Poetry Chaikhana Blog

Pax
by D. H. Lawrence

All that matters is to be at one with the living God
to be a creature in the house of the God of Life.

Sleeping on the hearth of the living world
yawning at home before the fire of life
feeling the presence of the living God
like a great reassurance
a deep calm in the heart
a presence
as of the master sitting at the board
in his own and greater being,
in the house of life.

— from The Complete Poems of D. H. Lawrence, by D. H. Lawrence

/ Photo by Dee.Dee.M /

All that matters is to be at one with the living God
to be a creature in the house of the God of Life.

I had a couple of very good friends in childhood, but in many ways my closest companion was a calico cat named, Kitty Kumbah (a singsong name made up by a four-year-old me). She saw me through my parents’ divorce, through a disorienting move from Oregon to Southern California, and along the bumpy road into adolescence. She sat patiently listening to my talking and tantrums. She slept on my bed each night and, one year, gave birth to a litter of kittens on my belly while I was asleep. When I was 16, Kitty Kumbah died in my arms, having carried me safely through my childhood.

feeling the presence of the living God
like a great reassurance
a deep calm in the heart

What I remember most was how she taught me meditation, stillness, poise, contentment, and the importance of a well-chosen seat. She taught me pax… peace. That cat was my first spiritual teacher.

Like a cat asleep on a chair
at peace, in peace

PS – My thoughts and prayers are with the people of Oklahoma.

D. H. Lawrence England (1885 – 1930) Timeline Secular or Eclectic

More poetry by D. H. Lawrence

Who am I excluding from my heart?
How can I fix that?

Love came and emptied me of self
by Abu-Said Abil-Kheir

English version by Vraje Abramian

Love came and emptied me of self,
every vein and every pore,
made into a container to be filled by the Beloved.
Of me, only a name is left,
the rest is You my Friend, my Beloved.

— from Nobody, Son of Nobody: Poems of Shaikh Abu-Saeed Abil-Kheir, Translated by Vraje Abramian

/ Photo by Christine Muraton /

As part of my chronic fatigue/ME patterns, I sometimes have an intense sensation of tremors, even though my body is still. Sitting on the couch with my wife, I turn to see if she is shaking her foot, causing the whole couch to vibrate, but she is just quietly sitting there. Each time it happens I’m surprised to find that it is simply my own body buzzing with some unknown charge.

At such times I don’t quite have the energy to do a full day’s work, yet my body isn’t at rest enough to enter deeply into meditation either. What is a person to do who strives to be a meditator engaged with the world when he can neither meditate nor take action? Interesting things happen at such moments, if we let them.

When the stories we tell ourselves about ourselves can no long be sustained, one option is to tenaciously cling to the crumbling edifice and be injured by the collapse. Another option is to construct a new story. Or we can let all stories fall away. We can stop struggling to be either this or that, we can step beyond our stories. That is when we rediscover what we actually are. That is when hidden doorways open.

The little self is simply the sum total of all the stories we tell ourselves. When those stories fall away, the self becomes empty of itself. We then become a cup, empty and ready to be filled by something outside our stories — let’s call it wine.

Of me, only a name is left,
the rest is You my Friend, my Beloved.

This is the hard wisdom that chronic illness teaches — yielding into fulness. Any life struggle — really any experience, pleasant or unpleasant — can be transformed into a teacher of wisdom when we stop taking it personally, when we keep our hearts engaged and our eyes open in the midst of our crumbling and changing self-stories.

What can one do but stand in silent awe of the vision that emerges, showing us how much bigger we are than even our best stories?

Sending love!

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Ego is the fundamental trance,
the seed of all addiction.
Find the secret
it so desperately hides!

Looking for your light
by Allama Prabhu

English version by A. K. Ramanujan

Looking for your light,
I went out:

      O Lord of Caves,
      if you are light,
      there can be no metaphor.

