Poetry Chaikhana Blog

Ivan M. Granger March 12th, 2010

Effortlessly
by Mechthild of Magdeburg

English version by Jane Hirshfield

Effortlessly,
Love flows from God into man,
Like a bird
Who rivers the air
Without moving her wings.
Thus we move in His world
One in body and soul,
Though outwardly separate in form.
As the Source strikes the note,
Humanity sings –
The Holy Spirit is our harpist,
And all strings
Which are touched in Love
Must sound.

— from The Enlightened Heart: An Anthology of Sacred Poetry, by Stephen Mitchell

/ Photo by ac4photos /

Effortlessly,
Love flows from God into man,
Like a bird
Who rivers the air
Without moving her wings.

Isn’t that image wonderful? The words themselves flow through us, like gentle music. That opening affirmation is so lovely that it’s easy to miss importance of the next few lines:

Thus we move in His world
One in body and soul,
Though outwardly separate in form.

This statement could just as easily have come from the Zen tradition. When we discover that total integration of self, when every aspect of body and soul recognizes itself as a harmonious unity, the sense of the effortful self disappears. Our actions and movement through the world flow without friction. We normally take it for granted, the presence of a constant resistance in every action. What is that resistance? It is the fingerprint of the ego as it declares through each effort, “I am here! I did this! I!” It is a declaration of separation. But instead, when we are overcome with love and wholeness, the ego fades, no separation is seen, and we, in turn, flow.

Think of it this way: Just as swimmers shave their bodies to eliminate the constant drag of body hair in order to glide through the water, shedding the ego with love allows us to glide with surprising ease through the world. This is how saints and masters manage to act with such natural grace of spirit.

And all strings
Which are touched in Love
Must sound.

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Ivan M. Granger March 10th, 2010

I am a fountain, You are my water
by Zeynep Hatun

English version by Murat Yagan

I am a fountain, You are my water.
I flow from You to You.

I am a traveler, You are my road.
I go from You to You.

— from Women in Sufism: A Hidden Treasure - Writings and Stories of Mystics Poets, Scholars & Saints, Edited by Camille Adams Helminski

/ Photo by daveeedo6 /

Don’t these lines just bring a smile to your face?

I flow from You to You.

==

Today we reached another milestone with the Poetry Chaikhana: As of this morning, there are now more than 6,000 people on the Poetry Chaikhana email list. Amazing!

People are reading this email on every continent (except for Antarctica… as far as I know and nearly every country, state, province, and principality. Think how wide-reaching the Poetry Chaikhana community has become.

I encourage you to take a moment and read a note I posted about a year ago on the Poetry Chaikhana Around the World. It can give a deeper sense of whom you are sharing these poems with.

Many blessings!

I am a traveler, You are my road.
I go from You to You.

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Ivan M. Granger March 8th, 2010

(81) On many an idle day have I grieved over lost time (from Gitanjali)
by Rabindranath Tagore

English version by Rabindranath Tagore

On many an idle day have I grieved over lost time. But it is never lost, my lord. Thou hast taken every moment of my life in thine own hands.
      Hidden in the heart of things thou art nourishing seeds into sprouts, buds into blossoms, and ripening flowers into fruitfulness.
      I was tired and sleeping on my idle bed and imagined all work had ceased. In the morning I woke up and found my garden full with wonders of flowers.

— from Gitanjali, by Rabindranath Tagore

/ Photo by juicyverve /

This chapter from Tagore’s Gitanjali, like most of the book, is addressed directly to God as a sort of a prayer. But Tagore is not asking for something. He is acknowledging a surprising truth, he is proclaiming to God the dawning realization that growth is taking place in his “garden” of spiritual awareness always, secretly, quietly, even when he despairs of his own efforts. He “imagined all work had ceased” — he felt his own spiritual work had come to nothing and his deflated spirit temporarily gives up — but he wakes up surprised to find his “garden full with wonders of flowers.” This happens all the time for those striving spiritually, but why?

