Words Written in the Dust

Words Written in the Dust Dr. Gregory T. Lawton

Words Written in the Dust Dr. Gregory T. Lawton

Words Written in the Dust, Copyright 2014, Revised 2019 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 616-285-9999

Writing, Photography and Design – Dr. Gregory T. Lawton 1

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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 DUST! 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 7

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, 8

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 bountiful 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...

(Quote from, ‘Abdu’l-Bahá)

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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 beggar’s 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 Drauprir 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 17

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 26

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, 29

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 32

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. 33

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.

(Quotes from the Bahá'í Writings) 34

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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 36

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, 37

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." (Quote from the writings of Bahá’u’lláh)

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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 43

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.

(Quote from the Christian Bible, Isaiah 44:20)

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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, 52

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, 57

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.”

(Quote from The Hidden Words of Bahá’u’lláh)

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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 63

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, 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 69

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.

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 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, Revised 2019 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 616-285-9999

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