words written in the dust
DESCRIPTION
This book of poetry is dedicated to the sacrifices made by the noble servants of Bahá'u'lláh, the Yaran, and some of the poems contained in this book are written in response to Mahvash Sabet’s powerful work, Prison Poems.TRANSCRIPT
Words Written in the Dust Dr. Gregory T. Lawton
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Words Written in the Dust Dr. Gregory T. Lawton
Words Written in the Dust, Copyright 2014
Dr. Gregory T. Lawton
All rights reserved. No part of this book shall be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic,
mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without written permission from Gregory T. Lawton.
Muyblue Productions 2040 Raybrook SE, Suite 104 Grand Rapids, Michigan 49546 616-464-0892
Writing, Photography and Design – Dr. Gregory T. Lawton
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Dedication
Some souls are called to a higher level of sacrifice than others and this sacrifice becomes the
compelling story of their lives. This is true of the Yaran. The Yaran are the seven Iranian Baha’i
leaders who had formed a leadership group that assisted with, and guided, the spiritual and social
needs of the over 300,000 member Baha’i community of Iran. These men and women were arrested
and imprisoned because they are Baha’is. The Yaran were sentenced to twenty years of
imprisonment and had long served both their country of Iran and the Iranian Baha’i community.
Six of them were arrested on May 14th, 2008 at their homes in Tehran. The seventh, Mahvash
Sabet, was arrested on March 5th, 2008 while on a trip to Mashhad. The Yaran were held without
the ability to communicate with anyone, including their families, for months and were not
allowed access to legal counsel for more than a year.
One of the Yaran, Mahvash Sabet, is a mother, an educator, and a poet. Mahvash is the author of
a recent book of poems about her imprisonment entitled, Prison Poems. After being dismissed from
her teaching position, she began informally teaching Baha’i youth who were denied the right to
higher education. She is being held in Evin prison, Iran’s infamous and brutal detention block.
These humble words are dedicated to the sacrifices made by these noble servants of Bahá'u'lláh, the
Yaran, and some of the poems contained in this book are written in response to Mahvash Sabet’s
powerful work, Prison Poems.
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Foreword
Every writer faces fear and may ask themselves, “Who am I to write this?” Every writer, song
writer, and poet faces fear in both the process of writing and publishing their work. At some point
in my development as a writer and as an artist I realized that the words that I wrote and the art
that I created were just flowers pushing upward through the soil of my soul and into the brightness
and the light. These words cannot be stopped any more than you can halt the spring, or the
blooming of a rose. What God has planted in our hearts, these gifts, talents, and blessings, must
become the flowers of a new life and a new world. At some point as a writer you ask yourself, “Who
am I?” You are who and whatever God has created you to be and when you realize and actualize
this reality, you become your true self.
I have come to realize that whatever flowers bloom from my heart, in their variegated colors and
scents, were planted there by God and are simply a reflection of His beauty.
“The gnarled hands of the wizened Gardener
have pushed seeds deep within the fertile soil of your heart
and there shrouded in the earthiness of your being
they wait to bloom in resplendent beauty.”
From Scent of a Forgotten Flower
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O SON OF DUS T!
Blind thine eyes, that thou mayest behold My beauty; stop thine ears, that thou mayest hearken
unto the sweet melody of My voice; empty thyself of all learning, that thou mayest partake of My
knowledge; and sanctify thyself from riches, that thou mayest obtain a lasting share from the
ocean of My eternal wealth. Blind thine eyes, that is, to all save My beauty; stop thine ears to all
save My word; empty thyself of all learning save the knowledge of Me; that with a clear vision, a
pure heart and an attentive ear thou mayest enter the court of My holiness.
The Hidden Words of Bahá'u'lláh
We came whirling out of nothingness scattering stars like dust… Jalāl ad-Dīn Muḥammad Rūmī.
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Words Written in the Dust
I am writing you these love letters in the dust…
Hesitantly, my fingers sketch out the meanings of words in dust.
A house becomes your true home far from here
And invisible, but to the keenest eye.
The falling rain is the grace of God
That electrifies your skin and quickens
Your soul.