The metaphor of a garden to represent one’s spiritual awareness is an ancient one used throughout the world, and it is perfect for what is being said here. Think about a garden for a moment. What is it? First, it is a place where things grow, a place of life. It is the opposite of death, which is the state of nonspirituality. The plants of the garden are rooted in the earth, yet they reach upward toward the light of the sun. On an even subtler level, a garden is a place of nourishment and of beauty. What grows in our spiritual gardens feeds us through its “fruitfulness,” and it brings beauty, the awareness of harmony to our consciousness. The flowers of the garden represent the spiritual qualities that have opened within us, that in turn cause us to open to the Divine. The flowers are within us, and we are the flowers. From the yogic point of view, the flowers sometimes represent the chakras that open during spiritual awakening. Also, a garden is a place of contemplation and rest. It is a place where we give ourselves permission to simply be, to settle into the present moment. The garden represents the soul at rest in the living presence of the Divine.

But, returning to this verse from the Gitanjali, why is a garden such a perfect metaphor here? Because every plant of the garden grows with a life of its own. The gardener, the spiritual aspirant, may need to till the ground and plant the seeds, water them regularly, keep them free from encroaching weeds — but for all that work, the gardener does not actually make the seeds grow and flower. The gardener just prepares the environment, but it is the divine spark of life “Hidden in the heart of all things” that nourishes “seeds into sprouts, buds into blossoms, and ripening flowers into fruitfulness.”

Tagore is surprised to realize that his only job is to prepare the garden bed and keep it ready, but the growth of the seeds is effortless, for the seeds are alive with the vitality of God. Even when he can conceive of no further effort, the seeds still grow. The seeds WANT to grow. And they will grow. It is their nature to grow once given the right environment. All we have to do is prepare ourselves, make ourselves ready. The spiritual growth will happen of its own accord. Then one morning we wake up surrounded by “wonders of flowers!”

Rabindranath Tagore India (1861 - 1941) Timeline Yoga / Hindu

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Ivan M. Granger March 5th, 2010

No tongue can tell Your secret
by Hakim Sanai

English version by Priya Hemenway

No tongue can tell Your secret
for the measure of the word obscures Your nature.
But the gift of the ear
is that it hears
what the tongue cannot tell.

— from The Book of Everything: Journey of the Heart’s Desire, by Hakim Sanai Al-Ghaznavi / Translated by Priya Hemenway

/ Photo by jordanfischer /

This verse has an elegant subtlety, and trimmed with a thin edge of wit. Here Sanai is playing with the mystic’s dilemma of words.

“No tongue can tell Your secret / for the measure of the word obscures Your nature.” The direct encounter with the Divine can’t truly be put into words. Words are a creation of the limited mind, powerful, certainly, but limited. Words, even when masterfully wielded, can only describe limited aspects of limited reality. Words imply a fracturing of reality into countless objects, an impassible duality of observer and observed, describer and described. How can words properly convey the undivided Wholeness?

(There is really no ‘encounter’ the way I just phrased it, because that implies two separates meeting, when there is really only the profound recognition of unity. Words fail the Wholeness.)

Seeing this limitation, some teachers construct complex frameworks of descriptions. Some hint and suggest and riddle. Some fall silent. What is said and what is left unsaid… a fascinating game. But it is only the encounter (which is not really an encounter) that conveys the truth of all this.

The “tongue cannot tell” these things properly. “But the gift of the ear / is that it hears” anyway. That is, when we truly and openly listen, an inner whisper begins to draw the awareness beyond the descriptions, the suggestions, the silences. And suddenly there we stand, outside of all words and concepts that obscure while they define. There we stand, witnessing, participating in the living Wholeness that is the divine nature of undivided Reality.

I like the game of words, perhaps too much. But it is time for my tongue to rest and let the ear enjoy its gift…

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Ivan M. Granger March 3rd, 2010

Dove that ventured outside
by Rainer Maria Rilke

English version by Stephen Mitchell

(To Erika, for the festival of praise)

Being arches itself      over the vast abyss.
Ah the ball that we dared,      that we hurled into infinite space,
doesn’t it fill our hands      differently with its return:
heavier by the weight      of where it has been.

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

/ Photo by quinet /

The great German poet Rilke has reminds us to engage in the wondrous and terrible adventure of our lives. The dove “knows what serenity is, for she has felt her wings / pass through all distance and fear.”

