind; then from their heart –not, pours – but rather, in a fine, fine streamof exquisite precision, flows – their praise:as if their whole self gives itself to youin some new form of thought, in whichthere is no longer, they and you…