paying attention to the melody

All right.  I know that each of us will die alone.

It doesn't matter how loud or soft the sitar plays.

Sooner or later the melody will say it all.

The prologue is so long!  At last the theme comes.

It says the soul will rise above all these notes.

It says the dust will be swept up from the floor.

It doesn't matter if we say our prayers or not.

We know the canoe is heading straight for the falls,

And no one will pick us up from the water this time.

One day the mice will carry our ragged impulses

All the way to Egypt, and at home the cows

Will graze on a thousand acres of thought.

Everyone goes on hoping for a good death.

The old rope hangs down from the hangman's nail.

The forty-nine robbers are climbing into their boots.

Robert, don't expect too much.  You've put yourself

Ahead of others for years, a hundred years.

It will take a long time for you to hear the melody.

~ Robert Bly

from Talking into the Ear of a Donkey

creator, preserver, and destroyer

statue from Tamil Nadu, Chola Dynasty, India

As a symbol, Shiva Nataraja is a brilliant invention. 

It combines in a single image Shiva's roles as creator, preserver, and destroyer 

of the universe and conveys the Indian conception of the never-ending cycle of time. 

Although it appeared in sculpture as early as the fifth century, its present, 

world-famous form evolved under the rule of the Cholas. 

Shiva's dance is set within a flaming halo. 

The god holds in his upper right hand the damaru (hand drum that made the first sounds of creation). 

His upper left hand holds agni (the fire that will destroy the universe). 

With his lower right hand, he makes abhayamudra (the gesture that allays fear). 

The dwarflike figure being trampled by his right foot represents 

apasmara purusha (illusion, which leads mankind astray). 

Shiva's front left hand, pointing to his raised left foot, 

signifies refuge for the troubled soul. 

The energy of his dance makes his hair fly to the sides.

~ description by the Metropolitan Museum of Art

Beneath its diversity and complexity, the underlying unity of Hinduism has correspondences with the inward dimension of the Christian faith.

~ Ursula King

only breath

~ Rumi

with Coleman Barks

after long busyness

I start out for a walk at last after weeks at the desk.

Moon gone, plowing underfoot, no stars, not a trace of light!

Suppose a horse were galloping toward me in this open field?

Every day I did not spend in solitude was wasted.

~ Robert Bly

photo by michael totten

creativity - authority - self-knowledge

There is no method for self-knowledge. 

Seeking a method invariably implies the desire to attain some result and that is what we all want. We follow authority - if not that of a person, then of a system, of an ideology - because we want a result that will be satisfactory, which will give us security. We really do not want to understand ourselves, our impulses and reactions, the whole process of our thinking, the conscious as well as the unconscious; we would rather pursue a system that assures us of a result. But the pursuit of a system is invariably the outcome of our desire for security, for certainty, and the result is obviously not the understanding of oneself. When we follow a method, we must have authorities - the teacher, the guru, the savior, the Master - who will guarantee us what we desire; and surely that is not the way to self-knowledge.

Authority prevents the understanding of oneself, does it not? Under the shelter of an authority, a guide, you may have temporarily a sense of security, a sense of well-being, but that is not the understanding of the total process of oneself. Authority in its very nature prevents the full awareness of oneself and therefore ultimately destroys freedom; in freedom alone can there be creativeness. 

There can be creativeness only through self-knowledge.

~ J. Krishnamurti

from The Book of Life

with thanks to j krishnamurti online

you can barely distinguish me

I have hymns you haven't heard.

There is an upward soaring

in which I bend close.

You can barely distinguish me

from the things that kneel before me.

They are like sheep, they are grazing.

I am the shepherd on the brow of the hill.

When evening draws them home

I follow after, the dark bridge thudding,

and the vapor rising from their backs

hides my own homecoming.

