leaping beyond

For fifty-four years

Following the way of heaven;

Now leaping beyond,

Shattering every barrier,

Amazing!  To cast off all attachments,

While still alive, plunging into the Yellow Springs.

~ Dogen

from the zen Poetry of Dogen

photo from NASA

the burden of self

Yet do not misunderstand my words, I did not say that you must desire to un-be,
 for that is madness and blasphemy against God.  I said that you must desire 
to lose the knowledge and experience of self.  This is essential
 if you are to experience God's love as fully as possible in this life.

  You must realize and experience for yourself that unless you lose self
you will never reach your goal.  For wherever you are, in whatever you do, 
or howsoever you try, that elemental sense of your own blind being
 will remain between you and your God.  It is possible, of course, 
that God may intervene at times and fill you with a transient experience
 of himself.  Yet outside these moments this naked awareness of your blind being
 will continually weigh you down and be as a barrier between you and your God..
. It is then that you will realize how heavy and painful 
is the burden of self.

~ the Cloud of Unknowing

art by Victoria Burns

open space

Only in an open, nonjudgmental space can we acknowledge what we are feeling.

Only in an open space where we're not all caught up

 in our own version of reality can we see

 and hear and feel who others really are, 

which allows us to be with them and 

communicate with them properly.

We habitually erect a barrier called blame that keeps us from 
communicating genuinely with others, and we fortify it with our concepts
 of who's right and who's wrong. We do that with the people 
who are closest to us, and we do it with political systems, 
with all kinds of things that we don't like about our associates
 or our society. 

.

Blaming is a way to protect our hearts, to try to protect what is soft 
and open and tender in ourselves.

Blame is away in which we solidify ourselves. 
Not only do we point the finger when something is "wrong,"
 but we also want to make it "right."

We start with ourselves. We make ourselves right or wrong, every day, 
every week, every month and year of our lives.  When we feel right,
 we feel good, especially if we have people agreeing with us
 about how right we are. Suppose someone disagrees, then what? 
 Do we find ourselves getting angry and aggressive?  We might see
 that this is what wars are make of. Whether we judge ourselves
 "right" or "wrong," the judgement gives us the satisfaction 
of "knowing." This way we avoid the awkward unsettled uncomfortableness
 of continuing to look more deeply at our words or behavior.

Until we can become comfortable hanging out with ourselves
 without leaping to judgement it will be very difficult to just be with another,
 to share and be truly compassionate. Learning to accept and live in a space
 of the awkwardness of not knowing, to replace self-judgement with gentleness
 is needed to move into the broken-open hearted  
compassion that truly reflects who we are.



~ Pema Chodron
from When Things Fall Apart

compassionate inquiry

~ Gabor Maté

 

 

 

looking at some flowers

Light is around the petals, and behind them:

Some petals are living on the other side of the light,

Like sunlight drifting onto the carpet

Where the casket stands, not knowing which world it is in.

And fuzzy leaves, hair growing from some animal

Buried in the green trenches of the plant. 

Or the ground this house is on,

Only free of the sea for five or six thousand years.

~ Robert Bly

from The Light Around the Body

 Shasta Daisy photographed under ultraviolet light

I follow barefoot

.

I long for You so much

I follow barefoot Your frozen tracks

That are high in the mountains

That I know are years old.

I long for You so much 

I have even begun to travel

Where I have never been before.

Hafiz, there is no one in this world

Who is not looking for God.

Everyone is trudging along

With as much dignity, courage

And style

As they possibly 

Can.

~ Hafiz

from The Subject Tonight is Love

translations by Daniel Ladinsky

bedtime story

The moon lies on the river
like a drop of oil.
The children come to the banks to be healed
of their wounds and bruises.
The fathers who gave them their wounds and bruises
come to be healed of their rage.
The mothers grow lovely; their faces soften,
the birds in their throats awake.
They all stand hand in hand
and the trees around them,
forever on the verge
of becoming one of them,
stop shuddering and speak their first word.


But that is not the beginning.
It is the end of the story,
and before we come to the end,
the mothers and fathers and children
must find their way to the river,
separately, with no one to guide them.
That is the long, pitiless part,
and it will scare you. 