I love the line:

only the won-back heart      can ever be satisfied

And that closing verse…

Being arches itself      over the vast abyss.
Ah the ball that we dared,      that we hurled into infinite space,
doesn’t it fill our hands      differently with its return:
heavier by the weight      of where it has been.

Wonderful!

I hear that line chanting itself through my mind…

Being arches itself      over the vast abyss.
Being arches itself      over the vast abyss…

Have a beautiful day!

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

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Ivan M. Granger March 1st, 2010

to fully explore
by Gabriel Rosenstock

to fully explore
      a rustic rose
            the frantic bee disappears

— from Haiku: The Gentle Art of Disappearing, by Gabriel Rosenstock

/ Photo by Berverly & Pack /

It’s been too long since we last featured a haiku by the contemporary Irish poet Gabriel Rosenstock. I had planned to select a haiku of his on the moon — in honor of this past weekend’s full moon — but this meditation on the bee’s journey into the heart of the rose just grabbed me. Perhaps I’m getting impatient for warmer weather and the warm scent of roses.

I just love the layers of meaning we can read into these three lines. The more deeply we explore this haiku, the frantic mind, like the bee, disappears…

Gabriel Rosenstock Ireland (1949 - ) Secular or Eclectic Primal/Tribal/Shamanic : Celtic

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Ivan M. Granger February 26th, 2010

Sabbaths 1999, VII
by Wendell Berry

Again I resume the long
lesson: how small a thing
can be pleasing, how little
in this hard world it takes
to satisfy the mind
and bring it to its rest.

What more did I
think I wanted? Here is
what has always been.
Here is what will always
be. Even in me,
the Maker of all this
returns in rest, even
to the slightest of His works,
a yellow leaf slowly
falling, and is pleased.

— from Given: Poems, by Wendell Berry

/ Photo by Jonathan Gill /

It’s been a while since we’ve had a poem by Wendell Berry. And, yes, maybe this poem is for a misty autumn morning, but it suits a crisp late winter day too…

Again I resume the long
lesson: how small a thing
can be pleasing…

That’s the “long lesson,” the slow realization of a lifetime lived with attention: the deep satisfaction of simple moments. Grand experiences may serve as important punctuation marks to life, but it is only when we deeply engage with the gentle flow of small events that we come to know our lives. Remember, real magic is hidden; it is hidden in those quiet moments.

how little
in this hard world it takes
to satisfy the mind
and bring it to its rest.

And nature is our constant teacher and guide, again and again bringing us back to ourselves.

With the ongoing havoc
the woods this morning is
almost unnaturally still.

When we walk well among the woods, with the quiet attention that comes only when self is left behind, we glide through the eternal moment.

What more did I
think I wanted? Here is
what has always been.
Here is what will always
be.

And we just might come to recognize the Source of “all this” — right here, within this moment, within our own breast.

Even in me,
the Maker of all this
returns in rest…

Berry’s title tells us this poem is about the Sabbath. He understands the real meaning of the Sabbath. It is not the one day out of seven when one goes to church or synagogue. Sabbath is the living moment of sacred rest. It isn’t a question of how often we sit within a steepled hall. Until the mind quiets and comes to rest in the heart, we have not yet honored the Sabbath.

Have a beautiful Sabbath day!

Wendell Berry US (1934 - ) Secular or Eclectic

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Ivan M. Granger February 24th, 2010

When all thoughts
by Ryokan

English version by John Stevens

When all thoughts
Are exhausted
I slip into the woods
And gather
A pile of shepherd’s purse.

Like the little stream
Making its way
Through the mossy crevices
I, too, quietly
Turn clear and transparent.

— from Dewdrops on a Lotus Leaf: Zen Poems of Ryokan, Translated by John Stevens

/ Photo by digicla /

I really like the way this poem opens…

When all thoughts
Are exhausted
I slip into the woods
And gather
A pile of shepherd’s purse.

Ryokan gives us a sense of thoughts finally tiring of themselves and falling silent. And only then does it occur to him to enter the woods — a monk, in his quiet, moving slowly among the trees in search of his simple meal of shepherd’s purse (an edible wild herb).