This is the language that I write in dust.
This is the language spoken in that silent place
Where poems are born,
In the still point
At the center of the Potter’s wheel
Where clay is molded into
Useful things.
These are the words of dust
Traced on the floor of this prison cell
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But that only the soul can see, or hear, or touch, or feel.
I reach deep within the treasury of my heart
To retrieve these guarded words
And to carry them torch-like
From "there to here"'
Only to have these words of dust
Slip through my fingers.
Am I a Cassandra doomed to failure,
As I watch the slightest of breezes,
Even the gentlest of breaths,
Erase my words from the dust?
If these words of mine written in the dust
Will never reach your heart,
Perhaps the smallest specks of meaning
Will become the motes that blow into your eyes,
And the stinging words of tears.
But it is not your cleansing tears that I wish for,
Instead my prayer is for your heart
And the heated blood coursing through it,
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That this offering of dust
Should ignite the holy flame within
And the fire of faith
That will burn away
The veils of limitation,
That blind you
To the most evident of truths.
But, my fingers have drawn these words in the dust,
And what may we ask becomes of dust...
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We Must Look Higher
The weight of these chains around my neck
May bend me low and imprison this feeble body,
But chains have no dominion over my soul.
This despair may be the gravity that holds me to the earth
But the “Holy Spirit of Love” gives me wings to fly.
We must look higher...
We must look beyond this limited horizon,
We must see beyond this burning sun,
We must perceive the unearthly light of another realm.
We must delight in the rainbow colors of another world.
Our gaze must follow the guiding star across the heavens.
We must look higher...
We must be the soaring arrow detached from its string,
We must be the climbing eagle that craves for the sky,
We must "fix our eyes on the everlasting mercy of the Almighty",
We must fill our souls with love for one another.
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We must break these iron chains,
We must slip the burden from our back,
We must leave this earthly home behind,
We must release ourselves to the sky,
We must look beyond our feeble selves.
Our ear must hearken to the Commanding Voice - "Love One Another".
We must look higher...
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This Prayer
This prayer moves with the gentle grace of grasses in the wind
And bows in devout adoration to the dawn of the morning light.
This prayers name is "She Moves in Beauty".
This prayer is clothed in the raiment of gratitude.
This prayer is a constant breath of praise.
This prayer is a beggars bowl shaped by a potters hands.
This prayers hair falls in curls like a golden crown.
This prayers eyes form limpid pools of azure.
This prayers heart is a chambered crystal of ruby.
This prayers body is a luminous temple of light.
This prayer is a fire ember carried in an oyster shell.
This prayer is the ring Drauprin on the ninth night.
This prayer drips from my eyes…
This prayer flows across my lips…
This prayer, this prayer is the sound of my soul breathing in and breathing out.
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Set the Caged Heart Free
My friend, your words were
Delivered to my heart today...
Are you trying to break my heart
Or simply awaken it?
I have heard stories of your suffering and pain
And tears fall from my eyes as prayers from feverish lips.
I cannot find the words to write to you
And what words I do find have dried to dust.
They say that you are soon to leave
This land and set your nest in another.
The wings of a caged bird yearn,
They yearn for the sky and its vast
Immensity of air.
The free bird flies but the caged bird sits
Counting bars as it they were days.
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The jailer holds this trembling bird in her hands
Uncertain if to set it free, or crush it.
If your wings are broken I will knit my feathers
Into you and give you flight to freedom.
You dream of air and I would give you my breath
To lift you up and carry you home.
The jailers have placed this bird within a cage
With evil intent and fateful malice.
But all they have imprisoned is
Claw and beak, feather and wing...
And if all that becomes of you is dust
There is no shame in this.
For it is from dust that we appear
And it is into the dust that we disappear.
The spirit that flies to the sky,
The raising arrow cut lose from its string
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That never returns to the earth,
Cannot be caged and sings an anthem
Of Air, and Sun, and Sky.
My friend, in my dreams I fly to you
And it is my soul that prays to God -
To set the caged heart free.
But in the end you know better than I,
That it is Faith that sets the caged heart free...