 

 

- Lisel Mueller
from Alive Together: New and Selected Poems

 photo by ansel adams

with thanks to whiskey river

 

 

 

consciousness alone

~ Rupert Spira

 

word fog

Words, even if they come from

the soul, hide the soul, as fog

rising off the sea covers the sea,

the coast, the fish, the pearls.

It's noble work to build coherent

philosophical discourses, but

they block out the sun of truth.

See God's qualities as an ocean,

this world as foam on the purity

of that. Brush away and look

through the alphabet to essence,

as you do the hair covering your

beloved's eyes. Here's the mystery:

this intricate, astonishing world

is proof of God's presence even as

it covers the beauty. One flake

from the wall of a gold mine does

not give much idea what it's like

when the sun shines in and turns

the air and the workers golden.

Rumi

art by claude monet

warning

.

Sometimes farm granaries become especially beautiful when all the oats
 or wheat are gone, and wind has swept the rough floor clean. 
Standing inside, we see around us, coming in through the cracks 
between shrunken wall boards, bands or strips of sunlight. 
So in a poem about imprisonment, one sees a little light.

But how many birds have died trapped in these granaries. The bird,
 seeing the bands of light, flutters up the walls and falls back again and again. 
The way out is where the rats enter and leave; but the rat’s hole is low to the floor. 
Writers, be careful then by showing the sunlight on the walls not to promise 
the anxious and panicky blackbirds a way out!

I say to the reader, beware. Readers who love poems of light 
may sit hunched in the corner with nothing in their gizzards for four days,
 light failing, the eyes glazed. . . . They may end as a mound of feathers 
and a skull on the open boardwood floor . . .

~ Robert Bly

from What have I ever lost by dying? 

the walls and fences

.

.

Now I yearn for one of those old, meandering, dry uninhabited roads, 
which lead away from towns, which lead us away from temptation, 
which conduct to the outside of Earth, over its uppermost crust; 
where you may forget in what country you are traveling; where no farmer can
 complain that you are treading down his grass, no gentleman who has
 recently constructed a seat in the country that you are trespassing; 
on which you can go off at half cock and wave adieu to the village;
 along which you may travel like a pilgrim, going nowhither; 
where travelers are not too often to be met; where my spirit is free;
 where the walls and fences are not cared for; where your head is more
 in heaven than your feet are on earth; which have long reaches 
where you can see the approaching traveler half a mile off
 and be prepared for him; not so luxuriant a soil as to attract men; 
some root and stump fences which do not need attention; where travelers 
have no occasion to stop, but pass along and leave you to your thoughts; 
where it makes no odds which way you face, whether you are going or coming, 
whether it is morning or evening, mid-noon or midnight; where earth is 
cheap enough by being public; where you can walk and think with least obstruction,
 where you can pace when your breast is full, and cherish your moodiness; 
where you are not in false relations with men, are not dining nor conversing 
with them; by which you may go to the uttermost parts of the earth.

.

~ Henry David Thoreau

from his journal, July 21 1851

art by Roderick Maclver

.

a thousand walls

We must not portray you in king's robes,

you drifting mist that brought forth the morning.

Once again from the old paintboxes

we take the same gold for scepter and crown

that has disguised you through the ages.

Piously we produce our images of you

till they stand around you like a thousand walls  

And when our hearts would simply open,

our fervent hands hide you.

~ Rainer Rilke

from The Book of Monastic Life

 art by marika-k

 

freedom - it comes unexpectedly

.

.

Freedom is of the highest importance, but we place it within the borders of our own conceit.

  We have preconceived ideas of what freedom is, or what it should be; we have beliefs, ideals,

 conclusions about freedom.  But freedom is something that cannot be preconceived. 

 It has to be understood.  Freedom does not come through mere intellection, 

through a logical reasoning from conclusion to conclusion.  It comes darkly, unexpectedly;

 it is born of its own inward state.  To realize freedom requires an alert mind,

 a mind that is deep with energy, a mind that is capable of immediate perception

 without the process of gradation, without the idea of an end to be slowly achieved. 

 So, if I may, I would like to think aloud with you about freedom this evening.

