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

an apple

.

An apple on the table

hides its seeds

so neatly

under seamless skin.

But we talk and talk and talk

to let somebody

in.

~ Naomi Shihab Nye

from 19 Varieties of Gazelle

photo by kathleen connally

alone

.

O my Lord, 

the stars glitter 

and the eyes of men are closed. 

Kings have locked their doors 

and each lover is alone with his love. 

Here, I am alone with you.

.

~  Rabi’a 

(Basra, 717-801) 

translated by Jane Hirshfield

from Women in Praise of the Sacred

a subtle magnetism

.

I believe that there is a subtle magnetism in Nature, 

which, if we unconsciously yield to it, will direct us aright.

  It is not indifferent to us and which way we walk.  

 

There is a right way; but we are very liable from heedlessness 

and stupidity to take the wrong one.  We would fain take that walk,

 never yet taken by us through this actual world, which is perfectly

 symbolical of the path which we love to travel in the interior

 and ideal world; and sometimes, no doubt, we find it difficult 

to choose our direction, because it does not yet

 exist distinctly in our ideas.

.

~ Henry David Thoreau

from Walking, 1863

printing of the diamond sutra

.

.

"Hidden for centuries in a sealed-up cave in north-west China, this copy of the 'Diamond Sutra' is the world's earliest complete survival of a dated printed book. It was made in AD 868. Seven strips of yellow-stained paper were printed from carved wooden blocks and pasted together to form a scroll over 5m long. Though written in Chinese, the text is one of the most important sacred works of the Buddhist faith, which was founded in India. Although not the earliest example of a printed book, it is the oldest we have bearing a date. By the time it was made, block-printing had been practiced in the Far East for more than a century. The quality of the illustration at the opening of this 'Diamond Sutra' shows the carver of the printing blocks to have been a man of considerable experience and skill.

This scroll was found in 1907 by the archaeologist Sir Marc Aurel Stein in a walled-up cave at the 'Caves of the Thousand Buddhas', near Dunhuang, in North-West China. It was one of a small number of printed items among many thousands of manuscripts, comprising a library which must have been sealed up in about AD 1000. Although not the earliest example of block printing, it is the earliest which bears an actual date.

The colophon, at the inner end, reads: 'Reverently [caused to be] made for universal free distribution by Wang Jie on behalf of his two parents on the 13th of the 4th moon of the 9th year of Xiantong [i.e. 11th May, AD 868]'. "

According to National Library of Peking in 1961, the Diamond Sutra is described as: "The Diamond Sutra, printed in the year 868....is the world's earliest printed book, made of seven strips of paper joined together with an illustration on the first sheet which is cut with great skill." The writer adds: "This famous scroll was stolen over fifty years ago by the Englishman Ssu-t'an-yin [Stein] which causes people to gnash their teeth in bitter hatred." It is currently on display in the British Museum. The scroll, some sixteen feet long, 17 an half feet long and 10 and half inches wide, bears the following inscription: " reverently made for universal free distribution by Wang Jie on behalf of his parents on the fifteenth of the fourth moon of the ninth year of Xian Long (May 11, 868)"

you can find the text here:

http://www.diamond-sutra.com/diamond_sutra_translation.html

thanks to diamond sutra

back from that unseenness

.

The sap is mounting back from that unseenness

darkly renewing in the common deep,

back to the light, and feeding the pure greenness

hiding in rinds round which the winds still weep.

I inner side of Nature is reviving .

another sursum corda will resound;

invisibly, a whole year's youth is striving

to climb those trees that look so iron-bound.

Preserving still that grey and cool expression,

the ancient walnut

s filling with event;

while the young brush-wood trembles with repression

under the perching bird's presentiment.

.

~ Rainer Maria Rilke

from Possibility of Being

the world is real

The world is real for the ignorant

as well as for the wise;

for the ignorant the real

is measured by the world,

for one who knows

the real has no limits and

is the foundation of the world.

Both say ‘I’ referring to themselves,

the ignorant and the one who knows.

For the ignorant the self is defined by the body,

the wise knows that within the body the

unlimited Self shines with its own splendour.

~ Ramana Maharshi

(1879 – 1950)

cooperation in violence

.

The rush and pressure of modern life are a form, 

perhaps the most common form, of its innate violence. 

To allow oneself to be carried away by a multitude of conflicting concerns, 

to surrender to too many demands, to commit oneself to too many projects, 

to want to help everyone in everything is to succumb to violence. 

More than that, it is cooperation in violence. 

The frenzy of the activist...destroys his own inner capacity for peace.

It destroys the fruitfulness of his own work,

 because it kills the root of inner wisdom which makes work fruitful.

.

~ Thomas Merton

talking into the ear of a donkey

I have been talking into the ear of a donkey.

I have so much to say! And the donkey can't wait

To feel my breath stirring the immense oats

Of his ears. "What has happened to the spring,"

I cry, "and our legs that were so joyful

In the bobblings of April?" "Oh never mind

About all that," the donkey

Says. "Just take hold of my mane, so you

Can lift your lips closer to my hair ears." 

~ Robert Bly

the seed of undoing

.

.

All of our actions have in their doing the seed of their undoing. 

That in her creation of her children there should be the unspeakable promise of their death, 

for by their birth she had created mortal beings.

.

~ Louise Erdrich

thanks to whiskey river

gethsemane

.

The grass never sleeps.

Or the roses.

Nor does the lily have a secret eye that shuts until morning.

Jesus said, wait with me.  But the disciples slept.

The cricket has such splendid fringe on its feet.

and it sings, have you noticed, with its whole body,

and heaven knows if it ever sleeps.

Jesus said, wait with me.  And maybe the stars did, maybe 

the wind wound itself into a silver tree, and didn't move,

maybe

the lake far away, where once he walked as on a 

blue pavement,

lay still and waited, wild awake.

Oh the dear bodies, slumped and eye-shut, that could not

keep that vigil, how they must have wept,

so utterly human, knowing this too

must be a part of the story.

.

~ Mary Oliver

from Thirst

art by Kristine Wyler

the gods are not large

But perhaps

the heart

does not want

to be understood.

Your shadow

falls on its pond

and the small fish

hurry away.

They have

their own lives

which they love.

And if to you

it is anger,

bewilderment,

grief,

to then

it is simply life:

their mouths

open and close,

their gills,

they are fed,

they breathe.

The gods

are not large

outside us.

They are the fish

going on

with their own

concerns.

~ Jane Hirshfield

in the museum of your last day

.

there is a coat on a coat hook in a hall. Work-gloves

in the pockets, pliers and bent nails.

There is a case of Quaker State for the Ford.

Two cans of spray paint in a crisp brown bag.

A mug on a book by the hi-fi.

A disk that starts on its own: Boccherini.

There is a dent in the soap the shape of your thumb.

A swirl in the glass when it fogs.

And a gray hair that twines

through the tines of a little black comb.

There is a watch laid smooth on a wallet.

And pairs of your shoes everywhere.

A phone no one answers. A note that says Friday.

Your voice on the tape talking softly.

.

~ Patrick Phillips

thanks to writers almanac