A Blessing for Equilibrium

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Like the joy of the sea coming home to shore,

May the music of laughter break through your soul.

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As the wind wants to make everything dance,

May your gravity be lightened by grace.

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Like the freedom of the monastery bell,

May clarity of mind make your eyes smile.

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As water takes whatever shape it is in,

So free may you be about who you become.

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As silence smiles on the other side of what’s said,

May a sense of irony give you perspective.

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As time remains free of all that it frames,

May fear or worry never put you in chains.

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May your prayer of listening deepen enough

To hear in the distance the laughter of God.

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~  John O'Donohue

(Benedictus - A Book of Blessings)

Beannacht ("Blessing")

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On the day when

the weight deadens

on your shoulders

and you stumble,

may the clay dance

to balance you.

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And when your eyes

freeze behind

the grey window

and the ghost of loss

gets in to you,

may a flock of colours,

indigo, red, green,

and azure blue

come to awaken in you

a meadow of delight.

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When the canvas frays

in the currach of thought

and a stain of ocean

blackens beneath you,

may there come across the waters

a path of yellow moonlight

to bring you safely home.

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May the nourishment of the earth be yours,

may the clarity of light be yours,

may the fluency of the ocean be yours,

may the protection of the ancestors be yours.

And so may a slow

wind work these words

of love around you,

an invisible cloak

to mind your life.

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~  John O'Donohue

(Echoes of Memory)

Awareness is your refuge

Awareness is your refuge:

Awareness of the changingness of feelings,

of attitudes, of moods, of material change

and emotional change:

Stay with that, because it’s a refuge that is 

indestructible.

It’s not something that changes.

It’s a refuge you can trust in.

This refuge is not something that you create.

It’s not a creation. It’s not an ideal.

It’s very practical and very simple, but

easily overlooked or not noticed.

When you’re mindful,

you’re beginning to notice,

it’s like this.

~  Ajahn Sumedho

Form is ecstatic

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There is a shimmering excitement in

being sentient and shaped.  The

.

caravan master sees his camels lost

in it, nose to tail, as he himself is,

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his friend, and the stranger coming

toward them.  A gardener watches the

.

sky break into song, cloud wobbly with

what it is.  Bud, thorn, the same.

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Wind, water, wandering this essential 

state.  Fire, ground, gone.  That's

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how it is with the outside.  Form

is ecstatic...

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~ Rumi
from:  The Soul of Rumi, translation by Coleman Barks
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The most alive moment

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The most living moment comes when

those who love each other meet each

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other's eyes and in what flows

between them then.  To see you face

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in a crowd of others, or alone on a 

frightening street, I weep for that.

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Our tears improve the earth.  The

time you scolded me, your gratitude,

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your laughing, always your qualities

increase the soul.  Seeing you is a 

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wine that does not muddle or numb.

We sit inside the cypress shadow

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where amazement and clear thought

twine their slow growth into us.

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~  Rumi

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A path is only a path

You must always keep in mind that a path is only a path.

Each path is only one of a million paths. 

If you feel that you must now follow it, 

you need not stay with it under any circumstances. 

Any path is only a path. 

There is no affront to yourself or others in dropping a path 

if that is what your heart tells you to do. 

But your decision to keep on a path or to leave it 

must be free of fear and ambition. 

I caution you: look at every path closely and deliberately. 

Try it as many times as you think necessary. 

Then ask yourself and yourself alone this one question. 

Does this path have a heart? 

A path is only a path,

 and there is no affront, to oneself or to others, in dropping it 
if that is what your heart tells you. 

Look at every path closely and deliberately. 

Try it as many times as you think necessary.

 Then ask yourself alone, one question. 

Does this path have a heart? 

If it does, the path is good;

 if it doesn’t it is of no use.”

~ Carlos Castaneda

the whole of life

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You must understand the whole of life, not just one little part of it. 

That is why you must read, that is why you must look at the skies, 

that is why you must sing, and dance, and write poems, and suffer, 

and understand, for all that is life.

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- Jiddu Krishnamurti

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Standing Deer

As the house of a person

in age sometimes grows cluttered

with what is

too loved or too heavy to part with,

the heart may grow cluttered.

And still the house will be emptied,

and still the heart.

As the thoughts of a person

in age sometimes grow sparer,

like a great cleanness come into a room,

the soul may grow sparer;

one sparrow song carves it completely.

And still the room is full,

and still the heart.

Empty and filled,

like the curling half-light of morning,

in which everything is still possible and so why not.

Filled and empty,

like the curling half-light of evening,

in which everything now is finished and so why not.

Beloved, what can be, what was,

will be taken from us.

I have disappointed.

I am sorry. I knew no better.

A root seeks water.

Tenderness only breaks open the earth.

This morning, out the window,

the deer stood like a blessing, then vanished.

~ Jane Hirschfield

(The Lives of the Heart)

Lute Music

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The Earth will be going on a long time

Before it finally freezes;

Men will be on it; they will take names,

Give their deeds reasons.

