Early on Intellect leads the way,
As the cart of Love, laden with Longing,
Begins its Journey to the Kingdom of Heaven,
On the well paved roads of belief and faith.
For the Intellect is the master of the map,
Conversant in words, symbols, directions,
Able to decipher from these, where to go,
And where to refrain from going.
The roads of religion are well tended,
Lest you be jostled, and lose your faith,
And if reason and doubt arise along the way,
Inns abound to comfort and refresh.
But when the paved way ends in dirt road,
And dirt road vanishes into rock strewn path,
And rock strewn path into trackless Wilderness,
The Intellect, at a loss, stares blankly ahead.
There, where the known vanishes into Wonder,
The Heart takes up the reins of longing,
And burning the maps of dogma for warmth,
Brings forth from its cloak, the Flask of Love.
For only a Drunken Heart can Feel the Way,
From the mind’s conclusion of what we are not,
To the Rapturous Experience of what we Are,
In the Ecstasy of Nonexistent Existence.
As the cart of Love, laden with Longing,
Begins its Journey to the Kingdom of Heaven,
On the well paved roads of belief and faith.
For the Intellect is the master of the map,
Conversant in words, symbols, directions,
Able to decipher from these, where to go,
And where to refrain from going.
The roads of religion are well tended,
Lest you be jostled, and lose your faith,
And if reason and doubt arise along the way,
Inns abound to comfort and refresh.
But when the paved way ends in dirt road,
And dirt road vanishes into rock strewn path,
And rock strewn path into trackless Wilderness,
The Intellect, at a loss, stares blankly ahead.
There, where the known vanishes into Wonder,
The Heart takes up the reins of longing,
And burning the maps of dogma for warmth,
Brings forth from its cloak, the Flask of Love.
For only a Drunken Heart can Feel the Way,
From the mind’s conclusion of what we are not,
To the Rapturous Experience of what we Are,
In the Ecstasy of Nonexistent Existence.
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