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Called Forth to Soar
The voices heard but by a few
Breathe their essence into my heart and bid me,
"Roar forth with a mighty voice."
The light seen but by a few
Touches my skin and commands me,
"Dance, I call you to dance with abandon."
The rain felt but by a few
Enters the soil of my soul and implores me,
"Grow, stretch upward, live, and blossom."
These are the days of thunder and wind
And the birds of our hearts are called forth to soar,
To fly, and to climb their way to untold heights.
How strange, how strange
Nothing from the singer touches the heart of the listener,
But still the heart is moved and the soul does weep.
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How strange, how strange
That you are not moved by the song of this singer,
Nor have you awakened to the morn of this divine melody.
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Lifted by the Wind
O Beloved One,
I was hoping that I would find you again
And hear the sweet accents of your voice.
For I have been lifted by the wind,
Not understanding this wind was your breath,
And not knowing where I would end,
But finding myself as dust pressed beneath your feet.
There is no shame in dust,
Dust has no pride, nor vanity,
No sense of self,
No expectation of reward.
Dust is just dust.
As dust I can lie beneath your feet
And bear the weight of my burdens
Because as dust I am nothing.
But if this one speck of dust
Should dare to hope...
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It would be to catch the
Gleam from your eye
And to become the beam of light
That shines from a pure soul.
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These Hands
These Hands are empty.
They arrived here empty
And they will leave here empty.
They claim nothing as their own.
All that passes through them
Turns to ash, and all that
They touch becomes dust.
Even those things that they
Cherish, that they hold
Closest to their heart,
That they hug to their
Breast, these too
Become yellowed leaves
Tumbling on the ground.
These hands hold nothing.
Like a popular tree
That has given up its leaves
And in winter stands naked
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And denuded, with its
Graphite branches etched
Across the sky.
These hands hold nothing.
Like a broken winged bird
That has lost its flight
And slipped unnoticed
To earth.
These hands hold nothing.
These hands are empty
As I stretch them forth to you
In prayer.
With nothing left of me -
With only empty hands
to offer you -
Please lead me on my way.
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The Shore in Akka
Trace His steps through the streets of Akka
And within its passage ways.
Measure each breath
And treasure the meter of each moment.
Direct yourself to the shore in Akka
And count the rhythm of forty waves.
Await the sunrise by the sea at dawn
And grieve the sunset at the end of day.
The chambers of my heart were opened in Akka
And an ocean of forgiveness surged within me.
Below the eternal Throne there stands a fountain of mercy
And Akka is bathed in its waters.
One thousand sins are carried away on the waves of Akka.
...though they be as piles of sand,
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Are they washed away.
By the sea gate, under the banner of light
Salvation is found in Akka.
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The Comfort of Clouds
I long for the comfort of clouds
Those faithful servants of the sky
That ascend from the earth
And rest upon the mountain high.
If you visit the resting place of clouds
You should stand and say...
"Salutation and blessing
And glory upon
Thee, O Holy Leaf."
I long for the blessing of birds
Those free spirits of the sky
That rise from the earth
And rest upon the Lote Tree high.
The faithful ones rise,
They rise, like the wind
That lifts the wings
Of souls more like
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Saints than men.
I must bear witness,
"That that thou hast believed
In God and His signs..."
I long for the compassion of clouds
Those reigning servants of the sky
That descend upon the earth
And teach feeble men to fly.
They are the flowers
Blooming in the Sun
Who serve a Blessed Beauty.
May God have mercy,
May God have mercy,
May God have mercy upon
All mankind,
And those that remember
His voice, and the
Love songs of His
Weeping Pen.
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I long for the shadows of clouds
Those faithful waves of sky
That grace this wilted flower
As gently they pass by.
“We pray God that He
May forgive us, and
Forgive them that have
Turned onto Thee…”
This love letter is then a plea
To set this caged bird free.
For if you traveled this path
Will you not show it to me?
And finally…
I long for the station of clouds
Those humble servants of the sky
Who trade gilded gold for vapor,
And for life - to never die.
