inside the rose

.

.

That camel there with its calf running

behind it, Sutur and Koshek, we're like

them: mothered and nursed by where 

and who we are from, following our fates

where they lead, until we hear a drum

begin, grace entering our lives, a prayer

of gratitude.  We feel the call of God,

and the journey changes, A dry field

of stones turns soft and moist as cheese.

The mountain feels level under us.  Love

becomes agile and quick, and suddenly

we're there!  This traveling's not done

with the body.  God's secret takes form

in your loving.  But there are those in

bodies who are pure soul.  It can happen.

These messengers invite us to walk with 

them.  They say, "You may feel happy

enough where you are, but we can't do

without you any longer!  Please."  So

we walk along inside the rose, being

pulled like the creeks and rivers are,

out from the town onto the plain.  My

guide, my soul, your only sadness is when

I am not walking with you.  In deep silence,

with some exertion to stay in your company,

I could save you a lot of trouble!

.

~ Rumi

from The Glance, Songs of Soul-Meeting

translated by Coleman Barks

art by ramel jasir

sweep aside the dust

A small fish swallowing a big one,

Like a Buddhist priest studying the Confucian classics;

It can penetrate the entanglements of buddhas and demons,

And sweep aside the dust collecting on the Law.

~ Dogen

from the Zen Poetry of Dogen by Steven Heine

 

the entry

Not from saying names, 

or praying to statuary.

Not from holding your breath

till you are blue in the face.

Not from twisting your torso this way, now that,

till you are like a string

striving to become a knot.

Not from reading saints' lives

or fingering a billion beads.

Only this:

The moment between the breaths.

The stillness between the notes.

A firefly extinguishes itself,

bleeds darkness

before its final flare.

 ~ Dorothy Walters

from Marrow of Flame 

(homage to Kabir)

 

 

child of heaven and earth

As a child of heaven and earth, 

you are a mix of infinite openness and finite limitation.  

This means that you are both wonderful and difficult

 at the same time.  

You are flawed, you are stuck in old patterns, 

you become carried away with yourself.  

Indeed, you are quite impossible in many ways.  

And still, you are beautiful beyond measure. 

 For the core of what you are is fashioned out of love,

 that potent blend of openness, warmth, 

and clear transparent presence. 

 Boundless love always seems to sparkle 

through your limited form.

~ John Welwood

from Perfect Love, Imperfect Relationships: Healing the Wound of the Heart

the broken thread

Once upon a time, there was a Sufi mystic. Like many mystics, he did not hold any formal position or title. He lived completely in the world, and the only way you knew anything was special about him was the sense of sweetness that seemed to cling to everything he touched.
During the day, he functioned as a shopkeeper, carefully sweeping and stacking and dusting the majestic tapestries, which he sold to support his family. There was a gentle buzz about the shop, a calm flow of traffic that never seemed to cease, from early in the morning when the shopkeeper’s wife unlocked the door and switched the sign to read open, until the evening hours, when the last rays of the sun settled across the dusty streets.

Gradually, the people who came to visit the shop began to linger, to breathe in the fragrance of the mystic, and upon their request, he began to teach. One of his students asked one day if he could begin to spend the afternoons as his assistant. He had no need of pay; he wanted to learn, and the mystic simply smiled, and so it began.

The boy was very polite, and so when he saw his master doing a very peculiar thing one afternoon after a new shipment arrived, he stared only for a moment and did not ask a question. Two days later, when he saw his master doing the same very odd thing, again he politely turned his eyes aside. And so again the third and the fourth and the fifth time. But finally, his curiosity could be contained no more.“Master,” he said, addressing his teacher.
The mystic turned and gazed with soft, deep eyes.
“Master. Why is it that every time you get a shipment of new tapestries, you grab a pin and loosen a thread in the center of each? I’ve seen you do this five times. I know how you love the tapestries, how you teach to always care for what we have here on earth.” He turned his palms up. “Why?”
The Mystic’s soft eyes did not change their expression. “That is the secret,” he said.
The boy’s face grew red and flushed. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”
His teacher continued. “The secret of the love. In the broken thread, the place of the flaw, is where you find your way to God.” 

 ~ Sufi story
art from  the Dome of a Sufi Saint by majhul