Beloved

Through night he trudged until first blush did bloom,
With dawn’s faint rose caressing eastern sky.
The desert’s edge gave way as sand made room
For firmer earth where life could multiply.
Scrub brush and acacia in clusters spread,
A hint that verdant lands at last lie nigh.
The pilgrim’s weary feet now lighter tread,
Buoyed by hope of water and reprieve,
And inner thirst to see what lay ahead.
Soon purpling hills did dawn’s hues receive,
And beyond them, hints of spires glinting bright—
A city ancient, he could scarce believe.

He crested one last dune in golden light,
And lo, before him stretched a valley green,
Cradling a river shimmering in might.
Beside its banks, a marble city seen
Whose walls and towers reached for azure dome,
Crowned by a massive temple pure and sheen.
The pilgrim’s heart quickened at that sight home;
For in the grandeur of that mystic place,
He sensed he neared the source for which he’d roam.
As he descended, sun’s warmth did embrace
His aching limbs and heart’s uncertain beat,
Filling him with new vigor, joy, and grace.

A winding path led down to where the sweet
Waters of the broad river gently flowed.
A stone bridge arched invitingly to meet
The city gates where giant statues showed:
Carved cherubim and beasts of mythic lore,
Wardens of secrets behind walls bestowed.
But by the river’s bank he paused before
Crossing, drawn by laughter and singing clear,
Carried by morning’s breeze from further shore.
Turning aside, he sought the sound so dear,
And soon came upon children at their play,
Dancing in shallows where the water’s near.

They splashed and giggled in the new-born day,
Chasing reeds fashioned as makeshift ships,
Their faces bright as dawn in merry fray.
Their garb was humble linen, girded hips,
And skin of varying hues as earth can show—
Some bronzed by sun, some fair as lunar eclipse.
One boy caught sight of the pilgrim and so
Stood still, causing the others pause to gaze.
The wanderer smiled and bent his head low.
“Good morrow, children. What tune do you raise
That gladdens the heart of a traveler lone?
Whence comes your joy in these early sun rays?”

A girl stepped forth with a flower crown sewn
Of river lilies in her tangled hair,
She offered one to him in gentle tone.
“Mister, we greet you! We have no despair
In our fair city, which we call The Beloved—
All who enter find hope and solace there.
We sing songs that our elders long have loved,
Of heroes, of angels, of saints and kings,
But most of all, of Love that all behoved.”
Another child piped up, excitement brings:
“Yes! You must come. Today is a feast day!
In the great Temple the high choir sings.”

The pilgrim felt a tug as if to say
This chance meeting was more than happenstance.
He graciously took the lily bouquet,
Thanking each child with a kind, warm glance.
Then taking leave, he crossed the arcing bridge,
Towards city gates in reverent advance.
Massive doors stood open; above, on ridge
Of the arch, engraved words in script antique:
“Welcome ye thirsty, hereto knowledge’s ridge.”
Guards were none but stone statues mystique,
Their visages calm with wisdom and peace,
No swords, for none were needed to keep pique.

He stepped inside; marvels did not cease.
Wide boulevards with colonnades aligned,
Lining streets in harmony as if fleece
Of marble softened outlines well-designed.
Gardens spilled fragrance into open squares
Where fountains leaped in arcs silver-refined.
Folk ambled gently, no rushing affairs;
Their faces content, eyes bright with purpose clear,
As if each soul a hidden radiance bears.
Men, women, and children moved without fear;
Some in lively chat, others deep in thought,
All neighbors in goodness sincere.

At the city’s heart, dominating wrought,
A temple soared of alabaster white,
With golden dome with morning’s fire caught.
Courtyards wide encircled it, trees bedight
With blossoms of myriad hue and shape,
Perfuming breeze with sacred delight.
Our pilgrim realized as jaw agape
That his steps had led him to a domain
Seemingly earthly, yet as vision drape
It felt heaven-kissed, free of sorrow’s stain.
He wondered if in truth it was utopia,
Or a test disguised in pleasure’s fane.

Seeking guidance and to quell myopia,
He approached an elder under an oak,
A man reading scrolls of wide cyclopaedia.
“Sir,” he ventured in gentle, cautious spoke,
“Pray tell me of this city wondrous fair;
I am a stranger, guided by some stroke
Of providence, drawn by children to care
That this day is sacred—some feast or rite.
What ethos rules this place beyond compare?”
The old man lifted eyes with friendly light,
“Welcome, friend. You’ve arrived on hallowed day:
We celebrate The Festival of Sight.