We will be here only

As chemical constituents—

A small franchise indeed.

Right now we have lives,

Corpuscles, Ambitions, Caresses,

Like everybody had once—

Here at the year's end, at the feast

Of birth, let us bring to each other

The gifts brought once west through deserts—

The precious metal of our mingled hair,

The frankincense of enraptured arms and legs,

The myrrh of desperate, invincible kisses—

Let us celebrate the daily

Recurrent nativity of love,

The endless epiphany of our fluent selves,

While the earth rolls away under us

Into unknown snows and summers,

Into untraveled spaces of the stars.

~ Kenneth Rexroth

(Sacramental Acts)

i am a little church

i am a little church(no great cathedral)

far from the splendor and squalor of hurrying cities

-i do not worry if briefer days grow briefest,

i am not sorry when sun and rain make april

my life is the life of the reaper and the sower;

my prayers are prayers of earth's own clumsily striving

(finding and losing and laughing and crying)children

whose any sadness or joy is my grief or my gladness

around me surges a miracle of unceasing

birth and glory and death and resurrection:

over my sleeping self float flaming symbols

of hope,and i wake to a perfect patience of mountains

i am a little church(far from the frantic

world with its rapture and anguish)at peace with nature

-i do not worry if longer nights grow longest;

i am not sorry when silence becomes singing

winter by spring,i lift my diminutive spire to

merciful Him Whose only now is forever:

standing erect in the deathless truth of His presence

(welcoming humbly His light and proudly His darkness)

~ e.e.cummings

.from E. E. Commings:Selected Poems

 

Jacob's Dream

(After the painting Jacob's Dream by William Blake and Genesis 28: 11-17)

A young man leaving home 

For long years to be gone

Might fall asleep and dream,

His head upon a stone.

A stair appears that bends

In spiral toward the light,

The bright Orb where it ends,

Though he sleeps through the night,

Darkened, below the stars.

Angel in constant motion 

Walk up and down the stairs.

Delight and clear devotion

Make graceful all they do.

The light and dark are bound,

Heaven to all below,

Bright stair and stony ground

In on light joined. In sleep

The dreamer wakes. He sees 

Above the stars the deep

Of Heaven opened. Is

He living, then, his part

Of Heaven's earthly life?

And what shall be the art

By which this sight can live?

Darkened upon the earth, 

He fills with light, is made

A witness to high Truth

And so a man afraid.

His land - this meager sod,

These stones, this low estate -

Is the household of God.

And it is Heaven's gate.

~ Wendell Berry

Sabbaths 2004, I

They come singly

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They come singly, the little streams,

Out of their solitude. They bear

In their rough fall a spate of gleams

That glance and dance in the morning air.

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They come singly, and coming go

Ever downward toward the river

Into whose dark abiding flow

They come, now quieted, together.

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In dark they mingle and are made

At one with light in highest flood

Embodied and inhabited,

The budded branch as red as blood.

.

~ Wendell Berry

Sabbaths 2004, II

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Encounter

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We were riding through frozen fields in a wagon at dawn. 

A red wing rose in the darkness.

And suddenly a hare ran across the road. 

One of us pointed to it with his hand.

That was long ago. Today neither of them is alive, 

Not the hare, nor the man who made the gesture.

O my love, where are they, where are they going? 

The flash of a hand, streak of movement, rustle of pebbles. 

I ask not out of sorrow, but in wonder.

~ Czeslaw Milosz

poetry reading

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I'm curled into a ball

like a dog

that is cold.

Who will tell me 

why I was born,

why this monstrosity

called life.

The telephone rings.  I have to give

a poetry reading.

I enter.

A hundred people, a hundred pairs of eyes.

They look, they wait.

I am supposed to tell them

why they were born,

why there is 

this monstrosity called life.

~  Anna Swirszczynska
translated by Czeslaw Milosz and Leonard Nathan

never surrender a good question

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A man tortured by doubt travels a great distance 

hoping to ask a famous teacher his question. 

 

 At first, the teacher's disciples will not allow the stranger into the study house, 

but one day he finds a way to slip in, approaches the Rebbe, and speaks:

 

 'Venerable Rebbe, forgive me for disturbing you,

 but I have traveled many weeks and waited many days

 for the chance to ask you a question 

that has troubled me all my adult life.' 

 

 'What is your question?', the teacher responds.  

 

The man asks, 'What is the essence of truth?'  

 

The Rebbe looks at his visitor for a moment, 

rises from his chair, approaches, and slaps him hard.

  Then he withdraws again to his books.

  

Shocked, the questioner retreats to a tavern across the way,

 bitterly and loudly complaining of his mistreatment.  

 

On of the teacher's disciples, overhearing, takes pity and explains:

 'The Rebbe's slap was given you in great kindness,

 to teach you this:

 

 never surrender a good question for a mere answer.'

 

 

 

 

~ Traditional Hasidic story