Poetry Chaikhana Blog

Ivan M. Granger November 6th, 2009

Thief of hearts
by Ivan M. Granger

Thief of hearts,
you have ransacked
this beggar’s hut,
left me
nothing.

All I see
now
is the print
of your pilfering hand
everywhere.

/ Photo by notsogoodphotography /

As I’m getting back into the rhythm of the Poetry Chaikhana, I thought I’d take this opportunity to highlight one of my own poems. For a poem about thievery, I hope it gives you something special today…

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The “thief of hearts” is, of course, the Beloved, God.

Let’s face it, from the ego’s point-of-view, the relationship with the Divine is a problematic one. What the heart recognizes as liberation, the ego sees as theft. It’s really very funny… when we’re not tormented by the spiritual dilemma, that is.

All that the ego claims as its own slips from its grip. Control and possession define the ego. So what is it to do when the master thief breaks into the awareness and reveals everything to be the filmy stuff of dreams and light?

In that ultimate moment, however, the emerging bliss is so all-pervasive that even the drowning ego laughs with its last gasp.

Something I thought I’d point out about the poem’s structure: The poem itself is a pair of thieving hands. It has two groups of five lines, suggesting two hands with five fingers each.

Also, notice that the lines “left me / nothing” are intentionally ambiguous. They could be saying that the thief of hearts has left me with nothing — having taken everything — or perhaps it is saying the thief has left me as nothing — without identity or sense of ego.

The line breaks for “All I see / now” force the unconscious mind to read several layers of meaning into the lines. Some part of the awareness will read that first line as a complete statement of its own: “I see all.” To follow with the single word “now” snaps the awareness into the present moment. When one sees all, one is fully present, now. Or, when one sees, all is in the present moment.

Yet each thing of that “all” has lost its ‘thingness.’ The “pilfering hand” has taken away the world normally perceived as a scattered collection of disconnected people and objects.

…But — and here’s another secret — that pilfering hand secretly gives as it takes. The “print” of that hand leaves us, instead, with a magical universe filled with immensity and life and a giddy sense of being that flows everywhere.

===

Too much explanation? Maybe we should just let the poem itself do its work…

Have a wonderful weekend!

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

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Ivan M. Granger November 6th, 2009

In your pursuit of God,
sometimes — you must be extreme;
always — you must be supremely balanced.

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Ivan M. Granger November 4th, 2009

The Divine Image
by William Blake

To Mercy, Pity, Peace and Love
All pray in their distress;
And to these virtues of delight
Return their thankfulness.

And all must love the human form,
In heathen, Turk or Jew;
Where Mercy, Love, and Pity dwell
There God is dwelling too.

— from Music of the Sky: An Anthology of Spiritual Poetry, Edited by Patrick Laude / Edited by Barry McDonald

/ Photo by alicepopkorn /

If you’re like I am, you probably cringed at that line in the final stanza referring to “heathen, Turk or Jew.” The phrase sounds disparaging taken out of context. But reread what Blake is actually saying: He is using the common prejudice of the day, that white British Christians are superior to heathens, Turks and Jews, and he turns it on its head. He declares that “Where Mercy, Love, and Pity dwell / There God is dwelling too.”

In other words, Blake is offering a truly universal vision of God that transcends religious, racial, and cultural boundaries. God isn’t limited to specific dogmas. God doesn’t favor one skin color or one national flag over another. God dwells where the human heart in fruition has made a home for “Love, Mercy, Pity, and Peace.”

Where there is love, where there is mercy and compassion and empathy, where there is deep peace — that is where God is found among people, regardless of who those people are or by what name they call God.

And all must love the human form,
In heathen, Turk or Jew;
Where Mercy, Love, and Pity dwell
There God is dwelling too.

If more poems like this were read, think how different the world would be.

William Blake England (1757 - 1827) Timeline Secular or Eclectic Christian

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Ivan M. Granger November 4th, 2009

See — you are
a lamp
lost in light.

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Ivan M. Granger November 2nd, 2009

Whether they know Thee or not
by Fakhruddin Iraqi

English version by William Chittick and Peter Lamborn Wilson

Whether they know Thee or not
      all creatures of the world
now and forever-without-end
      bend but toward Thee.
All love for someone else
      is but a whiff
of Thy perfume:
      none else can be loved.

