Dissolver of sugar, dissolve me

.

Dissolver of sugar, dissolve me,

if this is the time.

Do it gently with a touch of a hand,  or a look.

Every morning I wait at dawn.  That's when

it's happened before.  Or do it suddenly

like an execution.  How else

can I get ready for death?

...

~ Rumi

.

I Am But a Traveler In This Land & Know Little of Its Ways

.

Is everything a field of energy caused

by human projection? From the crib bars

hang the teething tools. Above the finger-drummed 

desk, a bit lip. The cyclone fence of buts

.

surrounds the soccer field of what if.

Sometimes it seems like a world where no one 

knows what he or she is doing, eight lanes 

both directions. How about a polymer

.

that contracts in response to electrical

charge? A swimming pool on the 18th floor? 

King Lear done by sock puppets? Anyone

who has traveled here knows the discrepancies

.

between idea and fact. The idea is the worm 

in the tequila and the next day is the fact. 

In between may be the sacred—real blood 

from the wooden virgin’s eyes, and the hoax—

.

landing sites in cornfields. Maybe ideas

are best sprung from actions like the children 

of Zeus. One gives us elastic and the omelette, 

another nightmares and SUVs. There’s considerable

.

wobble in the system, and the fan belt screams, 

waking the baby. Swaying in the darkened 

nursery, kissing the baby-smelling head: 

good idea! But also sadness looking at the sea.

.

The stranded whale, guided out of the cove 

by tugboats, turns and swims back in. 

The violinist will not let go her violin 

which is 200 years old and still on the train

.

thus she is dragged down the track. 

By what manner is the soul joined to the body? 

Answer: an arm connecting a violin

to a violinist. According to Freud,

.

there are no accidents. Astrologists

and Presbyterians agree for different reasons. 

You fall down the stairs with a birthday cake. 

You try to fit a blunderbuss into a laptop.

.

Human consciousness: is it the projector

or the screen? They come in orange jumpsuits 

and spray the grass so everything dies

but the grass. It is too late to ask Kafka

.

what he thinks. Sometimes they give you 

a box of ash, a handshake, and the rest 

is your problem. In one version,

the beggar turns out to be a king and grants

.

the poor couple a castle and a moat and two 

silver horses said to be sired by the wind.

That was before dentistry, which might have been 

a better gift. You did not want to get sick 

in the 14th, 15th, 16th, 17th or 18th centuries.

.

So too the 19th and 20th were to be avoided

but the doctor coming to bleed you is the master 

of the short story. After the kiss from whom 

he will never know, the lieutenant, going home,

.

touches a bush in which birds are singing.

.

~ Dean Young

from Skid

.

As you may know, Dean is in need of a heart transplant.

Over the past 10 or 15 years, Dean has lived with a degenerative heart condition--congestive heart failure due to idiopathic hypotropic cardiomyopathy. After periods of more-or-less remission, in which his heart was stabilized and improved with the help of medications, the function of his heart has worsened. Now, radically.

.

a video by D.J. Dolack of the recent benefit reading for dean Young at the National Arts Club in Manhattan.

Readers include Robert N. Casper, Joe Di Prisco, Matthea Harvey, Edward Hirsch, Mary Karr, Matthew Rohrer, Gerald Stern and Dara Wier.

.

...and Dean Young on the telephone.

To make an online donation, please visit Dean Young's page at the National Foundation for Transplants.

thanks to Rebel Girl for the update

.

returning to the source is tranquility

If you can empty your mind of all thoughts

your heart will embrace the tranquility of peace.

Watch the workings of all of creation,

but contemplate their return to the source.

All creatures in the universe

return to the point where they began.

Returning to the source is tranquility

because we submit to Heaven's mandate.

Returning to Heaven's mandate is called being constant.

Knowing the constant is called 'enlightenment'.

Not knowing the constant is the source of evil deeds

because we have no roots.

