floor

.

The nails, once inset, rise to the surface—

or, more truly perhaps, over years

the boards sink down to meet what holds them.

Worn, yes, but not worn through:

the visible work reveals itself in iron,

to be pounded down again, for what we've declared

the beautiful to be.

.

~ Jane Hirshfield

what waits within me

.

I believe in all that has never yet been spoken.

I want to free what waits within me

so that what no one has dared to wish for

may for once spring clear

without my contriving.

If this is arrogant, God, forgive me,

but this is what I need to say.

May what I do flow from me like a river,

no forcing and no holding back,

the way it is with children.

Then in these swelling and ebbing currents,

these deepening tides moving out, returning,

I will sing you as no one ever has,

streaming through widening channels

into the open sea.

~ Rainer Maria Rilke

from The Book of Monastic Life

I'm here

.

I'm here. I'm always here. Even when I'm 'there', I'm here. 

I can't get away from here. Even when I try to escape here, I find 

myself here. Once I even managed to arrive 'there', but then I took a 

fresh look, and I was still here. Here follows me wherever I go. It's just 

always here, wherever I am. Hmm. Perhaps I am here. I mean, perhaps I 

*am* here! Perhaps here is what I actually am. That's why I'm always 

here...

~ Jeff Foster

.

ultimate word of truth

.

A monk asked Joshu, "What is the one ultimate word of truth?"

"Yes," was Joshu's reply.

The monk failed to see any sense in the master's reply, and so he asked the question again.

This time, Joshu roared in response, "I am not deaf!"

~  D. T. Suzuki

thanks to whiskey river

.

.

Gustav Mahler 

Born: 7 July 1860 in Kalischt, Bohemia,

Died: 18 May 1911 in Vienna,

was an Austrian composer and conductor of the late Romanticism to Modernism. 

He was not only one of the most important composers of the late Romantic period, 

but also one of the most famous conductors of his time as an opera director 

an important reformer of musical theater.

.

1892

with thanks to semsakrebsler

the dove in the belly - stop and listen

.

.

The whole of appearance is a toy. For this,

The dove in the belly builds his nest and coos,

Selah, tempestuous bird. How is it that

The rivers shine and hold their mirrors up,

Like excellence collecting excellence?

How is it that the wooden trees stand up

And live and heap their panniers of green

And hold them round the sultry day? Why should

These mountains being high be, also, bright,

Fetched up with snow that never falls to earth?

And this great esplanade of corn, miles wide,

Is something wished for made effectual

And something more. And the people in costumes,

Though poor, though raggeder than ruin, have that

Within them right for terraces—oh, brave salut!

Deep dove, placate you in your hiddenness.

~ Wallace Stevens

art by matisse, 1949

day and night

The sun rises and sets,

 it is day and night,

 it will go on thus for a long time.  

You get to think you are part of it and 

your circumstances are related to the cosmos, 

but one day your little system will break down 

and the day and night will rotate indifferently.  

Can this be?  

It seems more like the sunrise and sunset, 

the moon and stars, 

this new season, 

they are part of me. 

 I am sure they will never be the same without me,

for no one could see them just as I do.

.

~ Harlan Hubbard

journal entry March 9, 1963

woodcut by the author

your beautiful parched, holy mouth

A poet is someone

Who can pour Light into a spoon,

Then raise it

To nourish

Your beautiful parched, holy mouth.

~ Hafiz

from I Heard God Laughing, Renderings of Hafiz

translation by Daniel Ladinsky

I knew we would be Friends

.

As soon as you opened your mouth

And I heard your soft

Sounds,

I knew we would be 

Friends.

The first time, dear pilgrim, I heard 

You laugh,

I knew it would not take me long

To turn you back into 

God.

.

~ Hafiz

from The Subject Tonight is Love

translation by Daniel Ladinsky

listen

.

Siddhartha listened.  He was now listening intently, completely absorbed,
 quite empty, taking in everything. He felt that he had now completely
 learned the art of listening.  He had often heard all this before,
 all these numerous voices in the river, but today they  sounded different.

  He could no longer distinguish the different voices - the merry voice
 from the weeping voice, the childish voice from the manly voice.  
They all belonged to each other: the lament of those who yearn, the laughter
 of the wise, the cry of indignation and the groan of the dying. 

 They were all interwoven and interlocked, entwined in a thousand ways.  
And all the voices, all the goals, all the yearning, all the sorrows all the pleasures,
all the good and evil, all of them together was the world.  All of them together
 was the stream of events, the music of life.  When Siddhartha listened attentively
 to this river, to this song of a thousand voices; when he did not listen 
to the sorrow or laughter, when he did not bind his soul to any one
 particular voice and absorb it in his Self, but heard them all, the whole,
 the unity; then the great song of a thousand voices consisted 
of one word: Om - perfection.

"Do you hear?" asked Vasudeva's glance once again.
 Vasudeva's smile was radiant; it hovered brightly in all the wrinkles
 of his old face, as the Om hovered over all the voices of the river. 
 His smile was radiant as he looked at his friend, and now the same smile 
appeared on Siddhartha's face.  His wound was healing, his pain was dispersing; 
his Self had merged into unity.

From that hour Siddhartha ceased to fight against his destiny. 
There shone in his face the serenity of knowledge, of one who is no longer
 confronted with conflict of desires, who has found salvation, 
who is in harmony with the stream of events, with the stream of life,
 full of sympathy and compassion, surrendering himself to the stream,
 belonging to the unity of all things.

.

~ Hermann Hesse

from Siddhartha

translated by Hilda Rosner

the substance of silence

...there is a greater comfort in the substance of silence
 than in the answer to a question.   

Eternity is in the present.  

Eternity is in the palm of the hand.  

Eternity is a seed of fire whose sudden roots break barriers 

that keep my heart from being an abyss.

~ Thomas Merton

from Dialogues with Silence

the time of business

.

The time of business does not with me differ from the time of prayer, 

and in the noise and clatter of my kitchen, 

while several persons are at the same time calling for different things, 

I possess God in as great tranquility 

as if I were upon my knees at the blessed sacrament. 

~  Brother Lawrence

.

the silence

.

One might say

I had decided to marry

the silence of the forest.

The sweet dark warmth of

the whole world

will have to be my wife.

Out of the heart of

that dark warmth

comes the secret that is heard

only in silence,

but is the root of all the secrets

that are whispered

by all the lovers in their beds

all over the world.

So perhaps I have an obligation to

preserve the stillness,

the silence, the poverty,

the original virginal point of

pure nothingness

which is at the center

of all other loves.

~  Thomas Merton

photo by eliot porter

they dropped it

.

A gardener appeared, waving his toothy rake.

Children with yellow bells in their hands

jumped the fence, snagging uniforms.

One boy trailed a purple vine.

They wouldn't be sorry,

pockets reeking jasmine,

mud staining shoes...

Who deserved flowers more?

Rich people who never came outside

or children stuck all day in school?

The sweaty gardener cursed them,

straightening branches.

Someone else lifted one large pink blossom

from the pavement beyond the fence,

found a scrap of tissue to wrap it in,

carried it home across the sea.

The dried petals lay on a table for months

whispering, Where are we?

~ Naomi Shihab Nye

from 19 Varieties of Gazelle

intrepid

.

Not dawdling

not doubting

intrepid all the way

walk toward clarity

with sharp eye

With sharpened sword

clearcut the path

to the lucent surprise

of enlightenment

At every crossroad

be prepared to bump into wonder

~  James Broughton 

(1913-1999)

with thanks to moment by moment and Poetry Chaikhana