— from Fakhruddin Iraqi: Divine Flashes (Classics of Western Spirituality) , by William Chittick / Nasr Seyyed Hossein

/ Photo by lepiaf.geo /

I’m back and so are the poems. Again, thank you from my heart for the many notes in recent weeks. And thank you too for your patience. Now for a poem by the great Fakhruddin Iraqi…

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all creatures of the world
now and forever-without-end
bend but toward Thee.

Love those lines. And we forget that this is true. Not just all people, but all beings, consciously or unconsciously constantly turn toward the Eternal. Everything desired, everything loved, every hope, every goal, everything we seek we seek because on some level it reflects back to us an image of the Divine.

All love for someone else
      is but a whiff
of Thy perfume

When something catches our eye or our heart, beneath the love or the lust, when we really look, we find we have witnessed a glimpse the transcendent light. That light, that entrancing luster, is what we seek so passionately.

Understanding this leads to the deeper question: Why seek the countless objects of desire that only reflect the glistening light of the Beloved? Why grasp at glinting shards of a mirror when we can bathe in full sunlight?

In every love, we love the Beloved.

none else can be loved.

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Ivan M. Granger November 2nd, 2009

No one gets to heaven
by following the rules
– or breaking them.
Heaven must burst forth from your breast.

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Ivan M. Granger October 26th, 2009

I am back, but shaking off a tenacious case of the flu.

I’ve received so many kind-hearted, compassionate emails, blog comments, and posts on my Facebook page about my mother. I want to thank you all. I’ve been deeply touched.

…My mother died recently. I was able to spend some good time with her at her bedside. Her final week was difficult, and it was clear that, at that point, her passing was the right thing, a release from her discomfort. The complexities of American medical bureaucracy, added to some strange family politics didn’t give me much chance to grieve initially, but now that I’m settling into my normal life rhythms again the natural feelings of loss are coming forth. Even though most of my adult life I’ve lived at some distance from my mother, she has always been a close friend and source of inspiration. We shared the bond of a solitary child raised by a single mother, so her passing is certainly affecting me.

One thing that people often assume is that when a loved one dies, that the relationship is somehow over. Even people who have a belief in an afterlife tend to react this way, at least on an emotional level. My personal perspective is that the relationship continues; it just changes.

I’ll tell you a story about my mother’s death.

My mother died just past midnight, on Saturday, October 10. Much later that afternoon, my wife, Michele, and I went for a walk in the Bixby Knolls neighborhood of Long Beach, California, where my mother grew up. We were naturally exhausted, a little stunned, not talking much, just quietly walking side-by-side. It was not quite dusk.

Suddenly I stopped and grabbed Michele’s arm. She looked at me and I pointed to the sidewalk in front of us. There, slowly crossing the sidewalk just in front of us, was a huge, green scarab beetle! It was a shimmering, iridescent green, like a walking jewel, a truly beautiful creature. Now I grew up in southern California myself, and I’d never seen a scarab beetle before. I didn’t even know they lived in the region. But here one was, patiently walking across the sidewalk in front of us.

My mother had a deep love for the culture and spiritual traditions of ancient Egypt. Her trip to Egypt, to stand before the pyramids and stone temples, was one of the great moments of her life. Books of Egypt filled her shelves, Egyptian papyrus paintings hung upon her bedroom wall. And a crucial detail: Scarabs are an important symbol of ancient Egypt… often associated with eternal life and rebirth.

My wife and I glanced at each other wide eyed, and knelt to watch the scarab finish her trek across the sidewalk and finally disappear into the grass at the sidewalk’s edge.

You can choose to read that event how you wish, but it felt like a loving affirmation at a powerful moment.

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Because I’m still shaking off this flu, I won’t be resuming work on the Poetry Chaikhana for another week. Check back next Monday.

Lots of love to you all!

Ivan

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Ivan M. Granger October 5th, 2009

Earlier today I received word that my mother has slipped into a coma and she is expected to pass within a few days. I’m traveling to Los Angeles to be with her right now.

So, naturally, the Poetry Chaikhana will be on hold for a couple weeks or so.

Blessings and love to you all.

–

A note posted to my Facebook page–

Death is not extinguishing the light; it is putting out the light because the dawn has come. - Rabindranath Tagore

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Ivan M. Granger October 5th, 2009

How can I see the splendor of the moon
by Bibi Hayati

English version by Aliki Barnstone

How can I see the splendor of the moon
If his face shines over my heart,
Flaming like the sun?