By knowing the constant we can accept things as they are.

By accepting things as they are, we become impartial.

By being impartial, we become one with Heaven.

By being one with Heaven, we become one with Tao.

Being one with Tao, we are no longer concerned about

losing our life because we know the Tao is constant

and we are one with Tao.

~ Lao Tzu

from the Tao Te Ching

translated by j. h. mcdonald

cave art: chauvet-pont-d'arc

.

Unto this Darkness

.

.

Unto this Darkness which is

beyond Light

we pray that we may come, and 

may attain unto vision through

the loss of sight and knowledge,

and that in ceasing thus to see or

to know

we may learn to know that which 

is beyond all perception and 

understanding

(for this emptying of

our faculties

is true sight and knowledge).

.

~ Pseudo-Dionysius

Dionysius the Areopagite called Pseudo - to differentiate him from the Dionysius mentioned by Paul in Acts.  He lived in the 6th Century and has had a profound impact on Christian mystics.

.

.

desert places

Snow falling and night falling fast, oh, fast

In a field I looked into going past,

And the ground almost covered smooth in snow,

But a few weeds and stubble showing last.

 

The woods around it have it--it is theirs.

All animals are smothered in their lairs.

I am too absent-spirited to count;

The loneliness includes me unawares.

 

And lonely as it is that loneliness

Will be more lonely ere it will be less--

A blanker whiteness of benighted snow

With no expression, nothing to express.

 

They cannot scare me with their empty spaces

Between stars--on stars where no human race is.

I have it in me so much nearer home

To scare myself with my own desert places.

 

 

 

 

 

~ Robert Frost

walk in the dark

If a man

wishes to be sure

of the road he travels on,

he must close his eyes 

and walk in the dark.

~ Saint John of the Cross

seeing for oneself, the value and the limitations of the knowing, and understanding of the mind 

can allow the faith to step boldly into the unknowing of silence, of darkness,
 and find ourselves within the unspeakable.

I am blind

.

I am blind and do not see the things of this world; 

but when the Light comes from above, it enlightens my Heart, 

and I can see, for the Eye of my Heart sees everything.

The Heart is a sanctuary of the Center in which there is a little space 

wherein the Great Spirit dwells, and this is the Eye. 

This is the Eye of Wakentaka by which he sees all things,

and through which we see Him.

.

~  Black Elk

.

The Night Abraham Called to the Stars

.

Do you remember the night Abraham first saw

The stars? He cried to Saturn: "You are my Lord!"

How happy he was! When he saw the Dawn Star,

.

He cried, ""You are my Lord!" How destroyed he was

When he watched them set. Friends, he is like us:

We take as our Lord the stars that go down.

.

We are faithful companions to the unfaithful stars.

We are diggers, like badgers; we love to feel

The dirt flying out from behind our back claws.

.

And no one can convince us that mud is not 

Beautiful. It is our badger soul that thinks so.

We are ready to spend the rest of our life

.

Walking with muddy shoes in the wet fields.

We resemble exiles in the kingdom of the serpent.

We stand in the onion fields looking up at the night.

.

My heart is a calm potato by day, and a weeping

Abandoned woman by night. Friend, tell me what to do,

Since I am a man in love with the setting stars.

.

~ Robert Bly

.

a turtle's pace

.

Consider the turtle.  A whole summer - June, July, and August -

 is not too good nor too much to hatch a turtle in.  

 

Perchance you have worried yourself, despaired of the world, 

meditated the end of life, and all things seemed rushing to destruction;

 but nature has steadily and serenely advanced with a turtle's pace.

.

~ Henry David Thoreau

from a journal entry, 1856

art by Roderick Maclver

.

water lily

.

.

My whole life is mine, but whoever says so

will deprive me, for it is infinite.

The ripple of water, the shade of the sky

are mine; it is still the same, my life.

