Archive for the 'Poetry' Category

Feb 14 2025

Teresa of Avila – I am for My Beloved

Published by under Poetry

On Those Words “I am for My Beloved”
by Teresa of Avila

English version by Megan Don

Already I gave myself completely,
and have changed in such a way
That my Beloved is for me
and I am for my Beloved.

When the gentle hunter shot me
and left me in all my weakness,
in the arms of love
my soul fell
and being charged with new life
I have changed in such a way
That My Beloved is for me
and I am for my Beloved.

He pierced me with an arrow
laced with the herbs of love
and my soul became one
with her Creator;
I no longer want another love,
since I have given myself to my God,
That My Beloved is for me
and I am for my Beloved.

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


/ Image by stevekc /

Happy Valentine’s Day! I thought this meditation on love and the soul’s yielding to the Beloved was just right.

I was sent this poem directly by the translator, Megan Don. She is the author of Meditations with Teresa of Avila — a truly beautiful collection of contemplations inspired by the writings of Teresa of Avila.

According to Megan Don, this poem by Teresa of Avila was written about her well-known mystical experience of feeling her heart being pierced with a rapturous love by an angel. This sacred moment inspired Bernini to craft his spiritually erotic sculpture, The Ecstasy of Saint Teresa.

A few of my own thoughts:

Saints and mystics the world over speak of the heart being touched, pierced, opened. They speak of being surprised by love. The problem is, we hear the world “love” and “heart” and we think of the simple sweetness of Valentine’s Day cards. We aren’t encouraged to develop a real concept of what these great souls are attempting to communicate.

When the mind settles and the soul waits in vulnerable readiness, the most amazing thing happens: the heart blooms. The heart opens and expands. Effortlessly, the heart reaches out, with a wider span than we imagined possible, embracing all of creation. We become flooded with something beyond feeling or emotion; there is a sense of finally recognizing our full nature within the heart. We immediately know that we have returned home, that we have rediscovered the seat of our being.

Within this awareness, when we focus inward, we are enraptured, filled with bliss, a sense of wholeness and joy that is beyond words. When focused outward, we have become an embodiment of love. Love pours through us and fills everything we perceive.

Amidst this love, the barriers to our empathy collapse and we also begin to feel all the world’s struggling hopes and suffering and surging life — yet it is all somehow part of a larger tapestry of beauty.

Think about these things. Consider what it means to have one’s heart “pierced” by the Divine. How can we, in full honesty, say, “I gave myself completely,” and “I am for my Beloved”? What is the weakness or vulnerability that the “gentle hunter” leaves us in? What does it mean to be “changed with new life”? The big question: What is the real experience that allows us to say, “my soul became one / with her Creator”?

Have a beautiful Valentine’s Day, at home within the heart.


Recommended Books: Teresa of Avila

The Longing in Between: Sacred Poetry from Around the World (A Poetry Chaikhana Anthology) Poetry for the Spirit: Poems of Universal Wisdom and Beauty Women in Praise of the Sacred: 43 Centuries of Spiritual Poetry by Women For Lovers of God Everywhere: Poems of the Christian Mystics All Saints: Daily Reflections on Saints, Prophets, and Witnesses for Our Time
More Books >>


Teresa of Avila, Teresa of Avila poetry, Christian poetry Teresa of Avila

Spain (1515 – 1582) Timeline
Christian : Catholic

Continue Reading »

2 responses so far

Feb 07 2025

Attar – About True Seekers

Published by under Poetry

About True Seekers
by Farid ud-Din Attar

English version by Sholeh Wolpé

Wayfarer, know that in the battlefield of pain,
love may come with annihilation.
You whose existence is mingled
with nonexistence,
you whose joys are mingled with grief,
if you don’t experience some ups and downs,
how will you ever know relief?

You bravely strike like lightning,
then cover yourself with rubbish
to protect against the shock.
What are you doing?
Rise up like a true seeker.
Set fire to reason
and flare into a mad lover.

If you hesitate over this alchemy,
at least come and take a quick look.
How long will you stay in your head?
Become like me, leave your self.
For once, show foresight
so that in the end you too can become
a dervish and joyfully arrive
at annihilation of the self.

I who am neither myself nor other than myself
have traveled beyond reason, good and evil thoughts.
I’ve lost my self within myself.
The only cure is the incurable.

When the sun of poverty landed on me,
both worlds twirled together into a single shaft of light.
And when I saw that column of light
I passed on into no self; became
a drop of water and joined the stream.

All that I had won and lost,
I threw away into black waters.
I disappeared, became lost, void.
I became a shadow without a single atom,
a drop of water that had joined the ocean.
Good luck finding that droplet.
Such loss of self is not for all,
but I joined the eternal union
and there are many like me.
Who in the world, from a dust mote to the moon,
wouldn’t want to be lost this way?

— from The Conferences of the Birds, by Attar / Translated by Sholeh Wolpé


/ Image by Fernando Rodrigues /

I have been thinking this morning of the meandering road that has been the Poetry Chaikhana. I first set up the Poetry Chaikhana website in 2004. That’s twenty years! During those twenty years I have expanded the library of online poetry to include several hundred poets from around the world and throughout history. In the early days I often sent out five or six poem emails a week! That’s when the “daily poem” was truly a daily poem. I eventually shifted to three a week and finally settled into the current rhythm of one poem email (almost) every week. (I still catch myself wanting to refer to it as the “daily poem” and have to pivot to “poem email.”)

But it’s just hitting me today: Twenty years! There are young adults today who were not even born when I started the Poetry Chaikhana online. On the Internet, anything older than five years seems lost in the mists of prehistory. There are two possible explanation for the Poetry Chaikhana’s survival over these twenty years… One is, obviously, ancient aliens. The other explanation is you, the Poetry Chaikhana community. Your steady support and comments and, yes, even prayers year after year, through my own personal ups and downs, through the evolving online landscape, your purchase of books, your donations, your poetry suggestions, the stories you’ve shared of your own personal journeys — all of that together is why the Poetry Chaikhana is still here today.