But it’s that second verse that really awakens:

Like the little stream
Making its way
Through the mossy crevices
I, too, quietly
Turn clear and transparent.

He has movement, yes, but it is effortless flow. His entire life at that moment is transparent, completely clear, free from self and the silting of mind. The question lingers: Shall we too slip into the woods?

Ryokan Japan (1758 - 1831) Timeline Buddhist : Zen / Chan

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Ivan M. Granger February 19th, 2010

The Dagger
by Mirabai

English version by Robert Bly

The Dark One threw me a glance like a dagger today.
Since that moment, I am insane; I can’t find my body.
The pain has gone through my arms and legs, and I can’t find my mind.
At least three of my friends are completely mad.
I know the thrower of daggers well; he enjoys roving the woods.
The partridge loves the moon; and the lamplight pulls in the moth.
You know, for the fish, water is precious; without it, the fish dies.
If he is gone, how shall I live? I can’t live without him.
Go and speak to the dagger-thrower: Say, Mira belongs to you.

— from Mirabai: Ecstatic Poems, Translated by Robert Bly

/ Photo by Kraetzsche  Photography /

The name Krishna can loosely be translated as “The Dark One.” Mirabai’s beloved here is Krishna — God. God threw her a “glance like a dagger.” Since then she has gone mad, overcome with a “pain” where she can’t find her body. What does all this mean?

The Dark One threw me a glance like a dagger today.

I love that thrilling, illicit image… God as hunter, God hunting us… with looks of passion. It raises the question, If God is everywhere hunting us, lying in wait, continuously casting hot, cutting glances at us, why then are we not more often pierced? Why hasn’t all the world, like Mirabai, gone insane with love?

I suspect it is because too often we look around and see only the mask. We miss the smoldering eyes beneath.

The pain has gone through my arms and legs…

Many mystics experience a sense of pain or wounding as part of their union with the Divine, a sacred pain. For some, this can be physical and obvious to observers. This is perhaps most startlingly manifest in the great Catholic stigmatists, like St. Francis of Assisi.

Other mystics speak of a wounding in a more metaphorical sense. The pain experienced is the perception of one’s separation from God. But that pain itself is the doorway to reunion. By allowing oneself to become completely vulnerable to that pain, to surrender to it, the mystic finds the pain transformed into the blissful touch of the Beloved.

Your most secret wound is the doorway.

It is the pain of the pierced ego. For one with inner balance, where the protective but limiting shell of the ego is no longer necessary, that pain points the way to freedom.

For this reason, mystics and saints describe the pain as being “sweet” or joyful or beautiful.

…and I can’t find my mind.

Think back to your school days, the painful crushes in the hallways. Then you see that beautiful someone turn your way and glance at you. In that instant, the whole world comes to a crashing halt. The echoes of teenaged taunts and laughter and gossip fade away. Your very thoughts fall silent. If someone were to ask you your own name, you’d be unable to answer.

You’ve lost both body and mind.

This is the state the true mystic knows.

Go and speak to the dagger-thrower: Say, [I belong] to you.

Mirabai India (1498 - 1565?) Timeline Yoga / Hindu : Vaishnava (Krishna/Rama)

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Ivan M. Granger February 17th, 2010

/ Photo by mattcameasarat /

In sacred wine poetry, the tavern is constantly evoked.

Dawn:
the tavern:
I learned the inside way
from a licensed guide.

- Imadeddin Nasimi (1369? - 1418)

The Drunken Universe: An Anthology of Persian Sufi Poetry Translated by Peter Lamborn Wilson / Translated by Nasrollah Pourjavady

The tavern can be understood in a few ways.

On a social level, the tavern is the gathering place for the lovers of wine. The tavern is where mystics meet. It is the Sufi house of zikr. It is where Hindu bhaktis sing their bhajans. It is the Buddhist Sangha, the Christian fellowship. It is the kiva and the campfire. It is the circle of true seekers, deep thinkers - and wine drinkers.

