Loading ...
Sorry, an error occurred while loading the content.

#3523 - Sunday, May 3, 2009

Expand Messages
  • markwotter704
    Archived issues of the NDHighlights are available online: http://nonduality.com/hlhome.htm Nonduality Highlights: Issue
    Message 1 of 1 , May 3, 2009
    • 0 Attachment

      Archived issues of the NDHighlights are available online: http://nonduality.com/hlhome.htm

      Nonduality Highlights: Issue #3523, Sunday, May 3, 2009



       



      Little Summer Poem Touching the Subject of Faith

      Every summer
      I listen and look
      under the sun's brass and even
      into the moonlight, but I can't hear

      anything, I can't see anything --
      not the pale roots digging down, nor the green stalks muscling up,
      nor the leaves
      deepening their damp pleats,

      nor the tassels making,
      nor the shucks, nor the cobs.
      And still,
      every day,

      the leafy fields
      grow taller and thicker --
      green gowns lofting up in the night,
      showered with silk.

      And so, every summer,
      I fail as a witness, seeing nothing -
      I am deaf too
      to the tick of the leaves,

      the tapping of downwardness from the banyan feet -
      all of it
      happening
      beyond any seeable proof, or hearable hum.

      And, therefore, let the immeasurable come.
      Let the unknowable touch the buckle of my spine.
      Let the wind turn in the trees,
      and the mystery hidden in the dirt

      swing through the air.
      How could I look at anything in this world
      and tremble, and grip my hands over my heart?
      What should I fear?

      One morning
      in the leafy green ocean
      the honeycomb of the corn's beautiful body
      is sure to be there.

      - Mary Oliver, from West Wind: Poems and Prose Poems




      I didn't trust it for a moment,
      but I drank it anyway,
      the wine of my own poetry.

      It gave me the daring to take hold
      of the darkness and tear it down
      and cut it into little pieces.

      - Lalla, translated by Coleman Barks




      How did you get away?
      You were the pet falcon of an old woman.
      Did you hear the falcon-drum?
      You were a drunken songbird put in with owls.
      Did you smell the odor of a garden?
      You got tired of sour fermenting
      and left the tavern.

      You went like an arrow to the target
      from the bow of time and place.
      The man who stays at the cemetery pointed the way,
      but you didn't go.
      You became light and gave up wanting to be famous.
      You don't worry about what you're going to eat,
      so why buy an engraved belt?
      I've heard of living at the center, but what about
      leaving the center of the center?
      Flying toward thankfulness, you become
      the rare bird with one wing made of fear,
      and one of hope. In autumn,
      a rose crawling along the ground in the cold wind.
      Rain on the roof runs down and out by the spout
      as fast as it can.

      Talking is pain. Lie down and rest,
      now that you've found a friend to be with.

      - Rumi, from These Branching Moments, translated by Coleman Barks




      lift the veil
      that obscures
      the heart

      and there
      you will find
      what you are
      looking for

      - Kabir




      When the Day came -
      The Day I had lived and died for -
      The Day that is not in any calendar -
      Clouds heavy with love
      Showered me with wild abundance.
      Inside me, my soul was drenched.
      Around me, even the desert grew green.

      - Kabir




       

    Your message has been successfully submitted and would be delivered to recipients shortly.