At this moment I am feeling immense gratitude for you all. This is my opportunity to say thank you to all of you!

It is poems like this that still make me say, Wow! I have to share this with all the mad lovers out there!

What are you doing?
Rise up like a true seeker.
Set fire to reason
and flare into a mad lover.

Even the poems that are dark and challenging, especially them. The ones I have to gird up to read, where it takes all my courage just to take a quick honest look–

If you hesitate over this alchemy,
at least come and take a quick look.
I disappeared, became lost, void.
I became a shadow without a single atom,
a drop of water that had joined the ocean.
Good luck finding that droplet.
Such loss of self is not for all,
but I joined the eternal union
and there are many like me.

— in order to arrive precisely at the Self of selves.

Who in the world, from a dust mote to the moon,
wouldn’t want to be lost this way?

Have a beautiful day!


Recommended Books: Farid ud-Din Attar

Poetry for the Spirit: Poems of Universal Wisdom and Beauty The Drunken Universe: An Anthology of Persian Sufi Poetry Music of a Distant Drum: Classical Arabic, Persian, Turkish & Hebrew Poems Perfume of the Desert: Inspirations from Sufi Wisdom The Conferences of the Birds
More Books >>


Farid ud-Din Attar, Farid ud-Din Attar poetry, Muslim / Sufi poetry Farid ud-Din Attar

Iran/Persia (1120? – 1220?) Timeline
Muslim / Sufi

Continue Reading »

No responses yet

Jan 24 2025

Marina Tsvetaeva – I know the truth

Published by under Poetry

I know the truth
by Marina Tsvetaeva

English version by Elaine Feinstein

I know the truth — give up all other truths!
No need for people anywhere on earth to struggle.
Look — it is evening, look, it is nearly night:
what do you speak of, poets, lovers, generals?

The wind is level now, the earth is wet with dew,
the storm of stars in the sky will turn to quiet.
And soon all of us will sleep under the earth, we
who never let each other sleep above it.

— from Tsvetayeva: Selected Poems, by Marina Tsvetaeva / Translated by Elaine Feinstein


/ Image by Niko Tsviliov /

I return to this poem regularly, and it brings me to a halt each time. There is such a mature, weary compassion in these lines.

The question is not whether we will live or die. We all live (though we may not always feel as if we do). And we all die (though we may discover that death is not what we imagined).

The real question is, while we move and act upon the earth, do we ease the suffering of others or add to it? Will we let each other rest above the earth, or only beneath it?

Life and death are a given. It is what we do along our journey between those two road markers that matters.

The whole while the earth says, “Is not every beautiful thing yours already?” And the night sky, for all its immense movement, is completely at peace. So what has humanity lost sight of?


Recommended Books: Marina Tsvetaeva

Women in Praise of the Sacred: 43 Centuries of Spiritual Poetry by Women Tsvetayeva: Selected Poems Tsvetaeva Milestones A Russian Psyche: The Poetic Mind of Marina Tsvetaeva
More Books >>


Marina Tsvetaeva, Marina Tsvetaeva poetry, Secular or Eclectic poetry Marina Tsvetaeva

Russia (1892 – 1941) Timeline
Secular or Eclectic

Continue Reading »

No responses yet

Jan 17 2025

e. e. cummings – may my heart always

Published by under Poetry

may my heart always be open to little
by e. e. cummings

may my heart always be open to little
birds who are the secrets of living
whatever they sing is better than to know
and if men should not hear them men are old

may my mind stroll about hungry
and fearless and thirsty and supple
and even if it’s sunday may i be wrong
for whenever men are right they are not young

and may myself do nothing usefully
and love yourself so more than truly
there’s never been quite such a fool who could fail
pulling all the sky over him with one smile

— from E.E. Cummings: Complete Poems 1904-1962, by e. e. cummings


/ Image by Dan Bojorquez /

I want to start by addressing the fires still raging in Southern California. I was an adolescent in the LA area, not far from where many of the fires are now burning. I no longer have family in the area and I haven’t been back in many years, but I have history there, formative moments associated with those places. I carry the imprint of the land with me. So, even from a distance, the fires feel personal.

To all of you affected more directly by the fires, my heart goes out to you and your communities.

The rhythms of the world feel as if they have shifted. The hills surrounding LA have always been prone to fires, but never with such destruction and size. Just as many areas have always been vulnerable to hurricanes, but never with such size and ferocity and frequency. It feels as if few places on the planet are truly stable and reliable these days, requiring us to dig deep to discover an inner source of security while becoming supremely flexible in dealing with a shifting landscape — all while trying to help and ease suffering where we can. I guess our work is laid out for us…

Now, on to today’s poem–

Boy… e.e. cummings.

Any commentary or thoughts you want to share? Me, I’m not sure I want to touch this one! Anything that betrays too much of a fixed reading of this poem feels misplaced. (“for whenever men are right they are not young”)

far better to roll wordlets with otherthan meanings
and let them pool slow in the honey-glad heart

I think I’ll just reread the poem…

may my mind stroll about hungry
and fearless and thirsty and supple

Be well making your way through this perilous, wondrous world.


Recommended Books: e. e. cummings

E.E. Cummings: Complete Poems 1904-1962 73 Poems 1 x 1 [One Times One] 50 Poems 95 Poems
More Books >>


e. e. cummings, e. e. cummings poetry, Secular or Eclectic poetry e. e. cummings

US (1894 – 1962) Timeline
Secular or Eclectic

More poetry by e. e. cummings

3 responses so far

Jan 03 2025

Lu Tung Pin – What is Tao

Published by under Poetry

What is Tao?
by Lu Tung Pin

English version by T. C. Lai

What is Tao?
It is just this.
It cannot be rendered into speech.
If you insist on an explanation,
This means exactly this.


/ Image by Mael Balland /

Happy New Year!

What is Tao?
It is just this.

