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             As an embodiment of my feelings about 
             Avatar Meher Baba's advent, this poem 
             informs my desire for intentional 
             community. I invite comment and 
             reaction.

O Dancer Defiant

A Poem By

Ira Lions Shader

Sad-eyed boy Lost in cosmic dance Deliverer, Savior, Messiah, Awakener In your wake, We hurl such epitaphs at you, In your presence. We shrink shyly away. Old-fashioned one In a world mad for the new fangled. Joyous one In a world preferring imagination's shackle, Eternally eloquent one In a world eternally babbling. Storm rider, mist lifter, Eternal Cassandra Undaunted by destiny's decree. Tireless one Returning ever to This. This flat grey land. Bearer of that which we reject, Not even remembering our rejection, Keeping faith with the faithless, Thankless tasks of all Thankless tasks. Were this but, All there was, It surely would have driven you Mad, Long ago, So, long ago, Thou didst learn to dance the Dance Triumphant. Content, to enjoy your Leela, Seemingly indifferent, In your oceanic Independence. Yet, thou art ever eager, To wink arrows of love To any hapless one Caught by the spectacle and rhythm Of your Avataric Dance. Once lodged In rusting heart That arrow works your miracle. Standing, in this place of Carnage In the charnel house Once called the twentieth century Once again that call Older than tides Older than comet's dust Is loosed on a world drunk with Imagination's call. Waist deep in gore We call yet for more. Mad for novelty Insane for experience We remain sunk in deeper torpor Then ever Maya Was able to sink Us in. No dream of Roman Empire No dream of Bedouin Sand No dream of ancient Splendor or Grand Pomposity of yore, Could compare with our Twentieth Century's grand Hubris. Hurling, in all directions At once We've rediscovered a Tyranny, Which built a tower, So long ago in Bable. Ignorance profound, Our unique attainment In this era. If, ever it were possible, To resist your charm, We, have come Closest; Dubious accolade, We densest of Your Maya-drugged children. Dreaming dreams, Deeper, More besotted Then ever before. Dreaming, so intensely, That, for the first time, In creation, Our waking dreams have Become More unreal, than our Nightly dreams. We who are drunk with sensation, How can we heed Your call. We, most fickle of the Fickle How, can we take delight in Oneness? It appears to us as a Cruel yoke To break Our intoxication with Multifarious possibility. Enemy of modernity, Post -modernist nemesis. How can we hear your Word? We who are deaf, To all but the roar Of our own enterprise. Enamored of progress' steam shovel, How can we appreciate, One Word Only, We who revel in Syntax? If redemption must come, We would rather Dream Our own dreams of Redemption. To flying saucer's temple, We would offer our prayers. To pristine Ascendent Masters We would rather serve. To Alice Bailey's and Rudolph Steiner's Esoteric and etheric Christs. Ever approaching, Never arriving, We would rather sing Hosannah, We would rather march To the rhythms of Anthroposophy, Theosophy and Rosicrucian, Freemasonry. To any and all chaneled messages, From any and all channeled entities, We would offer Eager ear. The Book of Urantia, Oahspe Bible, and A Course In Miracles, We would clutch To our breasts, While your own book, God Speaks, We would consign to ignominy. Even Krishnamurti's dream Of enlightment, Independent Of your grace We would cherish. Even to your time-distorted Divine impulses, From your previous advents, We would rather hold Reverentially. But you, we want You not. Any thing But you, Any one But you, Any direction But yours. We might as well be Honest. We will have All gods or No God; But we will not have, GOD Redeemer in a world that, Will not be Redeemed. Oh, dancer defiant I salute you.



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