Poetry Chaikhana Blog

The Buddha’s Last Instruction
by Mary Oliver

“Make of yourself a light,”
said the Buddha,
before he died.
I think of this every morning
as the east begins
to tear off its many clouds
of darkness, to send up the first
signal — a white fan
streaked with pink and violet,
even green.
An old man, he lay down
between two sala trees,
and he might have said anything,
knowing it was his final hour.
The light burns upward,
it thickens and settles over the fields.
Around him, the villagers gathered
and stretched forward to listen.
Even before the sun itself
hangs, disattached, in the blue air,
I am touched everywhere
by its ocean of yellow waves.
No doubt he thought of everything
that had happened in his difficult life.
And then I feel the sun itself
as it blazes over the hills,
like a million flowers on fire —
clearly I’m not needed,
yet I feel myself turning
into something of inexplicable value.
Slowly, beneath the branches,
he raised his head.
He looked into the faces of that frightened crowd.

— from House of Light, by Mary Oliver

/ Image by Tyler Nix /

Like all of you I have been profoundly upset by the war on Gaza. What can one do but feel anguish when witnessing so much death and destruction and displacement? We can turn away, of course. Or we can numb ourselves with rationalizations. Or we can shrug our shoulders and declare it to be tragic for those people over there.

Seeing an entire population as a problem is an invitation for disaster. Nations inevitably try to contain or eliminate such “problems.” But those policies are doomed to fail. Trauma leads to rage, rage leads to more violence, more violence leads to new trauma. And so the terrible circle expands. Sometimes slowly, sometimes with horrifying rapidity.

What can we as individuals do? There are always actions we can take, appropriate to our own lives, whether that is pressuring our politicians, engaging in conversation and respectful debate, protesting… I try to regularly ask myself what is it I feel called to do?

While action and asserting oneself is important, there is something more fundamental. We need to be inwardly connected, centered, aware. Action and stillness both naturally proceed from that center point. When we are at rest within the awakened heart, we naturally radiate out into the world. Our actions take on a flow and strength and clarity. All the while stillness remains with us.

As Mary Oliver’s Buddha says, let us make of ourselves a light. Then we naturally shine. Effortlessly, we touch the world around us, warming it, bringing healing and comfort and illumination.

Speaking up is important. But being a bright presence in the world is everything.

=

This is as much a story as a poem, a retelling of the final moment of the Buddha’s life.

“Make of yourself a light,”
said the Buddha,
before he died.

Mm. This simple affirmation of illumination at the moment of death continues to resonate… through the lines of this poem, and through the centuries.

Mary Oliver immediately recognizes this as a statement, not of death, but of renewal and the continuation of life.

I think of this every morning…

We are brought, by Mary Oliver’s line, immediately to the dawn. Not the last dimming of light, but the beginning of the new day.

Knowing it is his last moment, with a life of great striving and penetrating insight behind him, “he might have said anything.” Of all the possible philosophical summations and encapsulations, he chooses instead the radiant wisdom embodied by the sun, which lights and warms the whole world.

The poet seems stunned by such a clear, unencumbered statement with the Buddha’s final breath. Stunned, we stumble into deeper awareness.

clearly I’m not needed,
yet I feel myself turning
into something of inexplicable value.

I love these lines. Contemplating the passage through death while affirming the fulness of light and life, somehow we, along with the poet, no longer stand at the center of the world’s narrative.

When we really pay attention to the story being told all around us, a story that’s been unfolding for ages, the attention shifts away from that perpetual certainty that it is all about “me.” But rather than feeling empty or betrayed, we find ourselves alive and aware and filled with a bubbling glee. We find ourselves made of a gossamer-thin tissue of light.

Slowly, beneath the branches,
he raised his head.
He looked into the faces of that frightened crowd.

These closing lines are so striking. We’ve had an entire scene laid out for us, villagers gathering to be present at the death of this great teacher. The weak and dying Buddha raises his head and looks into the faces of the crowd… and they are frightened. Now, why is that?

I imagine it is because of what they see in the Buddha’s eyes: the great mystery, naked and unguarded in that last loving glance.

Recommended Books: Mary Oliver

New and Selected Poems	Why I Wake Early	Dream Work	House of Light	Thirst: Poems
More Books >>

Mary Oliver US (1935 – 2019) Timeline Secular or Eclectic

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A year or ten years
or ten thousand years,
what does it matter how long enlightenment takes?
It is the only game worth playing.

