Our Friend Daniel, in the Lions' Den
05.29.2012 
Our good friend, the poet Daniel Abdal-Hayy Moore, is a frequent contributor to the Paris Play dialogues that accompany each post. I've known him since we lived in Berkeley in the late sixties, and am sorry to hear news of his health worries. At the time of this post, Daniel just entered the hospital for the first of three chemo and 35 radiation therapy sessions. The prognosis is good, and his family and friends are hopeful.
This post, which contains his recent poem, is a prayer for Daniel, a thank-you for his contributions, and request for our friends all over the world to offer up prayers to him, whatever your religion, or lack of same. Atheists, agnostics, pagans, all can play.
THE LIONS' ARENA
The lions' arena
is full of medical equipment
The roar of the lions is the
great radiation ring whirring
The crowd leaning forward with
thumbs at the ready
wears chemotherapy gowns
It’s a hot day
and a restless hum is in the air
The masks of everyone’s faces
are beginning to slip
As we enter naked and
shackled the
crowd is hushed
The outcome is anyone’s guess
and God’s to toss into the
arena’s dust we’ve
been since birth
waiting for this moment’s
test
There’s no signal to start
all is already closing in
A star glimmers overhead
for each of us
wanting the best
Our hearts have already
entered paradise
and come to
rest
_____________________
5/28/12 (from Down at the Deep End, in progress)
Photo (c) 2012 Malika Moore
Reader Comments (21)
Dan 6:3 Then this Daniel began to distinguish himself because he possessed an extraordinary spirit.
Dan 6:16 (And so the King's prophecy to Daniel was) "Your God, whom you constantly serve, will Himself deliver you."
Dear Anna,
As Richard said about your comment: Way cool. My response: tears. Both Daniels have extraordinary spirits. Thank you.
What a loving spirit you have!
Kisses and hugs,
Kaaren (& Richard)
So beautiful. Praying, indeed, for your Daniel. Much love.
Dear, dear Cassandra,
Thank you so much for your prayers. We are one heart, one world: you and Anna, Christians; praying for Daniel, a Muslim; after reading a post by two lovers of the Greek gods and goddesses. What does it matter what any of us believe? We're all in this together, all so very vulnerable, from birth right through to the end. Just don't let it come too soon.
Love,
Kaaren & Richard
Sending good wishes and prayers.
Thank you, Susan.
Much love,
Kaaren & Richard
For Daniel,
A mighty ROAR of a million Lions of Courage be with you as you enter this "cave" of another kind.
I call to all Healing Angels to lend a gentle wing of compassion and care to help you move through this challenge with ease.
And, a blessing from me, another sentient being down here on this earthly plane, I salute your bravery and valor.
With heart,
Joanne
What a stunning poem..."the outcome is anyone's guess / and God's to toss into the / arena's dust we've / been since birth..." Honest and accepting, yet full of hope. This and the other poems he's shared with us on Paris Play are such gifts. Sending prayers for healing and strength to Daniel. (And holding you, Kaaren & Richard, in my heart for your deep compassion for your friend.)
Love,
dawna
All the best energy of the universe to you dear Daniel.
Your poem is stunning.
May your medical adventure and recovery be equally and wonderfully
and healthfully stunning!
I just got back home from the hospital where Abdal-Hayy has been all day ( and is still there until tomorrow ) having the first of his Radiation and Chemo Therapies, and I am happy to report that so far he is doing very well .... ( besides the above mentioned traditional heavy stuff, he is " visualizing" bubbles around the tumors and shaking them away with some Peruvian seed Rattles, while reciting a funny chant in a kind of Rumba-like rhythm! ).
We've been told that the going gets a lot rougher in a few days, and he still has a long row to hoe, but this kind of sweet bucking- up is a big help. He'll make it through, God-willing.
And just imagine how cheered I was, after this long, scary first day on the Alien Planet of you-know what, to turn on the computer and find this wonderful, lovely and encouraging Paris Play Support Group beaming in, and with the very Lions themselves in attendance, as well.
Thank you so much for it all , dear Kaaren and Richard, ( plus the comment guys, too )
... the prayers, kind wishes and the love ..... more than words can say.
Malika
Joanne:
Thank you for your Homeric Hymn-like invocation. The Healing Angels can't help but respond.
Love,
Kaaren and Richard
Thank you, Dawna, for your prayers and friendship.
Love,
--K and R
Merci, Suki,
We appreciate the healing thoughts from you who know so well (as a nurse and a medical photographer, blessedly, not as a patient) the ins and outs of this strange arena.
Love,
--K and R
Malika:
There is a planet-wide healing community (not to mention multi-dimensional) on Daniel's side. We are all pleased to be part of it. Courage and love to you both.
Kaaren and Richard
Dear absolutely everyone:
Greetings of peace and blessings back to you all:
Sitting down at the computer for the first time in 24 hours (how strange!) where I spent time until now in hospital getting radiation for neck (base of tongue of all places) and chemo, plus various anti-nausea drugs, etc. and reading Robert Alter's new translation and commentary on The Wisdom Books, The Book of Job included, and holding my attention, as the most apt.
It's truly an amazing work by Alter, with illuminating and not too scholarly-intrusive commentary. But when chemo and fluids and radiations are humming, it seems a good place to start (!).