I remember the first time I tried to navigate through the Tao Te Ching as a teenager. There was undeniably something beautiful and poetic about it, but it was so infuriatingly vague! What is “the Tao”? Calling it The Way doesn’t help. Are we talking about God? A path or a practice? Something else? Other Taoist writings were the same, taunting me with endless non-definitions. (I wanted clear goals I could aggressively pursue!)

It took me years to begin to appreciate this approach…

It cannot be rendered into speech.

There’s a real dilemma at the heart of religion and spiritual endeavor. The Eternal, the Whole cannot be adequately held by such small containers as words. Yet we humans are instinctively communicators and word-makers. What are the sages and saints to do with their perceptions? How do they render the Eternal comprehensible to others and inspire new seekers? Describe the profound love and bliss and unity, and we naturally name it Mother. Convey the immensity and power, we name it Father. Or we say Beloved. Or Friend.

All of these are valid ways to begin to form a notion of the Eternal. Through these words we as individuals can form a relationship to this vast Reality. And through this relationship we can be drawn into deeper awareness, into deeper opening, and into our own direct encounter… at which point we realize how inadequate all words are.

The problem arises when the mystics are no longer heard or are relegated to history, when too few people have their own direct wordless encounter. Then we end up with entire religions stuck at the level of words. No matter how sacred and truth-filled those words may be, words are always incomplete. Words alone are soon taken literally, and then true knowledge is lost. Not knowing what is real, religion becomes embalmed, self-protective, sectarian, and sometimes violent.

The wounds of religion are healed through compassion and through direct perception. Instead of forcing meaning, we settle into ourselves and come to see things as they are.

If you insist on an explanation,
This means exactly this.

Have a beautiful, undefined day!


Recommended Books: Lu Tung Pin

The Secret of the Golden Flower: The Classic Chinese Book of Life The Eight Immortals of Taoism: Legends and Fables of Popular Taoism Tales of the Taoist Immortals Tao of Health, Longevity, and Immortality: The Teachings of Immortals Chung and Lu


Lu Tung Pin, Lu Tung Pin poetry, Taoist poetry Lu Tung Pin

China (755 – 805) Timeline
Taoist

Continue Reading »

One response so far

Dec 20 2024

John of the Cross – The Fountain

Published by under Poetry

The Fountain
by John of the Cross

English version by Willis Barnstone

How well I know that flowing spring
      in black of night.

The eternal fountain is unseen.
How well I know where she has been
      in black of night.

I do not know her origin.
None. Yet in her all things begin
      in black of night.

I know that nothing is so fair
and earth and firmament drink there
      in black of night.

I know that none can wade inside
to find her bright bottomless tide
      in black of night.

Her shining never has a blur;
I know that all light comes from her
      in black of night.

I know her streams converge and swell
and nourish people, skies and hell
      in black of night.

The stream whose birth is in this source
I know has a gigantic force
      in black of night.

The stream from but these two proceeds
yet neither one, I know, precedes
      in black of night.

The eternal fountain is unseen
in living bread that gives us being
      in black of night.

She calls on all mankind to start
to drink her water, though in dark,
      for black is night.

O living fountain that I crave,
in bread of life I see her flame
      in black of night.

— from To Touch the Sky: Poems of Mystical, Spiritual & Metaphysical Light, Translated by Willis Barnstone


/ Image by John Wilson /

As we enter the Christmas season, my thoughts turn to one of my favorite Christian poets, John of the Cross. This is a relatively simple poem, but it touches on several key themes in John of the Cross’s writings: a dark night, unknowing, and a fountain.

In this poem, John of the Cross is speaking of a secret fountain as if it is a divine, living being — and it is. This isn’t merely a poetic metaphor, it is a description of actual mystical experience rendered into the language of poetry.

Mystics throughout the world and in all traditions describe an awareness of a flowing of water, a water that is alive. Coming into contact with that water, touching it, drinking it, feeling it flow inside you and all around you, quickens a new sense of life within. Everything, yourself included, is suddenly seen as radically alive in a way that could not have been imagined before. It is this water that is the foundational “stuff” of the manifest world, all things are formed of it and exist within it.

Accompanying this is a sense of a rising up and overflowing of energy — a fountain. This is felt as originating in the seat, beginning to spread out in the solar plexus, flowing generously in the heart, and anointing the crown with a glistening light.

John of the Cross refers to this fountain as “she,” equating it with the Holy Spirit in Christian tradition.

And why is this fountain always discovered “in black of night”? Night, the dark night of the soul, is fundamental to the mystical language developed by John of the Cross. One way to understand it is as the disorienting space of initiation, when the awareness has released its identification with material creation, and waits uncertainly for the Divine. Understood this way, the night is the spiritual threshold. It is within this psychic emptiness that we discover the fountain.

May this Christmas, Solstice, Hanukkah, New Year be one of healing and renewal. May we all rediscover the spiritual light amidst the dark of winter. Sending love to you all.


Recommended Books: John of the Cross

The Longing in Between: Sacred Poetry from Around the World (A Poetry Chaikhana Anthology) Poetry for the Spirit: Poems of Universal Wisdom and Beauty Real Thirst: Poetry of the Spiritual Journey To Touch the Sky: Poems of Mystical, Spiritual & Metaphysical Light For Lovers of God Everywhere: Poems of the Christian Mystics
More Books >>


John of the Cross, John of the Cross poetry, Christian poetry John of the Cross

Spain (1542 – 1591) Timeline
Christian : Catholic

Continue Reading »

4 responses so far

Dec 07 2024

John O’Donohue – For a New Beginning

Published by under Poetry

For a New Beginning
by John O’Donohue

In out-of-the-way places of the heart,
Where your thoughts never think to wander,
This beginning has been quietly forming,
Waiting until you were ready to emerge.

For a long time it has watched your desire,
Feeling the emptiness growing inside you,
Noticing how you willed yourself on,
Still unable to leave what you had outgrown.

It watched you play with the seduction of safety
And the gray promises that sameness whispered,
Heard the waves of turmoil rise and relent,
Wondered would you always live like this.