~ Rainer Maria Rilke

from The Book of Monastic Life

translation by Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy

art from the cave of chauvet-pont-d'arc

flight

The modern pagan, the child of technology or the “mass man,” does not even enjoy the anguish of dualism or the comfort of myth. His anxieties are no longer born of eternal aspiration, though they are certainly rooted in a consciousness of death. “Mass man” is something more than fallen. He lives not only below the level of grace, but below the level of nature—below his own humanity. No longer in contact with the created world or with himself, out of touch with the reality of nature, he lives in the world of collective obsessions, the world of systems and fictions with which modern man has surrounded himself. In such a world, man’s life is no longer even a seasonal cycle. It’s a linear flight into nothingness, a flight from reality and from God, without purpose and without objective, except to keep moving, to keep from having to face reality….

~ Thomas Merton

from Seasons of Celebration

art by picasso

the beauty

~ John O'Donohue

as we climb higher

As we climb higher, we say this.

It is not soul or mind, nor does it possess

imagination, conviction, speech or understanding.

It does not live nor is it life.  It is not a 

substance, nor is it eternity or time.

It is not wisdom.

It is neither one nor oneness, divinity nor goodness.

It falls neither within the predicate of nonbeing nor being.

It is beyond assertion and denial.  We make assertions and

denials of what is next to it, but never of it, for it is both beyond

every assertion, being the perfect and unique cause of all things,

and by virtue of its pre-eminently simple and absolute nature,

free of every limitation,

beyond every limitation;

it is also beyond every denial.

~ Pseudo-Dionysius

art from Sistine Chapel images

unsophisticated teachers say

Unsophisticated teachers say that God is pure

being.  He is as high above being as the highest

angel is above a gnat.  I would be speaking as incorrectly

in calling God a being as if I called the sun pale or black.

God is neither this or that.

~ Meister Eckhart

the parents poem

It’s a good idea to figure what to do with parents.

One man I knew, after caring for them for years,

Led them across a busy street—two lines of traffic.

He started a lost colony for his parents.

He bought them big boots and pith helmets.

He sent his parents into battle. He dressed

Them in Austrian uniforms and gave them

Maps of Russia. No one ever saw them again.

Another man built a furnace and put his parents

Into it. He got some tincture, and tried to tran-

Substantiate his parents. It took a long time

And used a lot of heat, but there wasn't much change.

A neighbor stored them in an empty cistern—the ladder

Is still sticking out. He took them to Kenya

And got his parents to take a walk with the elephants.

And they died all right . . . But by the end,

They knew for sure that they’d had children.

~ Robert Bly

art by gene kloss

chinese foot chart

Every part of us

alerts another part.

Press a spot in 

the tender arch and 

feel the scalp

twitch.  We are no

match for ourselves

but our own release.

Each touch

uncatches some 

remote lock.  Look,

boats of mercy

embark from

our heart at the 

oddest knock.

~ Kay Ryan

from The Best of It

awareness

Awareness is primordial; it is the original state, beginningless, endless, uncaused, unsupported, without parts, without change. 

Consciousness is on contact, a reflection against a surface, a state of duality. 

There can be no consciousness without awareness, but there can be awareness without consciousness, as in deep sleep. Awareness is absolute, consciousness is relative to its content; consciousness is always of something.

 Consciousness is partial and changeful, 

awareness is total, changeless, calm and silent. 

And it is the common matrix of every experience.

~ Nisargadatta Maharaj

from I AM THAT

nowness

The essence of realization is nowness, 

Occurring all at once, with nothing to add or subtract. 

Self-liberation, innate great bliss, 

Free from hope or fear is the fruition.

~ Marpa

 from his song of realization and experience

with thanks to life love yoga

sense of presence

This sense of presence, 

it is not the sense that I am present, you are present, or any individual is present. 

The sense of presence is the sense of presence, as such. 

Because one identifies oneself with his body, 

he thinks he is born and is going to die. 

What is born is the general sense of presence, as such. 

The sense of presence which has come spontaneously will leave spontaneously.

~ Nisargadatta Maharaj

beyond myself

When my heart came to rule

in the world of love,

it was freed

from both belief

and from disbelief.

On this journey,

I found the problem

to be myself.

When I went beyond myself,

the pathway finally opened.

~ Mahsati Ganjavi

translation by David and Sabrineh Fideler

Mahsati Ganjavi lived during the 12th century, born in Ganje, Azerbaijan. Her poetry was a strong voice against prejudice and hypocrisy and patriarchy, while upholding love -- both human and divine.