— from Speaking of Siva, by A K Ramanujan

/ Photo by Aah-Yeah /

We’re back. (Okay, I know– You were here waiting patiently for the next poem email. I guess I should say, I’m back.) Now, on with the poetry…

–

I was surprised to realize that I haven’t featured this poem in several years. It is one of my favorite poems to emerge from the Virasaiva poet-saints in India. It is so short, sharp, like a lightning strike, yet the phrasing suggests recollection, giving it also a dreamy, musing quality, as if recalling that first blinding kiss from the beloved.

Light is a central image in sacred poetry, suggesting the Divine not framed within a mental concept. But for genuine mystics, this light is no mere concept; it is directly experienced…

This sense of light is more than a brightness one might experience on a sunny afternoon. This light is perceived as being a living radiance that permeates everything, everywhere, always. It is a radiance that outshines everything–

like the sudden dawn
of a million million suns.

This light is immediately understood to be the true source of all things, the foundation on which the physicality of the material world is built.

The sense of boundaries and separation, long taken for granted by the mind as the fundamental nature of existence, suddenly seems illusory, for this light shines through all people and things. It has no edges, and the light of one is the light of another.

Looking for your light,
I went out.

Seeing yourself and the entire world radiant with this light, the old notion of a separate self is lost. Only the light truly exists. Everything else is a shifting game of light.

Seeing this light, “there can be no metaphor.” Nothing can be compared to anything else, for everything is recognized as being that light. In this divine light, it is all one already.

Allama Prabhu India (12th Century) Timeline Yoga / Hindu : Shaivite (Shiva)

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Pure, compassionate,
and devastating honesty
with yourself
is the only way.

The Union of Shiva and Shakti (from Amritanubhav)
by Jnanadev

English version by S. Abhyayananda

I offer obeisance to the God and Goddess,
The limitless primal parents of the universe.

When salt dissolves,
It becomes one with the ocean;
When my ego dissolved,
I became one with Shiva and Shakti.

— from Jnaneshvar: The Life and Works of the Celebrated Thirteenth Century Indian Mystic-Poet, Translated by Swami Abhyayananda

/ Photo by isvaracandra /

A beautiful meditation on the dynamic play between duality and nonduality.

I offer obeisance to the God and Goddess,
The limitless primal parents of the universe.

In Hindu metaphysics, the primal duality is between the God and the Goddess, in this case Shiva and Shakti. The God, Shiva, represents the eternal, transcendent aspect of the Divine Reality. The Goddess is Shakti, that is, power or manifestation. Shakti is the Divine Reality in movement, expressing Itself as all of Creation.

On an individual level, Shiva is experienced as resting in the energy center of the crown, and Shakti is the Kundalini force that typically lies dormant at the base of the spine. When the latent Kundalini Shakti is awakened, She rises to the crown and joins in union with Shiva. This is the ‘spiritual marriage’ that initiates enlightenment and bliss–

How sweet is their union!

This is the dance of duality and nonduality that occurs throughout the universe, among galaxies, within individuals, even within the particles of the atom. Everything has its essence and its expression, and its expression is always seeking to reunite with its essence. Matter, manifestation is always seeking union with Spirit. But… on careful examination, one recognizes that the two, in fact, have never been separate. There is no dividing line; the one emanates from the other, like a fire and the heat it radiates.

Understanding this, the poem opens up into a precise description of the subtle nature of reality. “They are not entirely the same,” because distinctions can be made between these two aspects of the Divine, “Nor are they not the same,” because these distinctions are somewhat artificial, mental constructions. (Does fire exist without heat? Does heat exist without its source? Can we truly speak of fire apart from heat? We should more accurately speak of fire-heat as a single thing. The distinction is an artificial separation.) “We cannot say exactly what they are,” because the truth is beyond the ability of the intellect to formulate into words; it can only be perceived directly.

When He awakes, the whole house disappears,
And nothing at all is left.