/ Photo by indigoprime /

But understood esoterically, the tavern is the place within oneself where the many disparate and scattered parts of the individual come together in a unified whole to become drunk on the free-flowing Celestial Drink. Continue Reading »

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Ivan M. Granger February 17th, 2010

The Dullard Sage
by Farid ud-Din Attar

English version by Peter Lamborn Wilson and Nasrollah Pourjavady

Lost in myself
      I reappeared
            I know not where
a drop that rose
      from the sea and fell
            and dissolved again;
a shadow
      that stretched itself out
            at dawn,
when the sun
      reached noon
            I disappeared.
I have no news
      of my coming
            or passing away–
the whole thing
      happened quicker
            than a breath;
ask no questions
      of the moth.
            In the candle flame
of his face
      I have forgotten
            all the answers.
In the way of love
      there must be knowledge
            and ignorance
so I have become
      both a dullard
            and a sage;
one must be
      an eye and yet
            not see
so I am blind
      and yet I still
            perceive,
Dust
      be on my head
            if I can say
where I
      in bewilderment
            have wandered:
Attar
      watched his heart
            transcend both worlds
and under its shadow
      now is gone mad
            with love.

— from The Drunken Universe: An Anthology of Persian Sufi Poetry, Translated by Peter Lamborn Wilson / Translated by Nasrollah Pourjavady

/ Photo by Chico.Ferreira /

To all you wise, wondrous sages, a reminder from Attar to also be a dullard.

Knowledge requires mind and conceptualization, the parceling out of reality into small pieces that can be thought about and communicated. True merging with the Divine draws us into the unbroken Unity. When the light of this unbroken awareness shines fully, even the sense of a separate self is lost –

a shadow
that stretched itself out
at dawn,

when the sun
reached noon
I disappeared.

This Wholeness is an awareness that is too great to be comprehended by the limited mind. One naturally falls into the all-encompassing silence of that sacred merging…

ask no questions
of the moth.
In the candle flame

of his face
I have forgotten
all the answers.

“In the way of love / there must be knowledge / and ignorance…” There must be knowledge as we each walk the path, so we can see each step as we take it. But ultimately there must be “ignorance” because, once the last step is taken, nothing can be said about it. Actually, we don’t take the final step, it takes us. Who is left then to speak or to know? What is left to know anything about? It is the step that swallows the universe into Oneness and leaves us dumbfounded.

Attar’s advice: Become both a dullard and a sage, and go mad with love!

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

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Ivan M. Granger February 15th, 2010

As the mirror to my hand
by Vidyapati

English version by Edward C. Dimock, Jr. and Denise Levertov

As the mirror to my hand,
the flowers to my hair,
kohl to my eyes,
tambul to my mouth,
musk to my breast,
necklace to my throat,
ecstasy to my flesh,
heart to my home –

Vidyapati says, they are one another.

— from In Praise of Krishna: Songs from the Bengali, Translated by Edward C. Dimock, Jr. / Translated by Denise Levertov

/ Photo by mikebaird /

Vidyapati here is writing from the perspective of Radha who is yearning for her beloved Krishna (Madhava). But, as I’ve pointed out before, this relationship plays out on two levels simultaneously. On the deeper level, it is a metaphor of spiritual union with the Divine. Krishna is understood to be an embodiment of God, and Radha is the individual soul who has yielded to the love of God.

So when Radha enumerates their many intimate connections, finally declaring, “as wing to bird, / water to fish, / life to the living — / so you to me…” the ardent soul is finally acknowledging that it is the Divine Beloved which is her true nature. The soul sees that, at its core, it is inseparable from God. To then ask, “Who are you really?” is to seek to understand the fundamental nature of being.

Vidyapati’s signature line sums it up so beautifully: “They are one another.” Lover and Beloved ultimately melt into each other until there is no separation. The soul and God are finally recognized to be of the same essence.

Vidyapati India (1340? - 1430) Timeline Yoga / Hindu : Vaishnava (Krishna/Rama)

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Ivan M. Granger February 12th, 2010

East Coker - excerpt (from Four Quartets)
by T. S. Eliot

I said to my soul, be still, and let the dark come upon you
Which shall be the darkness of God. As, in a theatre,
The lights are extinguished, for the scene to be changed
With a hollow rumble of wings, with a movement of darkness on darkness,
And we know that the hills and the trees, the distant panorama
And the bold imposing facade are all being rolled away–
Or as, when an underground train, in the tube, stops too long between stations
And the conversation rises and slowly fades into silence
And you see behind every face the mental emptiness deepen
Leaving only the growing terror of nothing to think about;
Or when, under ether, the mind is conscious but conscious of nothing–
I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope
For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love,
For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith
But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.
Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought:
So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.