As Hayati has drunk his ecstasy,
Her soul now satisfied by the wine of his pure heart,
How can she drink any other nectar?

— from The Shambhala Anthology of Women’s Spiritual Poetry, Edited by Aliki Barnstone

/ Photo by jenny downing /

Have you stepped outside in the last few evenings to notice the full moon? Because she changes, the moon draws our attention. But how difficult is it to pause and truly recognize the radiant beauty of the steady sun? Our certainty of the sun, the all-permeating nature of its light too often means we don’t see it at all…

In this poem, the “splendor of the moon” can be understood to represent creation. The moon, in its waxing and waning cycles, its changeability, expresses the most glorious or most brilliant aspects of the manifest world. And, in its femininity, the moon also represents the poet herself, her soul.

Unlike the fluctuating light of the moon, the sun’s light is steady, constant, overpowering of all other light; in fact, it is the source of all other light, including the moon’s. The masculine sun represents the Beloved to the feminine soul. In this poem, the sun is God.

When the sun of God’s face shines over her heart, all of creation and all of herself is consumed in its flaming light. She sees nothing but the light of God, feeling that presence upon her heart.

And, as with so many sacred poems, especially within the Sufi tradition, wine here is the mystical drink. Bibi Hayati refers to the wine as having come from “his” (the Beloved’s, God’s) pure heart.

It is the true nectar. It flows in abundance. What else can satisfy?

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Ivan M. Granger October 5th, 2009

Peace and joy — that’s what everyone wants.
It’s fear that twists this natural yearning
into the compulsion
for security and comfort.

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Ivan M. Granger October 2nd, 2009

As once the winged energy of delight
by Rainer Maria Rilke

English version by Stephen Mitchell

As once the winged energy of delight
carried you over childhood’s dark abysses,
now beyond your own life build the great
arch of unimagined bridges.

Take your practiced powers and stretch them out
until they span the chasm between two
contradictions… For the god
wants to know himself in you.

— from Ahead of All Parting: The Selected Poetry and Prose of Rainer Maria Rilke, Translated by Stephen Mitchell

/ Photo by u07ch /

My apologies — I’m running late today after a morning spent troubleshooting problems with phone lines. Phones and email should now be working again… So how about a poem for this Friday?

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So many lines in this poem by Rilke just dance, don’t they?

As once the winged energy of delight
carried you over childhood’s dark abysses…

The “winged energy of delight” carrying us over “childhood’s dark abysses.” Mm.

…now beyond your own life build the great
arch of unimagined bridges

You know, I could go line by line through this poem, and merely rotate my responses with “Wow!” and “Wonderful!” and “Love that!”

Why don’t I let you do that instead.

Once we’ve gotten past that reaction, then we can begin to hear what he’s really saying.

For the god
wants to know himself in you.

Have a blessed weekend! (Me, I’m going for a drive in the mountains to be among the aspens at their golden peak…)

Rainer Maria Rilke Germany (1875 - 1926) Timeline Secular or Eclectic

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Ivan M. Granger October 2nd, 2009

Liberation is already brought about. It is already here.
What is truly essential is to fully engage yourself.

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Ivan M. Granger September 30th, 2009

You think of the Path
by Ram Tzu (Wayne Liquorman)

You think of the Path
As a long arduous climb
Up the mountain.

All disappear
Into the desert sands below

— from No Way: For the Spiritually “Advanced”, by Wayne Liquorman

/ Photo by mateo caprari /

Ramesh Balsekar died this past weekend, on September 27. He was a well-known as a spiritual teacher of Advaita Vedanta, the Hindu nondualist tradition. So I thought it might be appropriate to remember him through this poem by one of his best known Western students Wayne Liquorman (who sometimes writes under the pen name of Ram Tzu).

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In this poem, why do you suppose Ram Tzu has reversed the traditional image of the spiritual journey, transforming it from a path (or many paths) that go up a mountain into many streams that flow down a mountain… and disappear into sands? What is he saying about effort and non-effort? What does the image of the streams disappearing into the sands say about his nondualist perspective?

A few questions to contemplate…

Ram Tzu (Wayne Liquorman) US (1950 - ) Yoga / Hindu : Advaita / Non-Dualist Secular or Eclectic

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Ivan M. Granger September 30th, 2009

Dogma is for those
who have tired
of the search.