I saw a great light come down over London
by Jay Ramsay

I saw a great light come down over London,
And buildings and cars and people were still
They were held wherever they were under the sky’s
Clear humming radiance as it descended —
Everywhere, in shops, behind desks and on trains
Everything stopped as the stillness came down
And touched the crown of our heads
As our eyes closed, and the sky filled us
And our minds became the sky —
And everyone, regardless of crime class or creed
Was touched; as slowly we began to stir
Out of this penetrated light-filled sleep
Dizzily as the hand completed its dialing,
And the train lurched forward
And I saw faces looking at one another questioning,
I saw people meeting eye to eye and standing
Half amazed by each other’s presence
I saw their mouths silently shaping the word why
Why didn’t we know this? and yet knowing
They already knew, and without words
We all stood searching for the gesture
That would say it —

As the lights went green, and we drove on.

— from The Longing in Between: Sacred Poetry from Around the World (A Poetry Chaikhana Anthology), Edited by Ivan M. Granger

/ Image by Chad Walton /

I only recently discovered that Jay Ramsay died a few years ago. Though I never met him in person, there was a period when we conversed via email. He was warm-hearted and brought an infectious enthusiasm to his poetic endeavors. In hindsight, I suspect that he knew his time on this earth was limited and he wanted to do what good he could in the time he had. A good reminder to us all. We may not all know our departure date, but we are visitors, not permanent residents. Best to stop distracting ourselves and do what we came here to do. Offer a helping hand. Share a smile. Do what the soul always wanted to do. And discover the secret heart of things.

=

I was a poor child, but raised in an affluent area of Southern California. Several of my friends lived in large houses, with manicured lawns, some with swimming pools in their back yards. My friends had two parents, while I was raised by a single mother. They had family dinner times, Sunday church or Saturday temple, went on family vacations together.

They were living the “normal” life, the American upper middle-class ideal. And I had a strange relationship with their world — I craved its stability, the things and experiences my friends had that I didn’t, but their normalcy was also foreign to me, even a bit eerie. It just didn’t seem real to me somehow. In some ways I wanted it, but I didn’t want to be snared by it.

By the time I was a teenager, I became obsessed with seeing through the facades of that “normal” reality. I wanted to know what secrets were hidden away in the overlooked shadows. I became interested in everything from meditation to history to science to linguistics — all ways of trying to understand the hidden meaning behind the world that everyone takes for granted.

…And I was also fascinated by the phenomenon of UFOs.

I think that’s one of the things I really like about this poem — it can be read as a collective moment of awe, or of spiritual awakening, but it can just as easily suggest a city-wide encounter with a UFO. That’s the first thing I think of reading this poem. It’s not really clear what is happening, just that there is a shared moment of stillness and wonderment. Everyone stops and is confronted with a dazzling, otherworldly reality. What’s actually happening seems less important than the shared experience. Not only is this a witnessing of something that transcends the day-to-day existence, but there is also a recognition of fundamental connection with everyone else. To me it is almost the opposite of a terrorist event; instead of tragedy, everyone comes together in a unifying moment of bliss and amazement.

Then, of course, the lights turn green, and the business of living continues. But perhaps those people carry with them just a bit more sacred wonder into their daily activities… and who knows the many subtle, far-reaching ways it will continue to radiate out through their lives? This is how private experiences of transformation — otherworldy or of the inner world — quietly transform the world.

Recommended Books: Jay Ramsay

The Longing in Between: Sacred Poetry from Around the World (A Poetry Chaikhana Anthology)	Diamond Cutters: Visionary Poets in America, Britain & Oceania	Places of Truth: Journeys into Sacred Wilderness	Out of Time	Kingdom of the Edge: Poems for the Spirit
More Books >>

Jay Ramsay England (1959 – 2019) Timeline Secular or Eclectic

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The past offers itself up
to feed the soul that seeks fullness
by continuously reclaiming itself

Song of a Man Who Has Come Through
by D. H. Lawrence

Not I, not I, but the wind that blows through me!
A fine wind is blowing the new direction of Time.
If only I let it bear me, carry me, if only it carry me!
If only I am sensitive, subtle, oh, delicate, a winged gift!
If only, most lovely of all, I yield myself and am borrowed
By the fine, fine, wind that takes its course through the chaos of the world
Like a fine, an exquisite chisel, a wedge-blade inserted;
If only I am keen and hard like the sheer tip of a wedge
Driven by invisible blows,
The rock will split, we shall come at the wonder, we shall find the Hesperides.