— from Four Quartets, by T. S. Eliot

/ Photo by jaytkendall /

Last night, I had to real pleasure of listening to a talk by Kim Rosen, author of Saved by a Poem. It wasn’t so much a poetry reading as an exploration of how poetry can open our lives. She pointed out how a poem can be a teacher, when we deeply engage with it. Its rhythms pattern the breath, the heartbeat. Its imagery blooms in the inner eye. Its fluid meaning sidesteps the linear mind, leading us to deeper, holistic awareness. A poem, she pointed out, can literally change our very biochemistry.

A poem, spoken at the right time, can free us. And it can bring healing in profound ways.

I said to my soul, be still, and let the dark come upon you
Which shall be the darkness of God…

Kim Rosen spoke these lines by T.S. Eliot to a friend struggling through chemotherapy.

A poem, held in the heart, spoken from the heart — imagine what that can mean at such a moment of crisis. This is one of the great gifts to the world.

So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.

If you’re looking for ways to engage more deeply with poetry, I highly recommend Kim Rosen’s book, Saved by a Poem. And if you get a chance, definitely attend one of her talks or workshops. You can find out more about Kim Rosen through her website:

www.kimrosen.net

Have a beautiful weekend! Sending much love to you all…

T. S. Eliot US/UK (1888 - 1965) Timeline Secular or Eclectic

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Ivan M. Granger February 10th, 2010

The Song of the Poppadum
by Ramana Maharshi

English version by Ramanasramam

      No need about the world to roam
And suffer from depression;
Make poppadum within the home
According to the lesson
Of ‘Thou art That’, without compare,
The Unique Word, unspoken
‘Tis not by speech it will declare.
The silence is unbroken
Of Him who is the Adept-Sage,
The great Apotheosis,
With His eternal heritage
That Being-Wisdom-Bliss is.

Make poppadum of self and after eat;
Of Perfect Peace then you will be replete.

— from The Collected Works of Ramana Maharshi, Edited by Arthur Osborne

/ Photo by Matt Seppings /

A playful song of realization and food preparation by the great non-dualist sage, Ramana Maharshi.

The story is told that the Maharshi’s mother, who lived at her son’s ashram, one day asked him to help in the preparation of poppadum, a spicy lentil-flour cracker. Instead, Ramana Maharshi composed this poem, comparing the preparation of the poppadum with the process of Self-Realization.

I’ll admit, this English translation is more than a bit forced in order to get its singsong rhyme, but I can imagine a kirtan hall filled with people laughing and joyously singing these words… all the while growing hungry for supper. Maybe a few are even contemplating the consummation of awareness that food, attentively prepared and eaten, can be to us.

Next time you go to your local Indian restaurant, order some poppadum. And contemplate what you are really consuming.

Eat, so your cravings you may satisfy…

Well, I’m hungry now…

Ramana Maharshi India (1879 - 1950) Timeline Yoga / Hindu : Advaita / Non-Dualist Yoga / Hindu : Shaivite (Shiva)

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Ivan M. Granger February 9th, 2010

The cup of wine for us
      is mother’s milk.
If we don’t taste it
      we no longer live.

- Qushayri (d. 1074)

Early Islamic Mysticism: Sufi, Quran, Miraj, Poetic and Theological Writings (Classics of Western Spirituality) by Michael A. Sells

While sacred wine imagery occurs all over the world, the theme is perhaps most fully developed by the great Sufi poets.

This is especially interesting because of the complex relationship Islam has with wine. In Christianity, wine is the sacramental drink of the Eucharist, but in traditional Muslim observation, wine is forbidden. Yet, surprisingly, wine is promised to devout Muslims in heaven. It is on this tension that Sufi poetry thrives.

Go to the Winery and exchange your robe for a drink of wine,
Despite the arrogant pious, drink like a Sufi.