Then the delight, when your courage kindled,
And out you stepped onto new ground,
Your eyes young again with energy and dream,
A path of plenitude opening before you.

Though your destination is not yet clear
You can trust the promise of this opening;
Unfurl yourself into the grace of beginning
That is at one with your life’s desire.

Awaken your spirit to adventure;
Hold nothing back, learn to find ease in risk;
Soon you will be home in a new rhythm,
For your soul senses the world that awaits you.

johnodonohue.com


/ Image by Shermeee /

A poem for a new beginning–

Though your destination is not yet clear
You can trust the promise of this opening

Isn’t this a wonderful reminder of hope and new pathways?

For a long time it has watched your desire,
Feeling the emptiness growing inside you,

We might read these lines as poetically phrased wish fulfillment, but there is a deeper insight here. This is the underlying technique, consciously or unconsciously, mostly unconsciously, that we bring anything into existence. We feel an emptiness or a void or a yearning. It be energetically charged until it magnetically draws to itself its own fulfillment. The more we can befriend that aching space in ourselves and our lives, the more we can nurture it and enliven it, until it magically flips from emptiness to fullness and manifestation.

Unfurl yourself into the grace of beginning
That is at one with your life’s desire.

I like that this poem is kind to the phases of our lives when we feel stuck or reluctant to change and explore. Yet, at the same time, it recognizes that the safety of familiar routine can be a seductive illusion.

When I was young I actively undermined any routines I found in myself, convinced that they led to a sort of psychic numbness and lack of deep fulfillment. I think there was truth in that perspective, but there was also self-cruelty in that approach and it led to instability. Once I came to see that, I worked very hard, sometimes painfully, at the cultivation of routine, and began to find unexpected life nourishment there. The crucial element, I think, is that those routines should be consciously selected rather than imposed on us by societal expectation or unexamined habit.

And we can’t fall into the seductive idea that we are those routines or happiness depends on them. Routine creates essential structure, but endless stasis is death. Life and growth require change. Regular encounters with the new and the unknown reinvigorate the soul.

Awaken your spirit to adventure;
Hold nothing back, learn to find ease in risk

New avenues can sometimes be frightening, occasionally bringing genuine peril, so one shouldn’t be brash or blind to the situation. But a certain boldness is natural to our nature when we come to know ourselves. We need awareness, dynamism, creativity, a diversity of life skills — all wrapped in a vital joy. Then even the perils themselves serve to accentuate the magic and wonder of each stage of the journey.

Soon you will be home in a new rhythm,
For your soul senses the world that awaits you.

Sending love, courage, and new rhythms…


Recommended Books: John O’Donohue

To Bless the Space Between Us: A Book of Blessings Echoes of Memory Eternal Echoes: Celtic Reflections on Our Yearning to Belong Beauty: The Invisible Embrace Wisdom of the Celtic World (Audio CD)
More Books >>


John O'Donohue, John O'Donohue poetry, Christian poetry John O’Donohue

Ireland (1956 – 2008) Timeline
Christian : Catholic
Secular or Eclectic

Continue Reading »

One response so far

Nov 25 2024

Ansari – Give Me

Published by under Poetry

Give Me
by Khwaja Abdullah Ansari

English version by Andrew Harvey

O Lord, give me a heart
I can pour out in thanksgiving.
Give me life
So I can spend it
Working for the salvation of the world.

— from Perfume of the Desert: Inspirations from Sufi Wisdom, by Andrew Harvey / Eryk Hanut


/ Image by Cristian Bernal /

Something for us today as we approach the Thanksgiving holiday, a contemplation of heart and service and true thanksgiving.

There is something so simple and profound… and universal in this prayer-poem. These words were given to us by a devout Muslim Sufi, but they could as well have been spoken by a Hindu satyagrahi, a Catholic liberation theologian, a Buddhist peace worker, a Protestant homeless advocate, or any sincere soul striving to awaken the Divine within themself and the world.

Notice that Sheikh Ansari gives us two parallel statements, and they balance each other.

The first statement–

O Lord, give me a heart
I can pour out in thanksgiving.

–addresses our interior state. It is a prayer that we are “given” a heart, or that we may recognize our heart, awakening it. It is a prayer of centering, of coming to know the center of one’s being… and allowing that self to flow.

That flow naturally expresses itself through gratitude, thanksgiving. The flow of the heart is a gift we pour out into the world. It is the offering of one’s self.

So, first he asks for self-recognition, centering, and a gratitude which can be shared with the world.

Next–

Give me life
So I can spend it
Working for the salvation of the world.

–the poet turns that awareness outward through action. He requests life, but not for selfish reasons, not because he thinks is only that earthly life; he asks for life that he may be of service.

Now, that phrase “working for the salvation of the world,” may make some of us cringe. The term “salvation” has been abducted by rigid religious literalists, equating salvation with subscribing to their specific belief systems. But, despite what is thundered from the pulpits and the minbars, salvation has little to do with belief or which group one joins. It is about healing, the easing of pain, the renewal of hope, and a deepening relationship with truth. On a social level, this is best expressed through selfless, nonjudgmental service. On the spiritual level, working for salvation is about humbly peeling away the obstructions that keep individuals and the world as a whole from recognizing their inherent beauty and heavenly potential.

On a certain level, service in the world is a sort of religious ritual, an outward enactment of an inner process. We may help one person or a hundred or a thousand, but suffering continues in the world. The numbers game leads to discouragement. But with each kind act, small or large, we give away a little more ego, we open our eyes a little more, we feel a little more connected, and more and more we come to discover that serene, heavenly Self at rest within.

Ansari seems to be saying to us, when we discover beauty within, it naturally flows out of us into the world. And when we pour ourselves out for the healing of the world, we find wholeness within.