That is, when we completely reside in our true essence, everything we see and touch and taste and hear and smell is recognized as being part of that same essence. The distinction between things is lost. Form and space may still be perceived, but they are seen as empty, illusory. The ‘thingness’ of things is lost… “nothing at all is left.” You lose even yourself, your identity as a being who is separate from that all-pervading living essence:

They are like a stream of knowledge
From which the knower cannot drink
Unless he gives up himself.

This perception of the ‘thingless’ nature of reality leads some masters speak of being blind or of not seeing the world. “In unity there is little to behold…” Which leads to the reason for the existence of duality in the first place, so the Eternal can come to know itself better: “He takes the role of Witness / Out of love of watching Her.” It is a game, a form of love play, a sort of hide-and-seek the Divine plays with itself. Instead of pure Being, the Divine One pretends to be two, perceiver and perceived, in order to observe Its own nature. And we are a living part of that play of self-consciousness.

But, ultimately, the game of duality, of actor and witness, collapses in on itself, and the truth of unity can be denied no longer. Shiva and Shakti are “inseparable;” they are not two, but one. The crown and the Kundalini are not separated by some distance of space along the spine; they are two poles of the same being (you!). How can the Self be separate from its own self-expression? How can the fire be separate from its heat?

When we stop fighting so hard to perpetuate the game of duality, through the constant assertion of the ego and the endless chatter of the mind, then we are finally able to settle into the awareness that there is only unity and nothing else.

So, along with Jnanadev, to the divine game of duality, I bow. And to the fundamental unity that underlies it, I bow.

It is in this manner I bow
To the inseparable Shiva and Shakti.

Jnanadev India (1275 – 1296) Timeline Yoga / Hindu : Advaita / Non-Dualist

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Let each experience
feed the fire
of love.

Ivan M. Granger Book Signing 5/4/13

Thank you to everyone who came by for the Real Thirst Book Signing event yesterday. Since I do most of my work over the Internet, I often have wonderful conversations with people via email, but I rarely get the chance to meet readers of the Poetry Chaikhana in person. So it was a special treat to meet several of you and share smiles face-to-face. I signed books, read a few poems, answered a few questions. But I especially enjoyed the conversations and (thanks to Roger’s suggestion) the opportunity to hear everyone read a short stanza from my translation of Antonio Machado’s “Songs.”

Thank you also to the folks at La Vita Bella Coffee for generously hosting the event. A good cozy, community environment, well-suited to discussion and the poetic spirit…

The Real Thirst Fellowship

Bent
by Ivan M. Granger

Yes, seekers, do
sit up,
stand tall.

Effort clears the way,
but the steps
are already taken.

— from Real Thirst: Poetry of the Spiritual Journey, by Ivan M. Granger

/ Photo by Demi Brooke /

Since I am doing a public book signing tomorrow, I thought I would share one of my own poems with you today.

So many straight spines and rigorous strivings in the spiritual game. All valuable in the right context. But, you know, at some point you just lean into that divine embrace and finally find what all that effort failed to attain.

I like the image of a slingshot. You and I, we are the pebbles. We pull and strain; we fast and meditate, pray and breathe, turn inward, reach outward to help how we can… and yet all we feel is tension. Then, unexpectedly, we surrender, perhaps we stumble, we let go. The slingshot snaps back; that’s when we soar!

Letting go doesn’t mean much if we haven’t first created the proper dynamic tension and focus through spiritual effort. But ceaseless tugging only leads to rigidity and strain. Effort is required, but it is only through yielding that we reach the goal.

Another way to understand this is that enlightenment, salvation, liberation, the true Self, these are not attained through effort. They are not attained at all. They simply are. They are already our nature. Effort is necessary, yes, but only to clear away the delusion that they are not already who we are. Effort clears the way, but the steps are already taken.

So, yes, seekers, do sit up, stand tall. But, with the reclining saints, we slouch our way into heaven. Resting in that recognition, we let the years pass…

A good weekend to go outside, lean back into the earth, look up, let go, and soar!