She was celebrated at the court of Sultan Sanjar for her rubaiyat (quatrains), but later persecuted for her courageous stand against overly dogmatic religion and arbitrary male dominance.

Comments by eric at poetry chaikhana

the dark and mysterious virtue

The Tao gives birth to all of creation.

The virtue of Tao in nature nurtures them,

and their families give them their form.

Their environment then shapes them into completion.

That is why every creature honors the Tao and its virtue.

No one tells them to honor the Tao and its virtue,

it happens all by itself.

So the Tao gives them birth,

and its virtue cultivates them,

cares for them,

nurtures them,

gives them a place of refuge and peace,

helps them to grow and shelters them

It gives them life without wanting to posses them,

and cares for them expecting nothing in return.

It is their master, but it does not seek to dominate them.

This is called the dark and mysterious virtue.

~ Lao Tzu

from the Tao Te Ching

Paul Cézanne

Born: 19 January 1839

Aix-en-Provence, France

Died: 22 October 1906 (aged 67)

Aix-en-Provence, France

The paintings convey Cézanne's intense study of his subjects, a searching gaze and a dogged struggle to deal with the complexity of human visual perception.

self portrait

Throughout his life he struggled to develop an authentic observation of the seen world by the most accurate method of representing it in paint that he could find.

~ Paul Cézanne

comments from wikipedia

many-roofed building in moonlight

I found myself

suddenly voluminous,

three-dimensioned, 

a many-roofed building in moonlight.

Thought traversed 

me as simply as moths might. 

Feelings traversed me as fish.

I heard myself thinking,

It isn't the piano, it isn't the ears.

Then heard, too soon, the ordinary furnace, 

the usual footsteps above me.

Washed my face again with hot water,

as I did when I was a child.

~ Jane Hirshfield

poetry, mythology and fairy stories

the task

It is a simple garment, this slipped-on world.

We wake into it daily -- open eyes, braid hair --

a robe unfurled

in rose-silk flowering, then laid bare.

And yes, it is a simple enough task

we've taken on,

though also vast:

from dusk to dawn,

from dawn to dusk, to praise, and not

be blinded by the praising.

To lie like a cat in hot

sun, fur fully blazing,

and dream the mouse;

and to keep too the mouse's patient, waking watch

within the deep rooms of the house,

where the leaf-flocked

sunlight never reaches, but the earth still blooms.

~ Jane Hirshfield

from The October Palace

thanks to Ivan at poetry chaikhana

the box of chocolates

He always knew where he had been, and he remembered

The box elder in the fence post, looked down on men

Who couldn't see the storm coming.  He's learned

To live with the way his bait went deeper.

My mother kept her spirits high with little jobs.

He bought her a heart-shaped box of chocolates

Once a year. One life, one woman,

That was God's rule, and he didn't like it much.

~ Robert Bly

from Talking into the ear of a Donkey

photo by Shreve Stockton

no resistance

That which offers no resistance,

overcomes the hardest substances.

That which offers no resistance

can enter where there is no space.

Few in the world can comprehend

the teaching without words,

or understand the value of non-action.

~ Lao Tzu

from the Tao Te Ching

translation by j.h. mcdonald

the end and the beginning

After every war

someone has to clean up.

Things won’t

straighten themselves up, after all.

Someone has to push the rubble

to the side of the road,

so the corpse-filled wagons

can pass.

Someone has to get mired

in scum and ashes,

sofa springs,

splintered glass,

and bloody rags.

Someone has to drag in a girder

to prop up a wall.

Someone has to glaze a window,

rehang a door.

Photogenic it’s not,

and takes years.

All the cameras have left

for another war.

We’ll need the bridges back,

and new railway stations.

Sleeves will go ragged

from rolling them up.

Someone, broom in hand, 

still recalls the way it was.

Someone else listens

and nods with unsevered head.

But already there are those nearby

starting to mill about

who will find it dull.

From out of the bushes

sometimes someone still unearths

rusted-out arguments

and carries them to the garbage pile.

Those who knew

what was going on here

must make way for

those who know little.