.

I think it is very important to understand this problem for oneself,

 because it is only in freedom that there is love; it is only in freedom that there is creation;

 it is only in freedom that Truth can be found.  Do what it will, a slavish mind can never find Truth;

 a slavish mind can never know the beauty and the fullness of life.

.

What matters is to observe your own mind without judgement - just to look at it, to watch it,

 to be conscious of the fact that your mind is a slave, and no more; because that very perception 

releases energy, and it is this energy that is going to destroy the slavishness of the mind... 

We are concerned only with perceiving 'what is', and it is the perception of 'what is'

 that releases the creative fire.

.

We are the product of our environment, of our culture; we are the product of the food we eat,

 of our climate, our customs, our traditions. ...As long as I accept the dictates of tradition,

 of a particular culture, as long as I carry the weight of my memories, my experiences -

 which after all are the result of my conditioning - I am not an individual, but merely a product. 

 When you call yourself a Hindu, a Muslim, a Parsi, a Buddhist, a communist, a Catholic, 

or what you will, are you not the product of your culture, your environment?

.

Our minds are the result of a thousand yesterdays; being conditioned by the culture

 in which they live, and by the memory of past experiences, they devote themselves

 to the acquisition of knowledge and technique. ...most of us prefer to be slaves;

 it is less troublesome, more respectable, more comfortable.  In slavery there is little danger,

 our lives are more or less secure, and that is what we want - security, certainty, a way of life

 in which there will be no serious disturbance.  

.

I wonder whether you have ever taken the trouble actually to look at a flower?  

And when you do look at a flower, what happens?  You immediately name the flower,

you are concerned with what species it belongs to, or you say, 'What lovely colours it has. 

 I would like to grow it in my garden; I would like to give it to my wife, 

or put it in my button-hole', and so on.  In other words, the moment you look at a flower, 

your mind begins chattering about it; therefore you never perceive the flower. 

 

 You perceive something only when your mind is silent, when there is no chattering of any kind. 

 If you can look at the evening star over the sea without a movement of the mind,

 then you really perceive the extraordinary beauty of it; and when you perceive beauty,

 do you not also experience the state of love?  Surely, beauty and love are the same. 

 Without love there is no beauty, and without beauty there is no love.  

Beauty is in form, beauty is in speech, beauty is in conduct.  

You don't have to do something to bring it about; 

there is no discipline, no method by which

 you can learn to perceive.

.

Your minds are slaves to patterns, to systems, to methods and techniques. 

 I am talking of something entirely different.  Perception is instantaneous, timeless;

  there is no gradual approach to it.  It is on the instant that perception takes place;

 it is a state of effortless attention.  The mind is not making an effort,

 therefore it does not create a border, a frontier, it does not place a limitation 

on its own consciousness.  But to be aware of that timeless state, 

to feel the tremendous depth and ecstasy of it, 

one must begin by understanding the slavish mind.  

.

You know, when you love something without any motive, without any want,

such love brings its own results, it finds its own way, it is its own beauty.

  ...if you really perceive for yourself that your mind is accumulating, that is enough. 

 To perceive requires complete attention; and when you give your whole mind, 

your whole heart, your total being to something, there is no problem.  

.

~ J. Krishnamurti

excerpts from a talk in Bombay, 23 December 1959

.

.

born in Tao

Fishes are born in water

Man is born in Tao.

If fishes, born in water,

Seek the deep shadow

Of pond and pool,

All their needs

Are satisfied.

If man, born in Tao,

Sinks into the deep shadow

Of non-action

To forget aggression and concern,

He lacks nothing 

His life is secure.

~ Lao Tzu

translated by Thomas Merton

from The Collected Poems of Thomas Merton

songs of Kabir

 

O How may I ever express that secret word?
O how can I say He is not like this, and He is like that?
If I say that He is within me, the universe is ashamed:
If I say that He is without me, it is falsehood.
He makes the inner and the outer worlds to be indivisibly one;
The conscious and the unconscious, both are His footstools.
He is neither manifest nor hidden, He is neither revealed nor unrevealed:
There are no words to tell that which He is.




~ Kabir

translated by Rabindranath Tagore