(And, if you are in Colorado, swing by La Vita Bella Coffeeshop in downtown Longmont this Saturday, between 1:00 and 3:00 pm. I’ll be there, signing books and chatting. I might even be coaxed to read a few poems, if you like.)

Ivan M. Granger US (1969 – ) Secular or Eclectic Yoga / Hindu : Advaita / Non-Dualist

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Through you
the world learns
to recognize itself
– as heaven.

The moths and the flame
by Farid ud-Din Attar

English version by Afkham Darbandi and Dick Davis

Moths gathered in a fluttering throng one night
To learn the truth about the candle light,
And they decided one of them should go
To gather news of the elusive glow.
One flew till in the distance he discerned
A palace window where a candle burned –
And went no nearer: back again he flew
To tell the others what he thought he knew.
The mentor of the moths dismissed his claim,
Remarking: “He knows nothing of the flame.”
A moth more eager than the one before
Set out and passed beyond the palace door.
He hovered in the aura of the fire,
A trembling blur of timorous desire,
Then headed back to say how far he’d been,
And how much he had undergone and seen.
The mentor said: “You do not bear the signs
Of one who’s fathomed how the candle shines.”
Another moth flew out — his dizzy flight
Turned to an ardent wooing of the light;
He dipped and soared, and in his frenzied trance
Both self and fire were mingled by his dance –
The flame engulfed his wing-tips, body, head,
His being glowed a fierce translucent red;
And when the mentor saw that sudden blaze,
The moth’s form lost within the glowing rays,
He said: “He knows, he knows the truth we seek,
That hidden truth of which we cannot speak.”
To go beyond all knowledge is to find
That comprehension which eludes the mind,
And you can never gain the longed-for goal
Until you first outsoar both flesh and soul;
But should one part remain, a single hair
Will drag you back and plunge you in despair –
No creature’s self can be admitted here,
Where all identity must disappear.

— from The Conference of the Birds, Translated by Afkham Darbandi / Translated by Dick Davis

/ Photo by ruslik /

I don’t feature selections from it often enough, but Attar’s Mantic at-Tayr (The Conference of the Birds) is a long-time favorite of mine. The English language version by Afkham Darbandi and Dick Davis is good, but I still hope to read a truly great English translation someday.

This version maintains the two-line rhyme scheme. So read it out loud and feel the play of the rhyming couplets. Some are, admittedly, forced in English translation, but they bring a playfulness to the piece.

Moths gathered in a fluttering throng one night
To learn the truth about the candle light…

This is really a story in poetic form, an expansion on the ancient spiritual metaphor of the moth and the flame. We have a small community of moths gathered together at night. One moth flies off, sees a palace with a candle burning in the window. The moth returns and tells the other moths of the wondrous sight he has just witnessed. The “mentor of the moths” (the sheikh, their spiritual leader) states flatly, “He knows nothing of the flame.”

Another moth flies out to see the candle, flies close enough to feel the heat and the strange fluttering desire it awakens in him, and returns. Again, the mentor moth says that he clearly hasn’t understood the nature of the flame.

Finally, a moth truly overcome with love for the flame flies right into it, merges with it, and is utterly consumed. The leader of the moths approvingly says that one knows the truth.

So many things we can understand from this image. The flame, of course, is God, the Eternal One. And the moths are individual souls, spiritual seekers, lovers of God. We are the moths.

Attar is reminding us of one of the core truths only mystics seem to remember: It is not enough to think about God, or theorize about God, or pray to God, or read about God, or subscribe to the right faith in God, or even catch glimpses of God. Regardless of one’s religion or rectitude, the Divine is only ever known through direct encounter. Even the word “encounter” implies two who meet. No, the moth knows the real truth, one knows the brilliant light through merging, and in merging, letting go of any sense of self that is separate.

