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/

.

a man walks through his life

A man walks through his life

as he did when he was a boy,

taking a pear here, an apple there,

three peaches.

It is easy.  They are there, by the roadside.

I want to say to him, stop.

I want to say to him, where is the plum tree you planted?

But how can I say this?

I suck on the pit of my question,

I who also eat daily the labor of others.

~ Jane Hirshfield

from After

Elegy on Toy Piano

.

You don't need a pony 

to connect you to the unseeable 

or an airplane to connect you to the sky. 

Necessary it is to love to live 

and there are many manuals 

but in all important ways 

one is on one's own. 

You need not cut off your hand. 

No need to eat a bouquet. 

Your head becomes a peach pit. 

Your tongue a honeycomb. 

Necessary it is to live to love, 

to charge into the burning tower 

then charge back out 

and necessary it is to die. 

Even for the trees, even for the pony 

connecting you to what can't be grasped. 

The injured gazelle falls behind the 

herd. One last wild enjambment. 

Because of the sores in his mouth, 

the great poet struggles with a dumpling. 

His work has enlarged the world 

but the world is about to stop including him. 

He is the tower the world runs out of. 

When something becomes ash, 

there's nothing you can do to turn it back. 

About this, even diamonds do not lie.

~ Dean Young

of beauty

And a poet said, Speak to us of Beauty.

And he answered:

Where shall you seek beauty, and how 

shall you find her unless she herself be your

way and your guide?

And how shall you speak of her except 

she be the weaver of your speech?

The aggrieved and injured say, 

"Beauty is kind and gentle."

The tired and weary say,

"Beauty is of soft whisperings

She speaks in our spirit."

In winter say the snow-bound,

"She shall come with the spring leaping upon the hills."

All these things have you said of beauty,

Yet in truth you spoke not of her but of needs unsatisfied,

And beauty is not a need but an ecstasy.

It is not a mouth thirsting nor an empty hand stretched forth,

But rather a heart inflamed and a soul enchanted.

It is not the image you would see nor the song you would hear,

But rather an image you see though you

close your eyes and a song you hear though

you shut your ears.

People of Orphalese, 

beauty is life when life unveils her holy face.

But you are life and you are the veil.

Beauty is eternity gazing at itself in a mirror.

But you are eternity and you are the mirror.

~ Kahlil Gibran

from The Prophet

eternity is not infinity

Eternity is not infinity.
It is not a long time.
It does not begin at the end of time.
It does not run parallel to time.
In its entirety it always was.
In its entirety it will always be.
It is entirely present always.




~ Wendell Berry