And less than little.

And finally as little as nothing.

In the grass that has overgrown

causes and effects,

someone must be stretched out

blade of grass in his mouth

gazing at the clouds.

~ Wisława Szymborska

Translated By Joanna Trzeciak

the eel in the cave

Our veins are open to shadow, and our fingertips

Porous to murder. It's only the inattention

Of the prosecutors that lets us go to lunch.

Reading my old letters I notice a secret will.

It's as if another person had planned my life.

Even in the dark, someone is hitching the horses.

That doesn't mean I have done things well.

I have found so many ways to disgrace

Myself, and throw a dark cloth over my head.

Why is it our fault if we fall into desire?

The eel poking his head from his undersea cave

Entices the tiny soul falling out of Heaven.

So many invisible angels work to keep

Us from drowning; so many hands reach

Down to pull the swimmer from the water.

Even though the District Attorney keeps me

Well in mind, grace allows me sometimes

To slip into the Alhambra by night.

~ Robert Bly

from The Night Abraham Called to the Stars: Poems

a dream

Once there was a poor and generous old man from Ballaghaderreen who has a dream.  In it he is told to make a journey at the end of which he will find a pot of gold.  In this case the old man has to leave Balla and travel a good way to Dublin and there, when he crosses one of the bridges over the River Liffy, he will find a pub, and there he will find his treasure.  The old man follows the dream map and when he sees the pub that was in his dream he looks around but there's no place he can dig for a hidden treasure,

so he stands beside the door and waits.  He waits all day and at nightfall the publican comes out and asks,

What are you standing here for all day long?

I had a dream that told me to come here.

A dream?  I think you must be a daft old man to follow dreams.  I, myself, had a dream a month ago and it told me to go to some poor old sod's cottage on the crossroads from French Park to Ballaghaderreen and if I did, I would find a pot of gold in his front yard.  Do you think I would go traipsing all over the countryside because of a dream?  It's cold.  You should go home.

Indeed I should and will, said the old man.

And when he got home he dug in his front yard and found the treasure and wasn't he himself and all the others the better for it.  And if he hasn't given it all away we might share a bit with them.

~ Irish Folk Tale
summarized here by Gioia Timpanelli
photo above by erin at photographs from a white space

Gioia Timpanelli

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, Jr. 

from The Complete French Poems of Rainer Maria Rilke

art by monet

in a time of losses

We don't want to alarm the heron who's

Guarding the cranberry bog from frost.

But so many hares have been eaten by weasels;

The losses go on night after night.

Foxes slip through the bushes at dusk.

So much we care for has been carried off.

The airs and ars we hear in this poem

Belong to the hare who cries out in the night.

~ Robert Bly

from Talking into the ear of a Donkey

be still and still moving into another intensity

Home is where one starts from. As we grow older

The world becomes stranger, the pattern more complicated

Of dead and living. Not the intense moment

Isolated, with no before and after,

But a lifetime burning in every moment

And not the lifetime of one man only

But of old stones that cannot be deciphered.

There is a time for the evening under starlight,

A time for the evening under lamplight

(The evening with the photograph album).

Love is most nearly itself

When here and now cease to matter.

Old men ought to be explorers

Here or there does not matter

We must be still and still moving

Into another intensity

For a further union, a deeper communion

Through the dark cold and the empty desolation,

The wave cry, the wind cry, the vast waters

Of the petrel and the porpoise. In my end is my beginning.

~ T.S. Eliot

from The Four Quartets, No. 2, East Coker

art by van gogh

Lying in a Hammock at William Duffy’s Farm in Pine Island, Minnesota

Over my head, I see the bronze butterfly, 

Asleep on the black trunk,

Blowing like a leaf in green shadow. 

Down the ravine behind the empty house, 

The cowbells follow one another 

Into the distances of the afternoon. 

To my right,

In a field of sunlight between two pines, 

The droppings of last year’s horses 

Blaze up into golden stones.

I lean back, as the evening darkens and comes on. 

A chicken hawk floats over, looking for home.

I have wasted my life.

~  James Wright

from Above the River: The Complete Poems and Selected Prose