Recommended Books: Khwaja Abdullah Ansari

Poetry for the Spirit: Poems of Universal Wisdom and Beauty Islamic Mystical Poetry: Sufi Verse from the Early Mystics to Rumi Perfume of the Desert: Inspirations from Sufi Wisdom Ibn ‘Ata’ Illah the Book of Wisdom/Kwaja Abdullah Ansari Intimate Conversations Munajat: The Intimate Invocations
More Books >>


Khwaja Abdullah Ansari, Khwaja Abdullah Ansari poetry, Muslim / Sufi poetry Khwaja Abdullah Ansari

Afghanistan (1006 – 1088) Timeline
Muslim / Sufi

Continue Reading »

One response so far

Nov 15 2024

Teresa of Avila – Let nothing disturb you

Published by under Poetry

Let nothing disturb you
by Teresa of Avila

English version by Ivan M. Granger

(Lines written on a bookmark found in Teresa of Avila’s Breviary)

Let nothing disturb you;
Feel no fear.

All things pass;
God remains.

Patience and steadiness
Achieve all things.

When you are at one with God,
Nothing is found
      to be missing.

Of all things
God alone
fills all.


/ Image by Jonny Gios /

If you’ve been wondering what’s been up with me lately, I have, of course, been aware of world events lately, paying attention to the shifting energetic pathways that are unfolding and, on a more personal level, I have been especially busy with my day job as a computer programmer. But also, in my quiet moments, I have been reading. I have been re-reading Thoreau’s Walden.

Walden was a defining book for me. Reading it at about age 20, when I was struggling because, standing at the threshold of adulthood, I saw little I valued in the academic and career paths open to me at the time. I was out of sync with the world. I had immense, unnamed ambitions of an inner nature while being jostled about by a world that was excessively busy with its own ends, but largely empty. In that dark moment, I came across Thoreau, and I finally found a companion, someone who gave me permission think my own thoughts and see the world my own way. We need examples, those who inspire, yes, but also those who are clear seeing curmudgeons to call out stupidity and cruelty masquerading as unquestioned convention.

Thoreau taught me to seek the essential.

Simplify, simplify, simplify.

He also taught me to be a fighter, to examine and overturn every cherished truth in society.

He gave me the courage to be unique.

Rereading Thoreau today, I realize that he is crankier than I remembered, and I don’t as readily agree with every critique he lays before society, but his voice, like an American prophet, still resonates. His words still ring through the lengthening years.

But man’s capacities have never been measured; nor are we to judge of what he can do by any precedents, so little has been tried.

Maybe I’ll find a way to share more of my thoughts on Walden in future Poetry Chaikhana emails. I’m nurturing a few ideas.

Have the writings of Thoreau meant something to you? Which other writers or books have been transformative to you at key points in your life?

=

Something for us today by the great Catholic saint and reformer, Teresa of Avila.

I like that this selection, unlike more formally composed poems and songs, feels jotted down by St. Teresa, personal notes to herself, poetic reminders from herself to herself, to be seen each time she refers to her book of daily prayers.

Simple observations on the relationship between one’s self, “all things” — the world, the externalized world, the world of people and things and experiences — and God.

All things pass;
God remains.

Everything we can separate out and label within the mind, every “thing,” is inherently transitory. Even the most concrete fixture of the landscape or in society eventually changes and disappears.

This recognition is often terrifying to the little self. What can we call a certainty? With everything coming into and out of existence and continuously changing in the process, can we even know what a thing is before it is something else or gone completely? Since we so often define ourselves by the things in our lives, how can we safely know who or what we are?

Fear becomes the continuous experience of the small self.

Let nothing disturb you;
Feel no fear.

Yes, all things pass. Nothing remains the same. Even who we imagine ourselves to be changes. But when we recognize the rightness of this, that there is, in fact, a flow to existence, then we can relax and let go of that fear.

Patience and steadiness
Achieve all things.

I particularly like these lines. As an Aries child, full of fire and bursts of erratic action, I was just as likely to bloody my head against the wall as achieve my half-formed goals. The long lesson of adulthood has been, for me, the cultivation of patience and steadiness. The truth of this line is not as transactional as stating that persistent action eventually pays off — though that is often the case. The deeper truth, I find, is that steady action, steady purpose, cultivates a steadiness of mind, regardless of outcome. When the mind is steady, it is less easily unsettled by things shifting around us. When the mind is steady, it more naturally settles into stillness. When we are steady, we settle into oneness with God.

When you are at one with God,
Nothing is found
      to be missing.

We find this statement by mystics throughout the world’s traditions. In God we find all things.

It is the final line explains it to me:

Of all things
God alone
fills all.

I’m sure you’ve had this happen to you before: There was something you desperately wanted, a promotion at work, a new lover, some prized object, anything, and then you got it and — you felt deflated. It was nice for a moment or a week, and then you felt nothing. Worse than nothing, you had poured so much energy into attaining this yearned for thing, and then it betrayed you by not fulfilling its promise of joy and satisfaction. That’s just it. Everything — every thing we can call a “thing” — is not only constantly changing and disappearing, it is also empty. One empty thing leaves us empty. Ten empty things still just leaves us empty, A really huge empty thing just leaves us feeling hugely empty.

God alone fills all. Fulfillment is found only in the Eternal.

That doesn’t mean everyone should abandon their house and take religious vows. And, of course, so many of the people and even things in our lives can bring us a certain amount of fulfillment and meaning. But it is not really having that person or thing in our lives that fills us up. When we really look, we see that each relationship or thing that is meaningful to us is acting as a sort of metaphor or outer representation of something already within ourselves. That person or experience or thing mirrors back to us something about ourselves that shines. We use the outer “thing” as permission to witness our own inner light. In other words, whether in the smile of a beloved spouse, the achievement of a hard earned goal, or the glory of a rosy sunset spread across the ocean, it is the light of the Divine we see, and that is when we come back to ourselves, and that is what fills us up, returning us to wholeness.

Have a beautiful day!


