Sunday, October 24, 2010

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.

Thursday, October 21, 2010

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

Saturday, October 16, 2010

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..........

Friday, October 8, 2010

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.

Wednesday, October 6, 2010

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.