No, no, it is the three strange angels.
Admit them, admit them.

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

/ Image by Alief vinicius /

I have always been fascinated by this poem. It is haunting, unsettling, yet, at the same time, hopeful and filled with a sense of wondrous magic in the world.

Not I, not I, but the wind that blows through me!

I love this opening line. Have you ever noticed how wearying personal will is? Eventually everything feels like a dead effort. But when we learn the magician’s trick of yielding, of letting the currents of life flow through us, delight pours through us with such surprising ease and actions form into unexpected success…

Oh, for the wonder that bubbles into my soul,
I would be a good fountain, a good well-head,
Would blur no whisper, spoil no expression.

Why the following image of the wind becoming like a chisel?

By the fine, fine, wind that takes its course through the chaos of the world
Like a fine, an exquisite chisel, a wedge-blade inserted;
If only I am keen and hard like the sheer tip of a wedge
Driven by invisible blows…

The wind that moves through the world and through the poet seems to represent spirit or life itself. It makes of the individual a chisel, driving the clear seeing, solid individual (“if only I am keen and hard”) into the world to split apart its rigidity and walls, opening the hidden pathways to wondrous lands.

What is the reference to the Hesperides that follows?

The rock will split, we shall come at the wonder, we shall find the Hesperides.

The Hesperides is both a sacred garden at the edge of the world and the three nymphs who tend it. Their garden has a tree that produces the golden apples of immortality. The three nymphs are usually associated with night, mystery and magic. They embody all that the imagination envisions at the precipice of existence, the edge of the world, the edge of the night, the edge of life and death. It would take a heroic journey just to reach their garden, but it might open us to wonders.

And if we hear a knocking from something outside our comfortable known boundaries, the natural reaction is fear.

What is the knocking?
What is the knocking at the door in the night?
It is somebody wants to do us harm.

But the poet tells us to fear not, to welcome the strangers.

No, no, it is the three strange angels.

For they bear wonder and magic and the sweet secret of life.

Admit them, admit them.

When we yield and allow the wind to blow through us, sometimes throwing us against the world, we become stronger, sharper. We find chinks in the walls, hidden spaces. We widen them, pass through them, opening new pathways, until, finally, we receive that mysterious visit and the golden apple of the Hesperides.

Have a beautiful day!

Recommended Books: D. H. Lawrence

The Complete Poems of D. H. Lawrence	Birds, Beasts and Flowers: Poems	The Selected Poems of D. H. Lawrence	Acts of Attention: The Poems of D. H. Lawrence	Self & Sequence: The Poetry of D. H. Lawrence
More Books >>

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

More poetry by D. H. Lawrence

Better to be whole and happy,
than perfect.

A Walk
by Rainer Maria Rilke

English version by Robert Bly

My eyes already touch the sunny hill,
going far ahead of the road I have begun.
So we are grasped by what we cannot grasp;
it has its inner light, even from a distance–

and changes us, even if we do not reach it,
into something else, which, hardly sensing it,
we already are; a gesture waves us on,
answering our own wave…
but what we feel is the wind in our faces.

— from Selected Poems of Rainer Maria Rilke, Translated by Robert Bly

/ Image by Michael Cummins /

Where has the Poetry Chaikhana been for the past several weeks? First of all, let me reassure everyone that I am okay. But things have been up in my life. We went through a move recently — local this time, still in the Eugene area, but a major effort, especially while I was trying to maintain my work hours with my day job as a computer programmer. Then, Apollo, our beloved dog of many years passed away unexpectedly. He was an important part of our family and we have been grieving his loss. And, of course, I have been paying attention to the terrible situation in Israel/Palestine. I have been balancing a lot while trying to remain open-hearted and an avenue for compassion, both in my family and in the world.

But you, the Poetry Chaikhana community, are my extended family, and I have missed our shared time together. I am so glad to be back with you!

Let’s take a walk with Rilke today…

=

My eyes already touch the sunny hill,
going far ahead of the road I have begun.

This is a fascinating truth that we tend to forget in the hard materiality of the modern world-view: We do not only touch the things with which we come into physical contact. We are often just as profoundly affected by what we see, even when it is out of our reach or not yet within our reach in the physical sense. Sight is a form of touch. It is contact. We touch, and are touched by, what we see.