Recommended Books: Teresa of Avila

The Longing in Between: Sacred Poetry from Around the World (A Poetry Chaikhana Anthology) Poetry for the Spirit: Poems of Universal Wisdom and Beauty Women in Praise of the Sacred: 43 Centuries of Spiritual Poetry by Women For Lovers of God Everywhere: Poems of the Christian Mystics All Saints: Daily Reflections on Saints, Prophets, and Witnesses for Our Time
More Books >>


Teresa of Avila, Teresa of Avila poetry, Christian poetry Teresa of Avila

Spain (1515 – 1582) Timeline
Christian : Catholic

Continue Reading »

One response so far

Oct 25 2024

Hafiz – I feel this yen

Published by under Poetry

I feel this yen
by Hafiz

English version by Erfan Mojib & Gary Gach

I feel this yen
To tell you
Of my heart

The language of love
Remains untold
In any human tongue

My words are veiled
The way the rose
Emerges from a bud

I don’t know who is living
      Inside this weary heart of mine
For I am silent but he
      Is always full of sound & fury

If you’re not our classmate
In the School of Love —
Drown your notebook !
( True knowledge isn’t there. )

Where is the mystic
Who understands
The language
Of
The lilies
?

Why do they leave
Only to return again
?

— from Hafiz’s Little Book of Life, Translated by Erfan Mojib / Translated by Gary Gach


/ Image by Jon Butterworth /

Even though he is greatly beloved, I don’t feature Hafiz as often as his status might merit. The main reason for that is because, frankly, there is a lot of confusion in the English-speaking world about what is and is not genuine Hafiz poetry.

The confusion arises because of Daniel Ladinsky’s popular book of poetry, The Gift. Ladinsky’s books put me in an awkward spot. I really like the poetry from Ladinsky’s books… but, well, they aren’t actually by Hafiz. Ladinsky’s The Gift: Poems by Hafiz the Great Sufi Master actually contains no lines of poetry written by the great Sufi poet Hafiz!

Daniel Ladinsky seems to acknowledge this in his introduction to the book, when he writes, “I feel my relationship to Hafiz defies all reason… I had an astounding dream in which I saw Hafiz as an Infinite Fountaining Sun (I saw him as God), who sang hundreds of lines of his poetry to me in English, asking me to give that message to ‘my artists and seekers.’”

You might say that Ladinsky’s poetry is “inspired by” Hafiz. Or, if you prefer a broader interpretation, you could say Ladinsky channels Hafiz. But his “translations” are not the historical writings of Hafiz. From the more limited scholar’s definition, these are poems by Daniel Ladinsky, not Hafiz.

So here’s what I do: I enjoy Ladinsky’s playful, profound poetry, but I look to other books to savor the historical poetry of Hafiz that Sufis and seekers have delighted in for centuries…

These snippets that I am featuring today are genuine lines of Hafiz poetry, however. The collection I found them in Hafiz’s Little Book of Life is an inspired, mischievous sampler of lines from Hafiz, often just one or two couplets per page, inviting you to open to any page to see what the poet has to say to you in the moment — a practice common with Hafiz poetry in many parts of the Persian-speaking world.

I love the images of these lines–

My words are veiled
The way the rose
Emerges from a bud

They suggest the way deep meaning is hidden within simple words, the way all of reality, really, holds such life within it, just waiting to blossom into fullness within our awareness.

Where is the mystic
Who understands
The language
Of
The lilies
?

Why do they leave
Only to return again
?


Recommended Books: Hafiz

The Gift: Poems by Hafiz the Great Sufi Master Music of a Distant Drum: Classical Arabic, Persian, Turkish & Hebrew Poems Islamic Mystical Poetry: Sufi Verse from the Early Mystics to Rumi Love’s Alchemy: Poems from the Sufi Tradition The Hand of Poetry: Five Mystic Poets of Persia, with Lectures by Inayat Khan
More Books >>


Hafiz

Iran/Persia (1320 – 1389) Timeline
Muslim / Sufi

Continue Reading »

No responses yet

Oct 19 2024

Shiki – A pruned branch

Published by under Poetry

A pruned branch
by Shiki (Masaoka Tsunenori)

English version by Hart Larrabee

A pruned branch
And dawn comes easily
To my little window

— from Haiku Illustrated: Classic Japanese Short Poems, Translated by Hart Larrabee


/ Image by Jonas Denil /

I don’t think I have featured a poem by the great modern haiku poet Shiki. I was sipping tea this morning, reading through a selection of haiku, and this haiku caused me to stop and smile.

Let’s pause and really contemplate this haiku for a moment. Because of a pruned branch, the dawn light is able to flood the poet’s window. Specific details precisely observed, yet they resonate in the awareness. We don’t need to conceptualize anything beyond that imagery for energy to brew and ferment in the mind, slowly expanding our awareness of the morning.

Perhaps the window is the poet’s awareness, our awareness, our view out onto the world. Working from there, we can then say that the dawn light in our ability to perceive clearly, that moment of satori or true insight, the dawning of enlightenment. The branch then, can be said to be all the things that normally block the view from window, impeding a clear view. The act of pruning that branch, then, might be said to be the things we do to clear that view, our spiritual practices and discipline, or perhaps pruning our lives down to an elegant simplicity.

Spiritual practice and simplicity prepare the way so enlightenment can reach the window of our perception.

Or perhaps we simply enjoy a moment enjoying the play of light at the window as we sip from a cup of tea.

Have a beautiful day!


Recommended Books: Shiki (Masaoka Tsunenori)

Haiku Illustrated: Classic Japanese Short Poems


Shiki (Masaoka Tsunenori), Shiki (Masaoka Tsunenori) poetry, Buddhist poetry Shiki (Masaoka Tsunenori)

Japan (1867 – 1902) Timeline
Buddhist : Zen / Chan

More poetry by Shiki (Masaoka Tsunenori)

One response so far

Oct 04 2024

Anna Akhmatova – A land not mine

Published by under Poetry

A land not mine, still
by Anna Akhmatova

English version by Jane Kenyon

A land not mine, still
forever memorable,
the waters of its ocean
chill and fresh.

Sand on the bottom whiter than chalk,
and the air drunk, like wine,
late sun lays bare
the rosy limbs of the pinetrees.