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God Has Passed This Way Again
This thunderous Revelation
Would have swept Noah and the ark away,
Into the whirlpool of His Word
And left Him shipwrecked in the
Immensity of this endless Ocean.
For a single drop from this Ocean
Gives birth to countless seas.
This Burning Bush would have consumed Moses
And incinerated ten thousand commandments.
For when the fire dances with the wind
The air burns with the desire
To guide us to His light,
And a single atom gives birth to countless suns.
The Holy Ghost has once again taken flight in the body
Of the Dove and there is healing in His wings
As the Divine Physician measures the pulses of mankind.
In the Cave of Hira the voice of Gabriel
Commands that He cry out in the name of the Lord
For from His mouth streams of truth and vital waters flow
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And anoint the clay and clotted blood of men with the spirit of life.
What might you ask is this Day?
This is the Mighty Day of God
Long foretold in the Books of the Prophets
As the day of the Judge, the Lawgiver, and the Redeemer of Mankind.
God sends Messengers who we account as fools, madmen, and murderers
And who we torture and crucify for the words of their mouth.
The Son of God died to free us of sin,
The Glory of God consented to be chained and imprisoned to set us free.
From this desolate desert of dust a man of light has appeared,
Amid swirling clouds, a darken moon, and falling stars,
To brand the name of God unto the hearts of men
On a great and dreadful day of which it has been said that -
Without this Day no other Day, no Prophet, and no Book would have existed.
After nine years of fire and ash, and after Hin (68)
You will witness strange things
And dead men will kill the Living.
When the heavens are cleft asunder,
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When the stars and the moon fall,
When the elements melt with fervent heat,
When the Divine Sun stands in its zenith -
You can be certain that
God has passed this way again...
"Verily I say, this is the Day in which mankind
Can behold the Face, and hear the Voice,
Of the Promised One."
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Farewell with Tears
I say goodbye with tears
Because this grief
Flows freely from
My soul.
Tears bring no shame
To a wounded heart.
For it is a sensitive soul
That speaks
It's anguish in tears.
As it is a broken heart
Whose labor
Gives birth to this sorrow.
My friend, I called you friend,
Until you fell and
When I called your name
You came no more.
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My friend, I called you friend
Until this day
When you walk beside me
No more...
And so I say farewell with tears
Because where there is death
Tears are the water of our love
And the traces of our memories.
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I Would Fly to You
I would break these earth bound chains.
I would fly to you through the leaves of poems.
I would fly to you like a leaf lifted by the winds.
I would fly to you through a golden canopy of light.
Thus would I fly to you.
This life is a living poem measured by meter and rhyme.
The lips of each verse weep forth the sorrows of life.
These words are pure spirits distilled from my dreams.
These tears that run down my cheeks are intoxicating.
The lingering essence that remains of me is the perfume
Of my love for you, so thus would I fly to you.
I lay bathed and cleansed in purest rose water.
My skin shimmers with a translucent light.
I offer my hand upon which is placed our wedding ring.
An illumination descends upon this sacred spot.
I rise draped and wrapped in the finest fabric of silk.
This light is witness to the resurrection of a soul.
I am offered up to you on the funeral pyre of a burial prayer
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Spoken in the music of congregational tones by the faithful friends.
These Abraham's offer up this son to you.
Thus am I offered up to you.
On this day of rebirth I am lifted up to you
Like a new born babe is handed to his father,
And held lovingly in his arms.
Thus am I lifted up to you.
And as I go to you, in the air I hear the faint refrain of a farewell song...
"Deal with him, O Thou Who forgivest the sins of men and concealest their faults, as
beseemeth the heaven of Thy bounty and the ocean of Thy grace. Grant him admission within
the precincts of Thy transcendent mercy that was before the foundation of earth and heaven.
There is no God but Thee, the Ever-Forgiving, the Most Generous." Bahá’u’lláh
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The Fire that Feeds upon the Soul
This thing that you laid in my hand is a lie,
When what I seek from you is a truth that will not die.
This food you passed to me has the taste of ashes,
When what I crave is honeyed kisses and dark eye lashes.