No desire opens me: I am full,

I never close myself with refusal-

in the rhythm of my daily soul

I do not desire-I am moved;

by being moved I exert my empire,

making the dreams of night real:

into my body at the bottom of the water

I attract the beyonds of mirrors...

.

~ Rainer Maria Rilke 

translated by A. Poulin 

.

you, darkness

You, darkness, that I come from

I love you more than all the fires

that fence in the world, 

for the fire makes a circle of light for everyone

and then no one outside learns of you. 

But the darkness pulls in everything-

shapes and fires, animals and myself, 

how easily it gathers them! -

powers and people-

and it is possible a great presence is moving near me. 

I have faith in nights. 

~ Rainer Maria Rilke


.

vulnerability

.

Sensitivity implies being vulnerable. 

One is sensitive to one's reactions, to one's hurts, one's beleaguered existence: 

that is, one is sensitive about oneself and in this vulnerable state there is really self-interest 

and therefore the capability of being hurt, of becoming neurotic. 

 

It is a form of resistance which is essentially concentrated on the self. 

 

The strength of vulnerability is not self-centred. 

It is like the young spring leaf that can withstand strong winds and flourish. 

This vulnerability is incapable of being hurt, whatever the circumstances. 

Vulnerability is without centre as the self. 

It has an extraordinary strength, vitality and beauty.

 

 

 

J. Krishnamurti

from Letters to the Schools Vol. 2

photo by albert koetsier

 

 

 

.

bees

.

In every instant, two gates. One opens to fragrant paradise, one to hell.

Mostly we go through neither.

.

Mostly we nod to our neighbor,

lean down to pick up the paper,

go back into the house.

.

But the faint cries—ecstasy? horror?

Or did you think it the sound

of distant bees,

making only the thick honey of this good life?

.

~ Jane Hirshfield

.

to prose

.

.

Whatever you may say

whatever you pretend

you do not begin or end

when the stories do

the ones that you repeat

later starting again

or when the days that you tell

all those that never

themselves said a word

have long been utterly still

and yet you were there 

when they were 

you were heard

commenting in the unmetered

service of understanding

your description

remains current for some time

after the face has gone

even if not written down

but you are different

from what you recount

and although we know 

only scattered fragments of you

glimpses of birds in bushes

gestures in car windows 

of which we forget

at once almost everything 

you define us

we are the ones who need you

we can no longer tell

whether we believe

anything without you

or whether we can hear

all that you are not

O web of answer

sea of forgetting is it true

that you remember

.

~ W.S. Merwin

from Present Company

.

 

 

Whatever we say

we know there is another

language under this one

 

a word of it is always there on the tip of you

unsayable and early

O you for whom 

all languages have been named

who have none of your own

 

naked sleeper in the cave 

where you were born

dreamer without words

who first tasted 

a verb of the world

you who speak as though

you could see

 

you have not forgotten

the serpent your ancestor

its fluttering inarticulate flame

or expectation

on the way to you

 

 

 

~ W. S. Merwin

from Present Company

The Woodpecker Keeps Returning

.

.

The woodpecker keeps returning

to drill the house wall.

Put a pie plate over one place, he chooses another.

There is nothing good to eat there:

he has found in the house

a resonant billboard to post his intentions,

his voluble strength as provider.

But where is the female he drums for? Where?

I ask this, who am myself the ruined siding,

the handsome red-capped bird, the missing mate.

.

~ Jane Hirshfield

from after

.

The world rests

.

The world rests in the night. Trees, mountains, fields, and faces are released from the prison of shape and the burden of exposure. Each thing creeps back into its own nature within the shelter of the dark. Darkness is the ancient womb. Nighttime is womb-time. Our souls come out to play. The darkness absolves everything; the struggle for identity and impression falls away. We rest in the night.

.

~ John O'Donohue

from Anam Cara: A Book of Celtic Wisdom

.

for a new home

.

.

May this house shelter your life.

When you come in home here,

May all the weight of the world

Fall from your shoulders.

