Inayat Noel Anderson (2/22/47-8/18/08), Friend Forever

Inayat Noel Anderson

The SFTS Lodge hereby acknowledges the passage of our friend and fellow Lodge member, Inayat Noel Anderson.

We will miss our fallen comrade and remember him in our hearts until we meet again.

Here is a beautiful poem that Inayat’s wife Peggy Tahir, another friend and fellow Lodge member, wrote for him a few years ago:


Oh my dear, you are my auricular wonder, my needler of light,

my masseuse of prophetic hands, finding spots to unwind me

as I lay motionless without jewelry.

You are my extraterrestrial signpost to galaxies beyond our

milky heavens, my spaceship adorned with winks and cobbles.

The velvety undersides of verisimilitudes paint your names

across the horizon at sunset.

The birches glitter in your late afternoon breezes, and

ocean lifts and curves in the expanse of your breath.

You are my tall cypress of birdnests and singing, my

rainfall of pearls, my wet sidewalk luminescent in pools of streetlight.

The button jars of blue glass, the marbles of blown and

melted sand, sigh against the palms of your hands.

You are my ice cream of late night adventures, my slender

longings, the undergarments of angels.

My mental triangles gorge themselves on your trapezoid


You are the bowl of sliced peaches and strawberries, the

marscapone and whipping cream mounds on walnut shortcakes.

Your gentle gait reflects the order of divinity written by

aquatic plants sweeping against coral.

You are my open-eyed shells in the sand, my silvery grunion

collected in buckets, the splash of my pleasure, tides rising in celestial seas.

The flavors of pansies and nasturtium, the bubbling stock

delirious in transmutation.

All my squash blossoms set into silver, my turquoise

protections and dancing flute players, my large stones of magical dimensions.

You are my shark in the gray waters at Stinson beach

searching for meals of seals.

My excited cartoons appear and disappear in your celluloid ephemera.

My movies in black and white, my old lovesongs, my scratchy vinyls.

You are my night nurse quietly walking through hallways

and dim rooms, carrying your penlight, singing to the dying.

My husband of lifetimes that stream together arranged into

time. My time that falls fast from its hinges.

My melodic singer of Celtic harmonies, my backwards

guitar-player, my left-handed survey of brainsides, my hemispheres of synapses.

You are the extremes of my gravity, all the dreams in your

heart the circumference of sighs, my magnetic raven, my sighs sail toward you,

my six-foot wingspan, and hold you with nothing, my endless

summer, and let go with singing, my flight of a thousand miles.

Inayat Noel Anderson in Sedona