Meditations on 911 & 9/11 Wrongly they come— pestilence & death the public square gone as people flee all covered over with snow and hail as disaster fill the world with woe. after nineteen years the storm shifts south— the wind turns like a hundred black swans, the noise begins, lives blown apart rounds of thunder, everything crumbles. Upon this reverend site the righteous groaned, strength crumbled to earth, the lifted dust of hot pain drowned in this boiling pot out of air, dissolving brains, never more. Thunderous noise & dreadful shakings rocking to & fro, trumpet thundering heaven to heaven, on that day alone the rocking moves from side to side Once a point of light warmed the wall lightnings have leaped forth and melt in the white furnace, revolt of Islam yes New York, skyscraper soup— Dense clouds, wind sweeps across heaven, the sage refines himself inside and out, the small departs, the great approaches, heaven & earth unite: image of peace. Bricks are fallen down, cities destroyed, curse is poured upon us for our sins, I see Him not, I perceive Him not, when will He raise up our ruins? Justice, hear my call— what deed of blood, the topmost falls down the steep abyss, What is this shout you make to me? Know that the dreadful is all within. Beauty"s waste has in the world an end, a world of woe, misery, and death, but the malice of others that injures us improves our soul when we learn patience When material things rule over spirit— order is gone and hell soon follows, the heavens shaken and earth removed, then fell the fires that tore them down. And why is fire the first creation? Nothing divulged to the stranger— in perfect stillness the soul rises beyond beauty to the Supreme. "Who knows my Spirit supreme?" Krishna asks Arjuna— my heart is like water, exalted and measureless "Oh, in peace!" and "the self-same!" Of simple seeing, we seek insight in folio, manuscript, old parchment in contemplation bestowing delight that gives us riches & heroic strength. O secret of the earth, sky, and sea! Each human heart houses Consciousness. Under the olive tree by the blue lake I write the secret word— willingdone. I"m mineral, plant, and animal I"m in all, yet ever beyond all I shine with the gods in glory I pour in through the opened door. The man falling from the tower asks "Should we repay evil with goodness?" The hermit sage lights up the lamp, answers "Evil should be paid with justice." The Diamond King"s eye is clear as a jewel, East gate, West gate, North gate, South gate— the heaviest hammer cannot open them, always upright— these walls do not fall.