forgetting words

A water egret planes down like a page of blank paper

Toward the edge of the noon sky.

Let me, like him, find an island of white reeds

To settle down on, under the wind, forgetting words.

~ Charles Wright

 from T’ang Notebook,
 The Other Side of the River: Poems

it is

Almost noon, the meadow 

Waiting for someone to change it into an other. Not me. 

The horses, Monte and Littlefoot, 

Like it the way it is. 

And this morning, so do I.

~ Charles Wright

from Lightfoot

the night watch

Outdoors, like a false morning,

 Fog washes the pine trees. It 

 Shoulders against the windows,

 Spreading across their surface

 On its way upward. In this 

 Moment between sleep and thought 

 This holding back, I can hear 

 The fog start to rise, the slow 

 Memory of an ocean, 

 And I, like a ship, begin 

 To stir, to lurch in its swell, 

 And to move outward, beyond 

 The steel jetty, the lighthouse, 

 The red-flagged channel buoys,

 --Beyond, at last, sleep even--

 Into a deeper water,

 Pale, oracular, its waves

 Motionless, seagulls absent. 

~ Charles Wright

art by andrew wyeth

wind

There is an otherness inside us 

We never touch, 

no matter how far down our hands reach. 

It is the past, 

with its good looks and Anytime, Anywhere ... 

Our prayers go out to it, our arms go out to it 

Year after year, 

But who can ever remember enough?

...

The life of this world is wind 

Windblown we come, and windblown we go away. 

All that we look on is windfall. 

All we remember is wind.

~ Charles Wright

from The Southern Cross

open

What I want is to open up. I want to know what's inside me. I want everybody to open up. I'm like an imbecile with a can-opener in his hand, wondering where to begin - to open up the earth. I know that underneath the mess everything is marvelous. I'm sure of it.

I know it because I feel so marvelous myself most of the time. And when I feel that way everybody seems marvelous … everybody and everything … even pebbles and pieces of cardboard … a match stick lying in the gutter . . . anything . . . a goat's beard, if you like. That's what I want to write about … and then we're all going to see clearly, see what a staggering, wonderful, beautiful world it is.

~ Henry Miller

from Sexus

the call away

A cold wind flows over the cornfields;

Fleets of blackbirds ride that ocean.

I want to be out of here, go out,

Outdoors, anywhere in wind.

My back against a shed wall, I settle

Down where no one can find me.

I stare out at the box-elder leaves

Moving frond-like in that mysterious water.

What is it that I want? Not money,

Not a large desk, not a house with ten rooms.

This is what I want to do: to sit here,

To take no part, to be called away by wind.

I want to go the new way, build a shack

With one door, sit against the door frame.

After twenty years, you will see on my face

The same expression you see in the grass.

~ Robert Bly 

from Like the New Moon, I Will Live My Life

art by van gogh

a single tree

Not so much time itself

as the changes, 

the constant shifting 

and metamorphosing

of things into 

their opposites,

or, more likely, diminished versions

of themselves.

The cat, grown old,

stumbles about the room,

and doesn't remember the year

she leapt from sill to sill

taking the lace curtains

down as she went.

And the tree,

a blackened scar,

opening its side to weather

minus its most stately branch,

long since taken off

by wind, or lightning,

or something obsessed

with symmetry --

does it recall the winter it stood

alone, unyielding,

against the hammering gale?

Or its abundant leafiness in spring,

its green proclamation

of all that continues

unabated in this world.

~ Dorothy Walters

from Marrow of Flame

The mountains stood in haze

The mountains stood in haze,

The valleys stopped below,

And went or waited as they liked

The river and the sky.

At leisure was the sun.

His interests of fire

A little from remark withdrawn.

The twilight spoke the spire.

So soft upon the scene

The act of evening fell

We felt how neighborly a thing

Was the invisible.

~ Emily Dickinson

the nature of consciousness

~ Robert Spira

something else

Whatever it is hangs over us,

wants us to keep on gliding forward,

as if a compass nestled in the heart,

as if a hidden magnet were always calling to

the bits of iron which swim in the blood,

or a boat was being drawn ahead

by a canal-man, with his steady line and

unwavering eye,

not asking why, just doing it,

even on the days we awaken

amidst the ruins of the spirit,

and have nothing to offer,

except a longing for the smell of hyacinths

and something else we can't fully recall.

~ Dorothy Walters

from Marrow of Flame

who

Whoever went in

naked to the core.

Whoever cast aside

all the armor.

all the fastenings.

Who could breathe air thin as flame.

Drink water pressed from blossoms,

rose petals

or violets.

Whoever stayed in that

darkness so dark

it became a circle of seeing.

Who could hear

the silent flute note

of the stilled wind,

hold rock turning to light.

~ Dorothy Walters

from Marrow of Flame

Uzayr

  

The sons of Uzayr, were looking for their father.

They have grown old, and their father

has miraculously grown young!

They meet him and ask, "Pardon us, sir,

but have you seen Uzayr?  We hear

that he's supposed to be coming along

this road today."  "Yes," says Uzayr,

"he's right behind me."  One of his sons

replies, "That's good news."  The other

falls on the ground.  He has recognized

his father.  "What do you mean news?

We're already inside the sweetness

of his presence."   To the mind

there is such a thing as news, whereas

to inner knowing , it's all in the middle

of its happening.  To doubters, this is

a pain.  To believers, it's gospel.

To the lover and the visionary

it's life as it's being lived.

~ Rumi

Coleman Barks translation

the shiva dance image

~ Aldous Huxley

nothing ahead

Lovers think they're looking for each other,

but there's only one search: wandering

this world is wandering that,

both inside one

transparent sky.  In here there is

no dogma and no heresy.

The miracle of Jesus is himself, not what he said

or did about the future.  Forget the future.

I'd worship someone who could do that.

On the way you may want to look back, or not.

But if you can say, There's nothing ahead,

there will be nothing there.

Stretch your arms

and take hold the cloth of your clothes

with both hands.  The cure for pain is in the pain.

Good and bad are mixed.  If you don't have both,

you don't belong with us.

When one of us gets lost,

is not here, he must be inside us.  There's no

place like that anywhere in the world.

~ Rumi

from The Book of Love

translations by Coleman Barks

where you love from

Look inside and find where a person loves from.

That's the reality, not what they say.

~ Hypocrities