Rumi - Only Breath

	Not Christian or Jew or Muslim, not Hindu,
	Buddhist, sufi, or zen. Not any religion
	or cultural system. I am not from the East
	or the West, not out of the ocean or up
	from the ground, not natural or ethereal, not
	composed of elements at all. I do not exist,
	am not an entity in this world or the next,
	did not descend from Adam or Eve or any
	origin story. My place is placeless, a trace
	of the traceless. Neither body or soul.
	I belong to the beloved, have seen the two
	worlds as one and that one call to and know,
	first, last, outer, inner, only that
	breath breathing human being.

The Stolen Child (An Linbh goidte)

William Butler Yeats

Poem performed by The Waterboys

WHERE dips the rocky highland
Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,
There lies a leafy island
Where flapping herons wake
The drowsy water rats;
There we've hid our faery vats,
Full of berrys
And of reddest stolen cherries.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

Where the wave of moonlight glosses
The dim gray sands with light,
Far off by furthest Rosses
We foot it all the night,
Weaving olden dances
Mingling hands and mingling glances
Till the moon has taken flight;
To and fro we leap
And chase the frothy bubbles,
While the world is full of troubles
And anxious in its sleep.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

Where the wandering water gushes
From the hills above Glen-Car,
In pools among the rushes
That scarce could bathe a star,
We seek for slumbering trout
And whispering in their ears
Give them unquiet dreams;
Leaning softly out
From ferns that drop their tears
Over the young streams.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

Away with us he's going,
The solemn-eyed:
He'll hear no more the lowing
Of the calves on the warm hillside
Or the kettle on the hob
Sing peace into his breast,
Or see the brown mice bob
Round and round the oatmeal chest.
For he comes, the human child,
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than he can understand.

Church Not Made With Hands

Eaglais made Gan Le Lámha

bye bye shadowlands
the term is over
and all the holidays have begun
now she walks on fresh fields
her tracks are on the land
she is everywhere and noplace
when its dark and evening falls
she moves among men
they would seek to have her
as a prize
but she is in the shadows
ocean and the sand
she is everywhere and noplace
her church not made with hands
not contained by man
she dancing high as clouds
faster than the arrow
straight as any crow that flies
across great seas she travels
up through rising lands
she is everywhere and noplace
her church not made with hands
isn't that a pretty sun
setting in a pretty sky?
will we stay and watch it darken
the church not made with hands
not contained by man
that precious place
unmade
by man

for p’arang iii

you and I are

just breath-breathing human beings,

lowering our heads

below the plane

occupied by our feet,

upside down

and topsy-turvy are

the realm of opening and life.

the sacred unfolds

within your shining eyes tonight.

reflection is within

the ticking of the clock on the wall.

love–

is a manifestation of our

ability to just let go,

letting go–

is a demonstration of

our will to be free.

I–

 which has never existed,

loves you–

that I will never know,

within this appearance,

I can only aspire

to touch your heart

and kiss your forehead

and know

we have never

ever

been

apart..........

It is with a discerning heart

It is with a discerning heart

And a compassion

That comes from

The depths of my soul,

That I come to you

With my spirit exposed

And my grace extends

From the inner

Workings of your heart

To be present

Is to be alive,

To be absorbed

So completely

In the action

That any idea

Of self and other

Never rose

Into cosmic awareness.

This is you

And this is me

And this is we

For you and I

Are not different.

For you and I

Are never the same.

It is just

That he and she

Became

All that I see.

perhaps there are moments,

perhaps there are moments,

which each of us realize

that our whole life

is hanging in the balance–

of a simple glance–

or a look–

that we have been

patiently waiting for

our entire lives.

it is with this solemn grace

and the virtue of ten thousand distractions

that we can see through

to the core

of all human emotion,

and when we realize

that it is not just for our own

momentary satisfaction

and that an entire cosmos has opened up

that was hidden previously

from our purview.

it is the sanctity of the pure heart

and the vow passed from two

waiting lips–

this life is not mine

I can not do with it

what I want.