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Ivan M. Granger September 28th, 2009

To Be Shown to the Monks at a Certain Temple
by Chiao Jan

English version by J. P. Seaton

Not yet to the shore of nondoing,
it’s silly to be sad you’re not moored yet…
Eastmount’s white clouds say
to keep on moving, even
if it’s evening, even if it’s fall.

— from The Shambhala Anthology of Chinese Poetry, Edited by J. P. Seaton

/ Photo by bslmmrs /

On this Monday, when most people are starting their work week, focused on action and accomplishment, I thought Chiao Jan should remind us of the goal of “nondoing.”

Not yet to the shore of nondoing,
it’s silly to be sad you’re not moored yet…

To be “moored” implies the boat of the self has arrived at its destination — enlightenment. But what does that have to do with “nondoing”?

Nondoing isn’t so much inactivity; rather, in the midst of action, there is no personal sense of doership. Action takes place through you, but within you are quiet, at ease, a serene witness. Action no longer emerges from the impulses of the ego, and actions do not reinforce the ego. I know this sounds like a concept that only arcane philosophers would care about, but the actual experience is one of delightful, pure flow, as if a layer of grime has finally been washed from your hands. Movement just naturally occurs upon an open field of awareness. Some traditions describe this actionless action as writing on water, the movement occurs but no trace of ego is left behind.

So this is Chiao Jan’s nondoing.

But he is writing this from the perspective of an aging monk who hasn’t quite reached that shore yet. Even though it’s evening, even if it’s fall, even if if the years have gathered in our bones and hang upon our faces, the mountain of the east — the direction of sunrise and enlightenment — beckons us onward, and inward. We journey until we arrive.

And Chiao Jan is absolutely right: It is silly to be sad at not yet having arrived. There’s a secret key here, one that’s so easy to overlook in spiritual practice. It’s silly to be sad to be where one is. Think about that for a moment. To wish to be somewhere else, even if that somewhere is enlightenment, is to wish to be somewhere other than where you are. Whereas true enlightenment — and nondoing — are only possible when one is deeply present. It is only by fully being where we are that we then discover our boat has arrived at the shore.

Chiao Jan was an aristocrat during the Golden Age of the T’ang era in China. He later became a Ch’an (Zen) Buddhist monk.

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Ivan M. Granger September 28th, 2009

You need just this:

devotion
to the essential.

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Ivan M. Granger September 25th, 2009

A Holy Tabernacle in the Heart (from Life of the Future World)
by Rabbi Abraham Abulafia

English version by Jewish Theological Seminary

However,
      the breath
which is
      from the second one
is a
      holy
      tabernacle
in the heart.
One ascends
      with the Unique Name
      to the sky
      to depict with Unifications
      the relationship
between everything that
      is difficult
      in this
      science of pronunciation.
It alone is
      life in the Name.
It is remembered and sealed
      in the Book of Life
to make the individual live
      with passion
      which enlightens
constantly, when
      every thought,
      every soul
is concentrated on it.

— from Meditation and Kabbalah, by Aryeh Kaplan

/ Photo by Andréia /

Sunday evening begins Yom Kippur, the Jewish day of atonement.

When we approach our own imperfections with honesty, integrity, and humility, we are surprised to find ourselves freed and able to make new, better decisions in the future.

Our mistakes rarely come from lack of will power. It’s not usually that we didn’t try hard enough. When we really look, we discover that most of our mistakes come from limited perception. We make poor choices when our awareness is clouded. The work, then, is not to be stricter with ourselves; instead, we need to see ourselves and our world more clearly. When we do that the best path of action not only becomes obvious, it is the path we prefer.

to make the individual live
      with passion
      which enlightens
constantly, when
      every thought,
      every soul
is concentrated on it.

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There is an interesting connection in this verse that is easily missed. Rabbi Abulafia is, of course, saying something about the Kabbalistic practice of word permutations, as a way of discovering the foundational Word. This “Unique Name” becomes a ladder, allowing us to ascend to the heavenly realms, where we discover the interrelationship of things and the “Unifications” underlying reality.

But if we back up to the very beginning lines, he could be reminding us that this “science of pronunciation,” the speaking of words rides upon the breath. And the breath emerges from the “holy tabernacle in the heart.”

He is giving us a sacred formula:

Heart > Breath > Words > The Word > Heaven

Words without heart and breath, do they lead anywhere?

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