Rilke’s insight invites us to expand our understanding further still. If what we see with our eyes is a vital sort of contact, then, naturally, what we see, but not with our eyes is just as vital. What we imagine, what we daydream, what we plan, what comes to us in dreams and meditative vision, these touch us too. They affect us. We react to them. They nurture us, feed us, or they may unsettle us and break our hearts.

So we are grasped by what we cannot grasp;
it has its inner light, even from a distance–

Real touch is not about fingertips on skin or hard metal. Real touch is heart to heart, mind to mind. Real touch is a process within the awareness, not about flat matter encountering more matter.

What we seek is never what we seek, but the affect it has on us. With everything we pursue in life, what we actually seek is self-transformation. But the truth is that we don’t even need that external other thing, physical or imagined, to be changed. The transformed self is already within us, just awaiting our own permission to be that. That is why Rilke says–

and changes us, even if we do not reach it,
into something else, which, hardly sensing it,
we already are…

Whether we yearn for a beloved person or place or circumstance, that encounter always awaits us within.

a gesture waves us on,
answering our own wave…
but what we feel is the wind in our faces.

We can read his final lines as suggesting something about the ephemeral nature of reality, or it can be the dawning recognition that we are continuously receiving communication, encouragement, contact. We have just been missing it because of our fixed ideas about what we seek and what is real.

Sending love to you all…

Recommended Books: Rainer Maria Rilke

The Enlightened Heart: An Anthology of Sacred Poetry	Ahead of All Parting: The Selected Poetry and Prose of Rainer Maria Rilke	The Soul is Here for its Own Joy: Sacred Poems from Many Cultures	Rilke’s Book of Hours: Love Poems to God	In Praise of Mortality: Rilke’s Duino Elegies & Sonnets to Orpheus
More Books >>

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

More poetry by Rainer Maria Rilke

Opposites are not opposed,
but joined.

We dance along that seam of connection.

The Absolute works with nothing
by Mevlana Jelaluddin Rumi

English version by Coleman Barks

The Absolute works with nothing.
The workshop, the materials
are what does not exist.

Try and be a sheet of paper with nothing on it.
Be a spot of ground where nothing is growing,
where something might be planted,
a seed, possibly, from the Absolute.

— from The Longing in Between: Sacred Poetry from Around the World (A Poetry Chaikhana Anthology), Edited by Ivan M. Granger

/ Image by Vasily Koloda /

It is a full moon, a time of energetic ripeness, but, but I suppose because I am something of a contrarian, this lovely poem of emptiness caught my attention this morning…

We are always making plans, building ourselves up, and projecting ourselves into the world. Amidst this constant fullness, Rumi reminds us that we must also have emptiness. If our hands are not empty, they cannot receive. For the soil to be ready for the seed, it must first be cleared.

Empty receptivity, that takes real courage. It requires the courage to be at ease with blank, still spaces in the soul, the courage to feel our own fecundity hidden beneath all our activity. Instead of filling that emptiness, we learn to wait, trusting that some new spark will land and glow and grow.

Recommended Books: Mevlana Jelaluddin Rumi

The Longing in Between: Sacred Poetry from Around the World (A Poetry Chaikhana Anthology)	This Dance of Bliss: Ecstatic Poetry from Around the World	Poetry for the Spirit: Poems of Universal Wisdom and Beauty	Music of a Distant Drum: Classical Arabic, Persian, Turkish & Hebrew Poems	Perfume of the Desert: Inspirations from Sufi Wisdom
More Books >>

Mevlana Jelaluddin Rumi Afghanistan & Turkey (1207 – 1273) Timeline Muslim / Sufi

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Stop trying
to save humanity
and, instead, learn
to serve humanity.

I have got lost in the city of love
by Bulleh Shah

English version by J. R. Puri and T. R. Shangari

I have got lost in the city of love,
I am being cleansed, withdrawing myself from my head, hands and feet.
I have got rid of my ego, and have attained my goal.
Thus it has all ended well.
O Bullah, the Lord pervades both the worlds;
None now appears a stranger to me.

— from Bulleh Shah: The Love-Intoxicated Iconoclast (Mystics of the East series), by J. R. Puri / Tilaka Raja Puri

/ Image by Randy Jacob /

I have got rid of my ego, and have attained my goal.
Thus it has all ended well.

Sufis speak of the nafs or the false self. Yogis speak of the ahamkara or “I-maker.”