Our city, Beloved, by name we say,
Holds dear all seekers who yearn for the True;
We honor all paths that lead through dismay
Into hopeful virtue and knowledge too.
Our founders were mystics, sages, and seers
From lands far-flung, each a different hue
Of faith and wisdom. They shed mutual tears
Over humanity’s endless discord,
And dreamed a city where love endures.
Together they labored, one mind, accord,
To build this haven for hearts and minds;
The Temple you see is their great reward.

In that Temple we keep the flame that binds,
Kindled from altars of East and of West,
A fire eternal where truth one finds.
Today, as dawn gilds our city’s crest,
We gather, all citizens hand in hand,
To seek inner sight and to greet each guest.
You come fortuitous, as if by plan,
For all are welcome at the Feast of Sight;
Join us and see what our rites command.”
The pilgrim listened, heart warmed by insight,
For this city seemed embodiment plain
Of what he glimpsed in last moment’s midnight.

He thanked the elder, then strolled to the fane,
Temple steps of marble smooth and pristine,
Mingling now with a crowd in joyful train.
People greeted him kindly, faces serene,
As though a long-lost friend had come back home;
He felt acceptance like a gentle rain.
Ascending stairs with many a smooth dome
He passed through columns in open foyer,
Into a hall wide as starry sky’s roam.
High above soared a dome that would inspire
The greatest cathedrals to humility:
At its center an oculus of fire.

Sunlight poured through that eye, nobility
Cascading golden beams across the space,
Illuminating murals of nobility:
Scenes of compassion, courage and grace,
Drawn from scriptures and epics of each way—
Krishna and Arjuna in war’s embrace,
Abraham and Isaac, moment they pray,
Buddha under Bodhi tree radiant,
Christ on the Cross forgiving in decay,
Rumi with reed pen swirling aspirant,
Lao Tzu wandering with water’s ease,
Joan in flames unyielding and defiant.

Every pillar told stories such as these,
In art entwining world’s faith and lore,
No one triumphant over others to seize
Pride of place—all were honored at core.
The pilgrim beheld these wonders in awe,
Feeling each story a truth to explore,
And in each figure’s eyes a love he saw,
One source behind their myriad eyes aflame:
As if one Beloved did through all draw.
Then the assembly gathered, and words came,
A hush as robed choirs took their rightful place,
Preparing the hymn for festival’s aim.

A hush of expectancy filled the space;
The pilgrim slid into a pew of oak,
Beside a family with kindness on face.
Then a single bell in the silence broke—
Not loud, but with resonance pure and deep,
Like heart’s own note in solitude awoke.
Three times it tolled as souls willing to weep
At truth’s beauty felt tears rise unbidden;
With each toll, silence seemed deeper to seep.
Then, out of hush, a soprano, hidden,
Rose in chant, in Latin or tongue unknown,
A plaintive call as if to Eden.

As her voice soared, more voices were grown
Each after each in different dialect,
One in Sanskrit, one Arabic intone,
Greek, Hebrew, Chinese—each did interject
Their praise of the Highest in native tongue,
Yet strangely harmonized as if perfect.
A melody thus deftly strung
Enraptured all, including pilgrim’s heart;
He felt as if heaven’s gate had unclung.
The hymn built in power, each voice a part
Of an ever-rising wave of the soul,
Crashing in unison at chorus’s start.

Then all tongues together, without control,
Sang one phrase clear that all could understand—
“Open our eyes to the Beloved Whole!”
The dome above seemed to shake as if fanned
By wings of seraphs echoing that prayer;
Light from the oculus grew and did expand.
The pilgrim felt love beyond all compare
Pour from that sound and light into his core,
Washing away every lingering care.
He closed his eyes, tears flowing more and more,
And in his mind’s eye saw a vision bright:
A figure, faceless, opening a door.

The figure beckoned him in shining white,
And beyond the door lay a boundless field
Where golden lilies swayed in heavenly light.
He stepped through in spirit, senses unsealed,
And walked amidst that endless living gold,
Feeling all secrets of existence yield.
In each lily, a story would unfold,
Of a soul’s journey or an atom’s dance;
In each petal, infinity he could behold.
He heard silent music and watched entranced
As the sky rippled color never seen,
And beings moved beyond comprehension’s glance.

Then came a presence gentle and serene—
The sense of an embrace without form,
As though the field itself in love did lean.
Words unspoken draped him cozy and warm:
“You are beloved, child of dust and star,
No longer roam in fear of worldly storm.
Within you burns our flame, near or far;
Your hunger is our signal guiding true,
Through strife and night to where the good things are.
Know that you seek us as we seek you,
In hidden ways through conscience, through longing,
Each moment a string in love’s element new.”