- Moulana Shah Maghsoud (1914 – 1980)

The forbidden worldly drink is also the sacred drink. That which is most profane is somehow transformed to become that which is most sacred. What is the difference? What changes the forbidden into the most holy of substances? Continue Reading »

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Ivan M. Granger February 8th, 2010

I traveled a long way seeking God
by Lalla (Lal Ded)

English version by Swami Muktananda

I traveled a long way seeking God,
but when I finally gave up and turned back,
there He was, within me!

O Lalli!
Now why do you wander
like a beggar?
Make some effort,
and He will grant you
a vision of Himself
in the form of bliss
in your heart.

— from Lalleshwari: Spiritual Poems by a Great Siddha Yogini, Translated by Swami Muktananda

/ Photo by sebilden /

For so many mystics it is this way. After intense searching without success, what can be done but give up, or collapse? Yet a special thing happens at that very moment. You drop your expectations, your hopes, your projections about this external thing called “God.” For the first time you have truly let go the story you’ve been telling yourself about what God is and how you fit into the picture. It is only then that the scales fall from your eyes.

You stop straining to look, and finally see. And you see the Eternal already here, within you.

Finally recognizing the all-engulfing presence of the Divine, the heart feels safe; the heart opens, it blooms, and we are flooded by indescribable bliss!

Even a spiritual mendicant like Lalla can no longer think of herself as a beggar when in possession of such wealth.

Lalla (Lal Ded) India (14th Century) Timeline Yoga / Hindu : Shaivite (Shiva)

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Ivan M. Granger February 5th, 2010

When he admits you to his presence
by Hakim Sanai

English version by D.L. Pendlebury

When he admits you to his presence
ask from him nothing other than himself.
When he has chosen you for a friend,
you have seen all that there is to see.
There’s no duality in the world of love:
what’s all this talk of ‘you’ and ‘me’?
How can you fill a cup that’s full already?

— from The Walled Garden of Truth, by Hakim Sanai / Translated by David Pendlebury

/ Photo by mamnaimie /

When he admits you to his presence
ask from him nothing other than himself.

That’s it. Right there.

Most of us, when we seek God, we are really seeking something from God. Most of our prayers are for money, love, success in something. Now, there’s nothing inherently wrong in those things; they’re important parts of our lives. But if that’s all we ask of God, we are not asking enough.

Why ask for trinkets, when the Friend would give himself?

This reminds me of a story from the 20th century Hindu saint and spiritual ambassador, Swami Vivekananda. He was a young man, not yet committed to the spiritual life, and questioning everything about the spiritual teachings he was receiving from his guru, Ramakrishna. And his father had just died, leaving him, as the oldest son, responsible for the financial well-being of the family. He was torn between the worldly duty to provide for his mother and siblings, and his growing desire to retreat from the world to discover the deeper spiritual truths. His teacher, Ramakrishna, told him to go to the temple of the mother goddess and pray for money to provide for his family, promising that whatever he prayed for would be granted. The young Vivekananda went to the temple but was overcome with a spiritual state and found himself praying only for direct knowledge of God. He returned to his teacher, desperate, saying he forgot to pray for money. Ramakrishna told him to go a second time and pray for money. Vivekananda went, and again prayed for direct knowledge of God. He returned in tears, worried for his family. His teacher sent him back to the temple a third time, and once more Vivekananda found himself praying for God alone. When Vivekananda returned the third time, hopeless, his teacher Ramakrishna said that he had prayed for what was deepest in his heart and his prayer would be fulfilled, but Ramakrishna also promised that his family would have its basic needs met.

We are not monks, most of us. We live in the world and we have basic worldly needs, and when it’s important it’s okay to pray that those needs are met. But that should always be a distant second to the real and only goal — the Divine. What does it mean to have money or find that special person, but feel disconnected from the Eternal One who is our very Self? All meaning flows from that Divine Core. Without it, there is no deeper purpose or satisfaction to success, only the hunger for more.

There’s another interesting thing that happens. When we really, fully settle into that Heart of hearts, we find ourselves already at one with what we thought we sought. Then we ask ourselves why we wasted so much energy seeking so many things, when finding that one thing gives us so many things…

How can you fill a cup that’s full already?

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