A few nights ago I was thinking about this troublesome, elusive thing we generically call the ego. There are really three ways of dealing with the ego on the spiritual path.

The first approach is to try to make the ego more functional, balanced, less in conflict with itself. The goal here might be thought of as finding stability and a basic amount of happiness while minimizing inner pain. This is generally the path of most psychotherapeutic work.

The second approach is to try to make the ego more virtuous. The goal is less focused on happiness in the personal sense and more focused on meaning and purpose, sanctity. This approach to the ego, when practiced well, can refine the ego, while lessening it. This is the ideal of most religious traditions.

The third path is the path of mystics. That path is to carry the first two paths to their logical conclusion and to boldly drop the ego. At a certain point we are not trying to get the ego to work better or to be more virtuous, we just step out from under it completely. It can be like shrugging off a heavy coat on a hot summer’s day.

The first two approaches imagine that we are the ego and, therefore, must improve its functioning and its goals in order to improve ourselves. As long the ego is there — or perceived to be there — it is important to work on it. But these two paths never fully attain their goals; at best, they can just bring us closer to them.

The mystic’s path is what actually achieves the goal, because it recognizes that we are not the ego at all. Ego improvement does not improve the self, it just polishes the ego. Here is the shocking insight: The self does not need improvement or changing at all; we just need to drop the muddiness of the ego to allow the self’s inherent goodness and divinity to shine through.

From this perspective, the ego is not a real thing at all. At best we can say that it is a tension in the awareness, and it limits our ability to perceive our full self and the full reality as they truly are. Once we stop viewing everything through the opaque lens of the ego, everything is so much more magical, immense, interconnected — and filled with love! — than we ever imagined.

We can think of the three approaches as:

Stable Ego – Virtuous Ego – No Ego

(A slight reframing in Buddhist language might be: Skillful Mind – Noble Mind – No Mind)

O Bullah, the Lord pervades both the worlds;
None now appears a stranger to me.

Recommended Books: Bulleh Shah

The Longing in Between: Sacred Poetry from Around the World (A Poetry Chaikhana Anthology)	Real Thirst: Poetry of the Spiritual Journey	Islamic Mystical Poetry: Sufi Verse from the Early Mystics to Rumi	Bulleh Shah: The Love-Intoxicated Iconoclast (Mystics of the East series)	Saint Bulleh Shah
More Books >>

Bulleh Shah Punjab (Pakistan/India) (1680 – 1758) Timeline Muslim / Sufi

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It is the struggle to attain spiritual awakening
that makes us strong enough to actually receive it.

Oli Hooikaika/Prayer for Strength
by Hawaiian (Anonymous)

E iho ana a luna

The walls shall stand upright!

/ Image by KGO Radio /

My wife and I lived on the island of Maui for four years in the early 2000s. Seeing images of the island burning is heartbreaking. Hearing reports of the rising death toll in the aftermath is devastating.

Lahaina, where the fires did the most damage, is being referred to in the media as a “popular tourist spot.” That may be how most outsiders think of the town, but it is so much more. It was the old capital of the Hawaiian Kingdom, a place of immense cultural importance. We lost cultural and historical artifacts in the fire that can never be replaced.

It wasn’t just a place of hotels, restaurants and gift shops. Small businesses of all sorts filled the side streets, supporting the daily rhythms of life. And, of course, people lived in Lahaina. Homes were lost. Lives have been lost.

The banyan tree that grew in Lahaina was a community center and a focal point for the island. The community gathered to celebrate it’s 150th birthday last year. To think it has burned down is like losing a spiritual elder. Photos in the aftermath show it scorched but still standing. Perhaps it may yet survive.

The fire that ravaged Lahaina was one of several that hit Maui. A smaller fire burned in the Upcountry area where we used to live near Kula. We haven’t received as much news about that area, but that was where we lived our days and nights. That’s where the pastures change into forest along the slopes of Haleakala. I used to walk barefoot in the forests of the area, light headed from fasting, to a small cave I found and there I would sit and meditate. I hope those places survived to reveal their secrets to others.

So many unique and special places across Maui. And, of course, the wonderful people of the island who are affected…

Communities on an island are a fragile thing. Rebuilding and healing will take a long time and heroic patience.