This mirror you placed before my face,
Reflects a curl of smoke, it's floating trace...
Some souls seek shadows, and not the light,
Some souls live in darkness and endless night.
The soul is either nourished by the food upon which it feeds
Or is consumed by a hunger for the bread that it needs.
Delusion is a distorted lens - through which the truth is bent
And focused into Ray which burns the souls away.
This thing that you grasp within your hand is simply the coal,
That has become the fire that feeds upon your soul...
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Such a person feeds on ashes; a deluded heart misleads him; he cannot save himself, or say,
"Is not this thing in my right hand a lie?"
Thus did they wander in the paths of delusion and the ways of heedlessness,
And return to their abode in that fire which feedeth on their own souls.
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A Voice to be Heard
Your heart has a voice to be heard
And your soul has a song that must be sung.
You have words that must be spoken.
You have a light that must shine out.
You are here for both a reason and purpose,
So why not get on about it, so get on about it...
Return to your gentle heart.
That place from where in silence
The words, the poems, and the songs
Are born.
And so you should sing out, sing out
With words that fly to the hearts
And nest there in peace.
And so you should sing out, sing out
With words that cling to the wind
And Flame the spark of every heart.
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You have words that must be spoken
For the homeless and the broken.
You have gifts that must be lifted
And from which pearls must be sifted.
You are a candle that must burn on
And weep its tears until pain and sorrow
Have melted away, melted away...
I want to sing out,
I want this voice to ring out,
I want to bring out the love inside.
So that no heart will be untouched,
So that no heart will be cold and indifferent,
So that no heart will remain sterile and unmoved.
And so that the voice of every heart will be heard
And the song of every soul will be sung
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Cursing the Storm
An ocean stands between us
Its shores, lie apart
Separated by vast distances
And fearsome waves.
There to the east you stand in faith
And here to the west stand I in faith
And in belief are we held apart.
If in faith we cannot unite
Then in heart we will never be joined,
As are the drops of this ocean one.
This ocean moves in proof
Of this eternal truth.
That if we do not push our ships
Into foam tipped crests
And sail the luminous waves of green,
We will remain cursing the
Storm from distant shores,
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And hurling feeble shouts
Into the wind.
An ocean may stand between us -
But waves do roll and winds do blow,
And hearts into one may someday flow.
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All the Trees Will Fall
The roots of this old tree run deep
And draw water from the soil beneath my feet.
The branches of this tree reach to the sky
And the stars fall upon its leaves and die -
In the morning light...
The trees stand together, they are native kin,
Holding hands as they dance in the wind.
The water of my dreams flows into this tree
And it shows me the future of things yet to be.
When all the trees will fall...
And you won't know the price you pay,
Until you witness the trees last day -
When all the trees will fall.
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A Song for Every Voice
I dream of writing a song for every voice.
A song that will guide the lost home,
Like a guide star in the night
Shining eternally, and ever bright.
A song that will stream tears from every face,
A song that would heal the entire human race.
A melody of love that would melt the hardest heart.
A refrain, that would heal the broken heart,
An orchestra, to paint the notes of a musical art.
I would write a song for every voice to sing
And from which true liberation
And freedom would ring.
I hear music when there is no one there -
And it is then I realize,
That the Song has already been written,
Within the heart of every man,
And every woman,
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Has it been written.
As a Song for every voice to sing...
"…and myriads of hidden mysteries
are revealed in a single melody;
yet, alas, there is no ear to hear,
nor heart to understand.”
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Miles from the Lightning
How do I write all the words within me.
Listening to the song within is like
Being miles from the lightning
And barely hearing the distant thunder,
Or feeling the first drops of a cold rain on my skin,
Or the sting of the blowing dust in my eyes.
How do I release all the love within me.
Touching the tender love within me is like
Standing alone under the vault of heaven
Upon the pinnacle of the universe
And counting the limitless stars,
Or beholding the beauty of the revelation of God
Painted in colors upon the canvas of the sky.
How do I find my way back to you.
Finding my way back home to you is like
Crossing a vast and open desert of sand
And walking upon the sacred ground of the heart,
Or being resurrected from the darkness
Of an earthly grave of heedlessness.