This, of course, is from the Old Testament version and from the Hebrew, but Job (or Ayyub) appears in the Qur'an also, as one of the prophets, and ever-faithful, holding on for dear life without wavering nor denouncing. May we all.
And I recalled one day in the 1960s in San Francisco, I walked into a Rare Book Store and asked if they had any prints by William Blake. A very happy curator brought out the illustrations to the Book of Job, all square and rather small, say 7 or 8 inches square (I could go to my library and get the correct dimensions, but must admit I'm a bit pooped and about to take a nap). I sat for over an hour in absolute amazement, looking at them through a large round magnifying glass. Every etched line of them, not a single stray, was perfect, flowing, the old engraving style Blake favored to his detriment of current fashion (more Rembrandtian and sketchy), where everything is of "the bounding line." Each one shimmered with a kind of silvery light, almost 3D, alive. I've never forgotten seeing them.
And My heart is fiiled with gratitude to Kaaren and Richard for this sweet honor, and all your prayers and thoughts and kind words. I can only say God bless and love to all.
Daniel
(By the way, the portrait was taken by Malika Moore, wife of 33 years, and one of Kaaren's close buds in the Berkeley years also, at the Philadelphia Airport waiting for our son and family from Switzerland, just before I was diagnosed last year in February with a Gastric Lymphoma, which has cleared up entirely. We're vulnerable folk, us humans, somehow liable to be soil for the growth of some strange mushrooms!)
Dear Friend o' Dear Friends, Daniel,
I loved the image Malika shared of the bubbles and rattle. Yes, chase back and away those unwanted invaders. That's what I would do plus, add the earth's gemstones and crystals to radiate, heal and absorb. Include many spectra-colored silks to wrap myself in like a shield. Definitely colored eye glasses, probably a cobalt or lapis blue.
I salute your courage and positive approach amidst this invasion and chemical warfare. Warrior of a special kind one must be here on the planet, mere humans that we are and so magnificent in our divine frailty.
So interesting that you mention Blake. Just today I made a note to myself to find out how I might visit the Blakes in the Huntington Library Collection out in Pasadena. I long to look deep into that beauty with my own eyes and absorb.
Sending radiance of healing your way.
Joanne
Dear Joanne:
There was a small Blake painting or engraving at the Met show in New York a few years ago (we went up from Philadelphia twice to see it), burnished silvery and gray, perhaps a crucifixion, but I can't now quite remember, maybe not, that I swear had light pouring out of it. It made me stop and step back. Go, and say hello to Bill for me.
I'll swathe and crystallize, thanks to your sweet commiserations...
Daniel
_____________________________
A VISIT WITH MR. BLAKE
William Blake across from me sits here
insisting on whatever it is he insists on and a
great red cape opens up to show an illuminated city he says
is Jerusalem
Not quite the one over there in Palestine
but translucent walls and gates of light as only
Blake can envision
Even pinkish and silvery angels elongatedly
bending above it barely discernible in the
clouds and blowing on long glass trumpets
I look into the lively fire in his eyes those
limpid English blues of his and his
mild-mannered countenance and his almost
whispery elocution of these weighty matters in which
the whole cosmos is swept along in calamitous clouds
and he levels a look at me his right hand raised by his
face and says
“Behold the things we feared have come to pass
but the things we feared the most
may still be abated”
Black horses of smoke whinnying horribly and various
towers tumbling forward
I gaze through transparent Mr. Blake across
wispy ruins that run on for miles hoping he’s
right as usual
“Shall I sing you a song?” he says
I nod and he sings in a soft falsetto of things so
elementally near they become distant as if in a
play within a play in the mind
of the Divine upraised finger of light attesting to what among
all these phantasms is real
and of the graves of the terrestrially wronged
who open their stony mouths to
sing with one voice the sweet
mercy of God and their
ultimate rectification against all forms of
injustice including tyrannies theological
and while he continues singing I can
almost see the Holy One’s smile like buttery golden flakes
slowly descending over everything
Mr. Blake
your hat
the wide-brimmed felt pilgrim’s hat you
wore when you first came here
Your stick
with which you touch the stars Mr. Blake
all aglitter
and the tiny chanting flames you
leave in the air
____________________________
5/26/2004
(from Underwater Galaxies)
Dear Daniel,
What a beautiful message and poem from you, in the midst of this ordeal. Blake is cheering you on, I'm sure.
Much love,
Kaaren (& Richard)
P.S. Malika is a fine photographer. Naturally, since she was a fabulous painter when we were in Berkeley together.
Joanne,
Thank you for your eloquence and love.
I cannot believe that I lived in L.A. for 20 years and missed the Blakes in the Huntington Museum. But I did have the honor of studying Blake's work with Allen Ginsberg at Naropa in Boulder, Colorado in the late '70s, and seeing a fantastic Blake show with Richard at the Petit Palais a couple of years ago.
You and Daniel and Malika have more healing techniques than anyone else I know. I'm taking note.
Much love,
Kaaren (& Richard)
Daniel,
Your poem evokes the "even pinkish and silvery angels" which shimmering from your poem and invite visiting luminescent spaces, "translucent walls and gates of light"— spaces that heal. I can see them.. and Blake through you.
Perhaps in writing this poem in 2004 you were sending yourself a message to receive now, in perfect time.
To see the Blakes in person will be, I know, a transcendent experience. I quiver with anticipation...
Many Healing Blessings,
Joanne