The devastation on Maui feels personal to me, touching on an important period of my earlier journey, but it also feels global. The world knows the island as a place of great natural beauty, and people travel from all over to experience its paradise. More than that, though, I think of Maui as one of the great holy places on the planet, a place of awakening. These fires on Maui seem to represent a harsh shift. A reminder to us all that the more we remain open, aware, and willing, even our sorrows and traumas can become points of transformation.

That which is above, be brought down.
That which is below, shall be lifted up.
The islands shall be united.
The walls shall stand upright!

Sending love to that special island and its people.
Maui no ka oi! Aloha nui loa!

Hear this Hawaiian prayer for strength chanted in its original language: https://soundcloud.com/kidnectedworld/oli-hooikaika

Recommended Books: Hawaiian (Anonymous)

The Unwritten Literature of Hawaii: The Sacred Songs of the Hula

Continue Reading »

Even in darkness we see,
and we see we are not alone.

In this passing moment
by Hogen Bays

“In the presence of Sangha, in the light of Dharma,
in oneness with Buddha — may my path
to complete enlightenment benefit everyone!”

In this passing moment karma ripens
and all things come to be.
I vow to choose what is:
If there is cost, I choose to pay.
If there is need, I choose to give.
If there is pain, I choose to feel.
If there is sorrow, I choose to grieve.
When burning — I choose heat.
When calm — I choose peace.
When starving — I choose hunger.
When happy — I choose joy.
Whom I encounter, I choose to meet.
What I shoulder, I choose to bear.
When it is my death, I choose to die.
Where this takes me, I choose to go.
Being with what is — I respond to what is.

This life is as real as a dream;
the one who knows it cannot be found;
and, truth is not a thing — Therefore I vow
to choose THIS dharma entrance gate!
May all Buddhas and Wise Ones
help me live this vow.

— from The Longing in Between: Sacred Poetry from Around the World (A Poetry Chaikhana Anthology), Edited by Ivan M. Granger

/ Image by Ales Dusa /

There’s something both delightful and deeply challenging about this vow poem.

The entire poem is summed up at the beginning:

I vow to choose what is

You would think the unavoidable nature of “what is” makes a statement like this meaningless, but the human mind is not entirely sane. It often chooses fantasy and imaginings, shoulds and coulds, possibilities and even impossibilities over what is. Very few of us truly dwell in reality. Rarely do we fully experience the moments of our lives.

What is it that we are straining for as we constantly lean away from “what is”? What do we think is missing that we need? We don’t need someone else’s life. We don’t need a perfect marriage, better finances, or a better place in society. We don’t even need to be a saint living in the mountains. What’s missing is ourselves. What we really need is to stand in our own shoes, to be utterly ourselves. We need that missing ingredient—being present. We need to live, with honesty and an open heart, the life that already moves through us.

When starving–I choose hunger.
When happy–I choose joy.

When we are hungry, can we choose anything other than hunger? When happy, isn’t joy automatic? The truth is that we constantly choose. Ask yourself, how often do we really sit with our hunger and sorrow? How often do we allow ourselves to dance with the joy bubbling up inside us? How often do we notice these things at all?

The power of a practice like Zen is that it defines the human journey, not as escape, but as coming home, of settling into ourselves and being present with the present. It challenges us to actually live the moment that continuously arrives and passes and renews itself.

By making this journey to “what is,” we finally meet ourselves and learn what this amazing thing is that we call life, with all its rich, joyful, painful, and transitory beauty.
May all Buddhas and Wise Ones
help me live this vow.

Recommended Books: Hogen Bays

The Longing in Between: Sacred Poetry from Around the World (A Poetry Chaikhana Anthology)	Morning Dewdrops of the Mind: Teachings of a Contemporary Zen Master	Path to Bodhidharma

Continue Reading »

Stumble
and so see the sky.

I feel like some aspects of the Poetry Chaikhana have been somewhat neglected in recent months. I have, for example, received several touching notes lately from different readers saying how much the Poetry Chaikhana means to you, but I haven’t been able to respond to them all. I want you to know that I receive all of your messages and they mean a lot to me.

I have also had plans for additional books, but I haven’t been able to dedicate the time to complete and publish them. I would even like to experiment with some online workshops or discussion groups.

I am in a phase right now where daily life requires me to put in as many hours as possible with my day job, while these other projects have to wait patiently. I want you all to know that you — and the Poetry Chaikhana in general — are very much in my mind still. When life allows, I very much look forward to some new creative endeavors and just connecting with you all more.

Be well and keep finding those quiet moments of inspiration that feed your soul — and have a beautiful day!