Jeannie Zandi
Jeannie Zandi |
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| Jeannie Zandi holds an M.A. from Naropa University in Transpersonal Counseling. She has led various events on the topics of relationship, gender and spirituality for the past 15 years. She was invited to give satsang by advaita teacher Pamela Wilson, and has been profoundly influenced by zen-advaita teacher Adyashanti. |
All of This for Nothing
Was I always so
luscious? Did I gleam and
ripple, without adornment, like
the sparkling sea?
Every cell in my body
dancing! Shining
from the inside with
a light that comes from
nowhere.
Pinned to the moment
like a butterfly, no longer anywhere
else to go. Candle flickering inside
my heart, breath of my child
breathing me. Heart
thickly laden with invisible fruit, joy
beaming from my eyes.
Something broke inside, something laid down,
exhausted from the struggle, and
died. Whatever I gave
myself to then has flowered
inside and
taken over, turning
my home into night sky.
I cannot tell
you, where I have gone,
where I am going. As the darkness
took me, the road disappeared
behind, and ahead,
nothing.
Only walking through now and always
now. All of this
for nothing! With the entire universe
lovemaking
inside me, I have stopped
asking anyone
for anything.
Hood River Retreat
fluttering prayer
flags,
tenderly
offered. so threadbare,
the sky shows
through.
blowing
banners -- red green yellow
blue
a victory
I do
not
own.
Send/Recv
For Ken Sawyer
Still in my contact list
when I send a poem
your name.
I think to
add it, wonder if my poem will
bounce back or be
delivered,
where you won't read it.
I keep
your name there. I like
to think of you, your
absence, your
straight black pole of
a ponytail, like a trapper
a brave, serious
eyebrows, your
questions
your
trying hard.
Send/Recv
Send/Recv
Send/Recv
Tonight I sent
a poem to you. I've
checked
three times
so far no
message saying, no such
email account.
I like to think it got
there,
I like to think of your email
piling up, my poem
glowing
in the spam
that will never be deleted.
Did you know I sat beside
while you went on,
holding your drawling sweetness
your earnest seriousness
feeling you, covered
with stories
questions
answers?
THIS IS
A WARNING MESSAGE
ONLY
YOU DO NOT NEED TO
RESEND
YOUR MESSAGE
Warning: message still
undelivered
after 4 hours
Will keep trying until
message is
5 days old.
Sometimes one is cradled
powerfully
by the one
beside him
sometimes milk flows so
sweetly from
the breast
of the heavens
and that one
cannot drink cannot drink cannot drink.
Streaming Beggars
Now that you have moved into my heart,
taken the doors off their hinges and
removed the windows, glass, sash and all
beggars are coming from everywhere
for your sweet embrace.
The beggars stream in from every direction
walking, running, crawling, rolling and being carried.
The neighbors have stopped screaming about it.
At first they had plenty to say but after weeks and weeks of this
they know there is no helping it.
This is beyond city ordinances.
Soon they will be coming themselves,
dropping rakes, dog leashes, clothespins,
leaving cars running in the street,
for a glimpse of your holy face.
What am I to do but
watch in awe at the blessed variety of your creation,
the myriad wounds, the incredible stories,
the way they gather around the door
quivering with the certain knowledge
that finally no one will be turned away.
And stay in the house making meals,
and carrying sheets up and down the stairs.
God Loves Artichokes
God loves artichokes.
She peels each leaf
dips it into the salty sauce of tears
scrapes the good stuff off on her bottom teeth
and tosses the leaf in the compost.
God likes the hearts best
and usually draws out the leaf-eating
reveling in the slow delicious
unfolding of the heart.
God doesn't mind the spiny stuff
just before she gets to the heart.
She carefully picks it away
not wanting to damage the heart
which she eats whole.
But sometimes, unpredictable as God is
and lacking manners completely,
God will take her two thumbs
plunge them directly into the center
rip the artichoke in half
and greedily eat the heart,
spines and all,
in a couple messy gobbles.
These poems appear in the book My Eyes Are Filled with Diamonds, which can be purchased with an email to Jeannie Zandi.