.

May your heart be tranquil here,

Blessed by peace the world can not give.

.

May this home be a lucky place,

Where the graces your life desires

Always find the pathway to your door.

.

May nothing destructive

Ever cross your threshold.

.

May this be a safe place

Full of understanding and acceptance,

Where you can be as you are,

Without the need of any mask

Of pretense or image.

.

May this home be a place of discovery,

Where the possibilities that sleep

In the clay of your soul can emerge

To deepen and refine your vision

For all that is yet to come to birth.

.

~ John O'Donohue

from To Bless the Space Between Us

.

hidden but always present

.

The Tao is like an empty container:

it can never be emptied and can never be filled.

Infinitely deep, it is the source of all things.

It dulls the sharp, unties the knotted,

shades the lighted, and unites all of creation with dust.

.

It is hidden but always present.

I don't know who gave birth to it.

It is older than the concept of God.

.

~ Tao Te Ching

translation by j. h. mcdonald

.

Who has been lived all these years

.

This which seeks is That which is sought; 

That which is sought is This which seeks.

There is no seeker, and no thing sought.

The functioning of "seeking" in whole-mind 

is conceptualized by split-mind as Seeker and Sought.

From the beginning not a thing is. 

~ Hui Neng

This which I am is That (which I am not),

That which I am not is This (which I am).

There is neither This or That.

I neither am nor am not 

(there is neither an I which is nor an I which is not)

There is neither whole-mind nor split-mind.

There is nothing to function, and no functioning.

There is no absence and no presence.

There still remains spontaneous immediacy?

It, also, neither is nor is not.

.

Now do you understand that there is not a thing to be understood?

Who has understood,  What has not understood?

Who has been lived all these years,  What has suffered?

~ Wei Wu Wei

from All Else is Bondage

As you once found me

.

.

As you once found me,

I was small, so small

yet blooms appeared

Just be quiet within yourself.

.

I was a nameless and small

and longed  so deeply

until you said that I am too big

for any name:

.

For, it seems,  I am one

with myth, with May, and with the sea,

and like the living fragrance of the wine

that strengthens the soul ...

.

Rainer Maria Rilke 

from The Early Poems

.

Have you

.

.

Have you ever sat, not day-dreaming, but very

quietly, completely aware? 


In that awareness there is no

verbalization, no choice, no restraint or direction. 


When the body is completely relaxed, 
have you noticed the silence that comes into being? 

That requires a great deal of investigation, because our

minds are never still but endlessly chattering and therefore divided.

We divide living into fragments.

Can all this fragmentation come to an end? 


Knowing that thought is responsible for this fragmentation, we ask:
 `Can thought be completely silent yet respond when it is necessary, 
without violence, objectively, sanely, rationally -
 still let this silence pervade?' 


That is the only way: 
to find for oneself this quality of the mind that has no fragments, 
that is not broken up as the `you' and the `me'.

.

~ J. Krishnamurti
from a public talk in Saanen on July 28th 1970
.

why

.

Why does the soul not fly

when it hears the call?

.

Why does the fish, gasping on land,

but near the water,

not move back into the sea?

.

What keeps us from joining the dance

the dust particles do?

.

Look at their subtle motions

in sunlight.

.

We are out of our cages

with our wings spread,

yet we do not lift off.

We keep collecting rocks and broken bits

of pottery like children

pretending they are merchants.

.

We should split the sack

Of this culture

And stick our heads out.

.

Look around.

Leave your childhood.

.

Reach your right hand up

and take this book from the air.

You do know right from left, don’t you?

.

A voice speaks to your clarity.

Move into the moment of your death.

Consider what you truly want.

.

Now call out commands yourself.

You are the king. Phrase your question,

and expect the grace of an answer.

.

~ Rumi

from Rumi: Bridge to the Soul

translated by Coleman Barks

photo by albert koetsier

http://www.beyondlight.com/

.