Sunset in the ethereal waves:
I cannot tell if the day
is ending, or the world, or if
the secret of secrets is inside me again.

— from Women in Praise of the Sacred: 43 Centuries of Spiritual Poetry by Women, Edited by Jane Hirshfield


/ Image by Mohamed Nohassi /

In honor of Navratri, the Hindu festival of nine nights in honor of the feminine face of God, I was thinking of selecting a poem dedicated to the Mother Goddess by Ramprasad or Kamalakanta, but then I thought I should select something by a female poet. As I started scanning through the women poets on the Poetry Chaikhana, I realized that it has been far too long since I last highlighted a poem by the great Russian poet Anna Akhmatova. Her writing and her life embody so much of the strength of women in a complex and often harsh world, while courageously retaining a vision of the inner life and the aspirations of the human spirit.

This is a favorite poem of mine from Anna Akhmatova. Though she wrote during some of the bleakest times of Soviet Russia, there are moments of radiant — one might even say, transcendent — joy that emerges in her poems.

A land not mine, still
forever memorable…

There is something of the mystic’s experience in these lines. An ocean. Light. Deep rest and the sense of life. A brilliant white. Wine…

Sand on the bottom whiter than chalk,
and the air drunk, like wine…

Soon, you find yourself asking, Is the day ending, or the world? Ultimately, it is you who are ending. The train of mental chatter has come to a halt. The world and what you called yourself are not as you thought at all, and both are new and alive and too vast to be called your own.

Then you know that the secret of secrets is within you. And it is so deeply familiar you must have known it before, and it is there again.

I cannot tell if the day
is ending, or the world, or if
the secret of secrets is inside me again.

During this time may we all see in the immensity of existence and in the challenges of life the face of the Eternal Mother.


Recommended Books: Anna Akhmatova

Women in Praise of the Sacred: 43 Centuries of Spiritual Poetry by Women The Complete Poems of Anna Akhmatova Poems of Akhmatova Dancing with Joy: 99 Poems


Anna Akhmatova, Anna Akhmatova poetry, Secular or Eclectic poetry Anna Akhmatova

Russia (1889 – 1966) Timeline
Secular or Eclectic

Continue Reading »

3 responses so far

Sep 30 2024

Rumi – I lost my world, my fame, my mind

Published by under Poetry

I lost my world, my fame, my mind
by Mevlana Jelaluddin Rumi

English version by Andrew Harvey

I lost my world, my fame, my mind —
The Sun appeared, and all the shadows ran.
I ran after them, but vanished as I ran —
Light ran after me and hunted me down.

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


/ Image by Lynh Nguyen /

A rare Monday poem today. But it is international Rumi Day, and I had to take a moment to share a Rumi poem with you all…

The Sun appeared, and all the shadows ran.

Many of Rumi’s poems make reference to the sun. This always has layered meaning for Rumi since he was deeply devoted to his spiritual teacher Shams of Tabriz… The name Shams means “the sun.”

The sun for Rumi can be God or the radiance of God shining through his beloved teacher or the light of enlightenment. Though why should we separate them out? They are all the same Light.

The light of God comes, the clarity of enlightenment shines, and the shadows disappear.

Of course, seeing the world in this way removes us from society’s consensus reality. In that light, we see things simply and purely as they are, not as we are told they are. Standing outside that shadow world, we realize that every role we play in life, in fact, our thoughts have not journeyed with us across the threshold:

I lost my world, my fame, my mind —

Filled with that light, surrounded by the light, all of existence interpermeated by that light, we can search for some root or tendril of those things that once seemed so immutable and defining, but the more we search, the more we recognize how gossamer thin the very fabric of our own identity actually is.

I ran after them, but vanished as I ran —
Light ran after me and hunted me down.

Then it hits us: We are not really “selves,” we are not the distinct nuggets of identity commonly imagined, we are not even illumined beings surrounded and permeated by light. There is only light, and no “I” in the midst of it. The only “self” we can claim is not really a separate being but, rather, a distinct point-of-view within that one immense shining Being. The enlightened mystic sees only that light, dancing and playing, sometimes eddying into “me” and “you” and all the world, without actually losing its luminescent nature or flow.

So, seekers, while you are on your spiritual hunt, remember to look over your shoulder. That glow you glimpse might just be hunting you.

Happy birthday, Jelaluddin!


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, Mevlana Jelaluddin Rumi poetry, Muslim / Sufi poetry Mevlana Jelaluddin Rumi

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

Continue Reading »

No responses yet

Sep 27 2024

Ivan M. Granger – Bent

Published by under Poetry

Bent
by Ivan M. Granger

Yes, seekers, do
sit up,
stand tall.

But hear
my bent secret:

      All saints slouch.

God’s lovers lean
into the divine embrace
and there
let the years pass.

      Struggling for straightness,
      your strivings shaken,

      learn what true knowers know:

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

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


/ Image by Guillaume Bolduc /

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 then again, 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!


Recommended Books: Ivan M. Granger

The Longing in Between: Sacred Poetry from Around the World (A Poetry Chaikhana Anthology) This Dance of Bliss: Ecstatic Poetry from Around the World Real Thirst: Poetry of the Spiritual Journey For Lovers of God Everywhere: Poems of the Christian Mystics Diamond Cutters: Visionary Poets in America, Britain & Oceania
More Books >>


Ivan M. Granger, Ivan M. Granger poetry, Secular or Eclectic poetry Ivan M. Granger

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

Continue Reading »

4 responses so far

Sep 06 2024

Rainer Maria Rilke – The hour is striking so close above me

Published by under Poetry

The hour is striking so close above me
by Rainer Maria Rilke

English version by Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy

The hour is striking so close above me,
so clear and sharp,
that all my senses ring with it.
I feel it now: there’s a power in me
to grasp and give shape to my world.

I know that nothing has ever been real
without my beholding it.
All becoming has needed me.
My looking ripens things
and they come toward me, to meet and be met.