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How can this lifeless soul be quickened
And admitted to the divine
When it is standing still -
And miles from the lightning?
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As If and As Though
As if this morning was the first of mornings,
As if this rain was the first of rains,
As if this light was the first of lights,
As if this sunrise was the first of sunrises;
The gentlest of breezes caressed my skin
As if God had glanced my way and His
Breath had touched my cheek.
As though this day a baby was born,
As though all ears could hear,
As though all eyes could see,
As though all tongues could praise;
The purest of rain drops kissed my brow
As though God stood above me and His
Tears had baptized my soul.
As if His love was the cause of my being,
As though His breath had given me life.
As if and as though this song was the
Sound of the breath of God
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Blown though the stem
Of a hollow reed.
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Awaken
I am an old oak tree whose leaves have fallen
And blown away in the gusting winds of fall.
My twisted branches are naked and exposed
And are etched against the clouds of an October sky.
Sometimes things must be torn from our grasp
Before the goodly gifts can be placed in our hands.
Only cold can teach us the value of fire.
As loss evinces gratitude for the gifts we receive.
The falling leaves of autumn roll out a carpet for the snow
And the spring snow melt awakens the sleeping daffodil.
For every loss that we may perceive in life there is an equal gain.
This law of loss and gain is the unerring rule of the Universe.
In time all outstanding accounts will be settled
And a day of reckoning will dawn.
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Therefore, grieve not the days of loss that visit thee
For losses sister Gain will take thy hand in marriage.
The seed does not mourn its slumber in the soil
But gratefully awakens to its days of joy and bloom.
The acorn does not complain of its humble state
But rejoices in its days of growth and towering strength.
How much less than the sleeping seed and humble acorn is a man,
Within whose heart is planted stars and countless Suns of light.
Awaken, awaken while there is still yet time, for in every hip there is a Rose concealed.
As in every acorn there stands an Oak tree, and within you there is a Universe revealed.
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Moments
In my last moments with you
We shared our dreams,
Those fulfilled, and ones
Unrealized.
With my last moments with you
I said goodbye to our tomorrow,
And I pressed my love into
You with a touch.
At my last moments with you
I washed your skin
And anointed you
With attar of rose.
Upon my last moments with you
I combed your hair
And wetted it
With my tears.
If one soul can touch another
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My soul found solace in your arms
And sanctuary in your essence.
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About the author –
Dr. Gregory T. Lawton is an author of many books, most of them in the area of health science,
but also in the genre of Asian martial arts, philosophy, spirituality, poetry, and prose. Dr.
Lawton is a passionate award winning artist and photographer who finds his artistic and
creative inspiration in nature, and who frequently attributes the source of his images and
writing to the 19th century Persian Prophet, Bahá’u’lláh, the founder of the Baha’i Faith, and the
13th century Persian poet and Sufi Mystic Jalāl ad-Dīn Muḥammad Rūmī. Dr. Lawton has
been a member of the Baha’i Faith since 1970 and embraces the Faith’s principles related to the
promotion of world unity and peace.
Dr. Gregory T. Lawton has studied and trained in Asian religion, philosophy and martial arts
such as Aikido, Jujitsu, Kenpo, and Tai Chi Chuan. He is a 9th degree black belt in Kosho Ryu
Kenpo Jujitsu, a 10th degree black belt in Mizu Odori Ryu Taijutsu, and was awarded the title of
Yudansha Taigu.
Dr. Lawton’s main and most noted Asian martial art instructor was Professor Huo Chi-Kwang.
Professor Huo was a renowned Chinese scholar, artist, and calligrapher who served as Taiwan's
ambassador to France and he was a personal friend of Pablo Picasso.
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Other books and materials by this author –
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Words Written in the Dust, Copyright 2014
Dr. Gregory T. Lawton
All rights reserved. No part of this book shall be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means,
electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without written permission from Gregory T. Lawton.
Muyblue Productions 2040 Raybrook SE, Suite 104 Grand Rapids, Michigan 49546 616-464-0892