The pilgrim soul replied, heartbeats thronging,
“Tell me, who are you?” though he felt he knew—
The answer came like a bell song ringing:
“I am the Beloved and the Seeker too,
Alpha and Omega of each quest,
The emptiness that yields fullness anew.
I have been with you when you thought suppressed,
In forest dark and desert of despair,
I am your hunger and your needed rest.
All forms of the Good, True, Beautiful fair
Are facets of me calling from above,
Yet also the void wherein these appear.”

At that, the pilgrim felt overwhelming love,
A union as if every vein did pulse
With life eternal, below and above.
He wanted to linger in that impulse,
Yet as the choir’s final chord did peal,
The vision faded back to temple’s halls.
He opened his eyes, needing time to feel
The fullness of what had been shown within.
Congregants sat in silence after zeal;
Not a rustle disturbed peace genuine.
At length the officiant, an elder wise,
Gave gentle benediction to all kin:

“May the Beloved open all our eyes
To see beyond forms to the heart of grace,
And through emptiness let true sight arise.”
The assembly stirred, joy on every face,
And slowly filed to courtyards bright outside
To break the fast with bread and fruit apace.
The pilgrim moved as if mystified,
In daze of bliss from vision’s high bequest,
Unsure if he dreamed or crossed some divide.
As he wandered out, hand on heart impressed,
He nearly stumbled into one waiting:
The Sufi woman statue brought to life, no less.

It was she—no longer stone, but breathing,
The same veiled form he’d glimpsed in desert hall;
Now flesh and blood, with kind eyes all-seeing.
He caught his breath at the marvel and awe.
She smiled beneath her veil and bowed her head.
“I greet you again, seeker who saw
Our counsel in the sand. You have been led
Truly, as your vision in song revealed.
Yet your journey goes on, not finished or dead.
The hunger that stirred you, that truth unsealed,
Must now be tempered into living flame—
A fire of love with integrity sealed.

Not for your sake alone is wisdom’s name
Engraved upon your heart by mystic light,
But to serve others caught in fear or shame.
Beloved City gave you a taste bright
Of unity and peace which souls can reach;
But beyond our gates roars the endless night
Of world’s sorrow, conflict, folly, and breach.
Many hunger still for what you have seen,
Blind in the darkness with no guiding speech.
To rest here in bliss, while outside they keen,
Would squander grace into stagnation’s mire,
For wisdom unused withers, dull of sheen.”

The pilgrim listened, a chord struck in lyre
Of his conscience; he felt truth in her word.
Part of him longed to rest, a selfish desire,
To dwell forever where his heart was stirred
By love and knowledge weaving sweet accord.
But the image of others lost, unheard,
Wandering as he had in darkness, roared
Through memory—a call he could not blight.
He remembered phantoms and forest cord,
His own despair before he had the sight.
How could he feast while others starve in gloom?
To share this grace felt a sacred right.

She saw resolve like dawn on him illume,
And gently placed a hand upon his arm.
“North of here beyond the valley’s bloom,
Past mountain crags where winds blow fierce alarm,
Lie lands wracked by war, ignorance, and grief.
We send envoys, healing hands to calm
And guide those willing toward soul’s relief.
Go, join their number, for your journey calls
Not to an end in comfort’s motif
But to service where divine duty falls.
Before you depart, take this gift from me—”
From her robe she withdrew two shawls.

One shawl was earth-brown, plain for all to see,
The other sky-blue embroidered with gold.
She offered the first: “Wear this humbly.
In rough lands you’ll tread, blend as common mold,
A simple monk or healer to their eyes.
It’s through humility your strength takes hold.”
The second shawl she held with care precise:
“This one keep hidden till the moment true,
It bears enchantments of the mystic wise.
When despair encircles and confounds you,
Unfurl it to remember the Highest,
The Beloved’s light will then surround you.”

He accepted both with bowed head in trust,
Grateful beyond words for her wise accord.
“Thank you,” he breathed. “I will do as you must
If it pleases the Beloved, my lord.”
She chuckled softly, a melody bright,
“Service pleases the One without reward.
Go well, dear seeker, walk within the Light.”
With that, she turned and merged into the crowd,
A single dove took flight in sky’s delight.
The pilgrim stood, heart steady now and vowed
To carry forth the unity he’d learned
Into the broken world beyond this cloud.

He made his way out gates where first he yearned,
Crossing the bridge from paradise to pale
Wild lands beyond, where cruelty burned.
As he left, the children he’d met set sail
On their reed boats waved from the river’s brim,
And he smiled and waved back without fail.
Thus from beloved city’s vision dim
He journeyed onward, purpose newly cast:
To quench thirst of others filled to the brim.
This moment closes as he travels fast
To distant valleys where suffering calls,
With love aflame to heal wounds of the past.