— from Rilke’s Book of Hours: Love Poems to God, by Rainer Maria Rilke / Translated by Joanna Macy


/ Image by Francisco Moreno /

It has been a while since I last featured something by Rilke. This poem is not as well known as some of his others, but there is so much I like about it.

The hour is striking so close above me

The first verse speaks to us of the immediacy of the present moment. We, along with the poet, awaken to the Now with a widening awareness. Our senses become alive in a new way. But there is more going on than sensory perception.

I feel it now: there’s a power in me
to grasp and give shape to my world.

That’s a surprising statement. When we really step into the present moment we have an unexpected sense of majesty and command. In some way we become participants in the act of creation.

Rilke continues:

I know that nothing has ever been real
without my beholding it.
All becoming has needed me.

What do you suppose Rilke is trying to say to us? Here is how I understand it. When we are quiet, when we are still, when we fully step into the present moment, we encounter reality in a very different way. We necessarily drop our mental projections about what has happened in the past, what will happen in the future, and, most importantly, what is happening right now.

Let’s use a simple example of noticing a tree on a walk. Most of the time, if a tree registers in our awareness at all as we go by, we minimally acknowledge it as “tree” and walk on. That “tree” we noted conjures up in the mind several elements: a canopy of leaves, usually green leaves, a central trunk, a general sense of height. We notice a tree, we think “tree” and we paint this picture in the mind. But we never quite saw the tree. We never saw that tree. We didn’t really encounter it. The tree wasn’t real. It was an idea of a tree.

If, however, we stop and turn around and really see the tree, truly behold it, without preconception, allowing the tree to simply be as it is and allowing ourselves to become quiet witnesses — that is when the tree becomes real.

There is a magic in such moments of encounter, when we let them happen. The world comes alive. This is not just something that happens internally in us as the quiet, present witness, but in the people and things that are witnessed. We all wait to be seen, truly seen. Even a tree. The universe is a grand stage of awareness waiting to meet awareness. We all come alive when we see and are seen.

My looking ripens things
and they come toward me, to meet and be met.


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, Rainer Maria Rilke poetry, Secular or Eclectic poetry Rainer Maria Rilke

Germany (1875 – 1926) Timeline
Secular or Eclectic

More poetry by Rainer Maria Rilke

2 responses so far

Aug 23 2024

Ko Un – Two beggars

Published by under Poetry

Two beggars
by Ko Un

Two beggars
sharing a meal of the food they’ve been given

The new moon shines intensely

— from This Dance of Bliss: Ecstatic Poetry from Around the World, Edited by Ivan M. Granger


/ Image by Mr. Kris /

I find this short poem deeply moving. My first instinct is to say it is filled with compassion, but that’s not exactly what this poem is about. Ko Un isn’t telling us to see the hunger of these two beggars and to feed them. There is something else going on. He is, instead, calling on us to see not two beggars, but two human beings in communion, expressing their humanity even in their extremity. These two beggars aren’t objects of pity; they have become our teachers.

The two are hungry, yet they share the very little they have with one another. They have given us a moment to see a human connection at its most desperate, yet most profound moment.

In that simple act of human communion, something heavenly is recognized. And we, the witnesses, are that much more alive, awakened from our own spiritual lethargy, as a result.

The new moon shines intensely.


Recommended Books: Ko Un

What?: 108 Zen Poems Ten Thousand Lives The Three Way Tavern: Selected Poems Little Pilgrim: A Novel Flowers of a Moment


Ko Un, Ko Un poetry, Buddhist poetry Ko Un

Korea (1933 – )
Buddhist : Zen / Chan

Continue Reading »

2 responses so far

Aug 09 2024

Sarmad – Once I was bathed in the Light of Truth within

Published by under Poetry

Once I was bathed in the Light of Truth within
by Sarmad

English version by Isaac A. Ezekiel

Once I was bathed in the Light of Truth within,
      I abandoned all planning and scheming.
If you, too, seek this transcendence,
      leave your lower self — then from head to foot
      you will see your whole being as God’s refulgence.

— from Sarmad: Martyr to Love Divine, by Isaac A. Ezekiel


/ Image by Greyson Joralemon /

Once I was bathed in the Light of Truth within…

Light is one of the primary metaphors in sacred poetry, suggesting the Divine not framed within a mental concept. But for many genuine mystics, this light is directly experienced.

This light is perceived as being a living radiance that permeates everything, everywhere, always. 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 all.

And it’s fitting to speak of being “bathed.” This light is not merely an airy phenomenon of the visual realm; it is tactile, permeating, embracing, profoundly soothing, revitalizing, healing. Some describe it in liquid language: water, fountain, lake, a shining white or golden ocean.

…I abandoned all planning and scheming.

I particularly like this line. Within this radiant encounter with Unity, the mind falls silent, and so too does the personal (selfish) will. The thinking mind can only create elaborate constructions, using discreet conceptual segments of reality as its building blocks. But in this wholeness there are no parts or segments to grab hold of. All blocks are already in place, with no seam or handhold found.

And with the heart full, overflowing… What want remains to scheme after?

Freed from the endless compulsive efforts of the mind and self-will, it’s breathtaking just how much buried life and energy is released through us. Mind becomes an open sky, with invisible, gentle breeze currents. Self-will becomes effortless selfless-will. Instead of you perceiving and acting, it’s as if perception and action take place through you — in joyous, flowing ease.

If you, too, seek this transcendence,
      leave your lower self — then from head to foot
      you will see your whole being as God’s refulgence.

This is “God’s refulgence,” the light of the true mystics.


Recommended Books: Sarmad

The Longing in Between: Sacred Poetry from Around the World (A Poetry Chaikhana Anthology) Real Thirst: Poetry of the Spiritual Journey The Drunken Universe: An Anthology of Persian Sufi Poetry Sarmad: Martyr to Love Divine Sarmad: Jewish Saint of India
More Books >>


Sarmad

Iran/Persia & India (? – 1659) Timeline
Muslim / Sufi
Jewish

Continue Reading »

One response so far

Next »