The only way to know is to be so enamored with that fiery, entrancing Beauty that we recklessly abandon the nafs, the little self, in order to merge with that dancing light.

That fluttering, moth-like self we all think we are — it has no substance anyway. The flame teaches us this.

Words fail, concepts fail, but we come to know in a greater, deeper way when we allow ourselves to be consumed.

“He knows, he knows the truth we seek,
That hidden truth of which we cannot speak.”

Farid ud-Din Attar Iran/Persia (1120? – 1220?) Timeline Muslim / Sufi

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Inner perfection is already attained.
Realizing this is the first enlightenment.
Then the work becomes coaxing the skittish mind
to rest upon that truth.

The pot is a God
by Basava

English version by A. K. Ramanujan

The pot is a God. The winnowing
fan is a God. The stone in the
street is a God. The comb is a
God. The bowstring is also a
God. The bushel is a God and the
spouted cup is a God.

Gods, gods, there are so many
there’s no place left
for a foot.
      There is only
one God. He is our Lord
of the Meeting Rivers.

— from Speaking of Siva, by A K Ramanujan

/ Photo by Chor Ip /

I love this poem. I first found it in Georg Feuerstein’s mammoth book on The Yoga Tradition, and then later in A. K. Ramanujan’s Speaking of Siva. It’s one of those simple, yet powerful poems that rings in the back of my mind.

Gods, gods, there are so many
there’s no place left
for a foot.

Makes you want to take every step carefully.

We can read the meaning of this in several ways. The perspective that comes to me first is that the Divine is everywhere, in every object and every encounter.

Another way to read these lines is that the foot is specific to the individual, and an expression of the ego. With gods, gods everywhere, there is no place left for the ego to stand.

And how about one more take on this? Basava might also be teasingly critical of the vast multiplicity of gods worshipped throughout the land, when all he sees is the supreme unity of Shiva as “our Lord of the Meeting Rivers.” It could be that he is reminding us not to project the multiplicity and endless separations of the manifest creation onto the unity of the Divine.

However we choose to read these lines, they are a reminder that each footfall contacts the eternal, there is no place else. Each step is union.

Basava India (1134 – 1196) Timeline Yoga / Hindu : Shaivite (Shiva)

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If you don’t occasionally
make a fool of yourself,
you’re not fully alive.

How should I tell of the feeling that reigns
by Darshan Singh

English version by Barry Lerner and Harbans Singh Bedi

How should I tell of the feeling that reigns in the court of the friend?
Dancing light is my beloved’s face, cup and carafe are ecstatic!

What can I say of the grace he showers on me within?
Darshan, the moment I close my eyes, the beloved’s light begins.

— from Love’s Last Madness: Poems on a Spiritual Path by Darshan Singh, Translated by Barry Lerner / Translated by Harbans Singh Bedi

/ Photo by sophiaazhou /

Just a few observations with this poem…

I love the references to light, light and the beloved’s face–

Every nook and cranny is effulgent with his light;
Every mote and grain celebrates the beloved’s face.

A light that is everywhere, that not only inspires ecstasy, but is the medium of ecstasy. But to see this vision of beauty, we must learn to see with the heart into the heart of things:

Seeker banished from the beatific vision, look through the eyes of your heart!
How can you see the beloved’s light with eyes of flesh and blood?

This vision of beatific light can be so fleeting, especially when we try to grasp it. It is a fluid, living thing, to be witnessed and not held. It teases, like the morning breeze…

Brushing past me, it stirred my heart and was gone:
God! The morning breeze has learned to tease from my friend.

This luminous, living presence, do we find it in church and temple and mosque? Yes, but not only there. It is everywhere, within everything to one who looks.

Let them try to imprison him in temple, mosque and church!
The seeing eye finds the beloved’s signs in every mote.

Darshan Singh India (1921 – 1989) Timeline Sikh

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Our wounds
are the marks of initiation.
Our wounds
become our wisdom
Our wounds
mark our way.