Dec 07 2024
right action
Right action heals
in ways that even “success” cannot match.
Nov 25 2024
Ansari – Give Me
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
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Khwaja Abdullah Ansari
Afghanistan (1006 – 1088) Timeline |
Nov 25 2024
not religion
Religion that does not inspire
outward compassion and inward awakening
is not religion.
Nov 15 2024
Teresa of Avila – Let nothing disturb you
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?
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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
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Teresa of Avila |
Nov 15 2024
unzip
All objects, all people
that tug at your desire:
unzip them.
See what tumbles out.
Oct 25 2024
Hafiz – I feel this yen
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
?
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Hafiz
Iran/Persia (1320 – 1389) Timeline |
Oct 25 2024
appearance and reality
To a materialist,
appearance is reality.
To a mystic
appearance is an expression of reality
–which can reveal, but also deceive,
and always holds secrets.
Oct 19 2024
Shiki – A pruned branch
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)
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| Haiku Illustrated: Classic Japanese Short Poems | ||||
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Shiki (Masaoka Tsunenori)
Japan (1867 – 1902) Timeline |
Oct 19 2024
topographical
The map of the human soul
is a topographical map, with mountains
and valleys, and rivers of life everywhere.
Oct 04 2024
Anna Akhmatova – A land not mine
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
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| 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 | |
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Anna Akhmatova
Russia (1889 – 1966) Timeline |
Sep 30 2024
A note on the hurricanes and floods
I made the mistake of waking up and sending out the Rumi poem this morning without first glancing at the news — and therefore I made no mention of the terrible flooding and devastation in the wake of Hurricane Helene.
And I should also acknowledge of the escalating violence by and around Israel, now directed against Lebanon. The likelihood of a regional war increases with each new provocation.
These sorts of terrible and terrifying events remind us that we can no longer take old certainties and securities for granted. We have little choice but to turn inward for our meaning and security, while outwardly becoming more flexible, dynamic, and, where possible, be willing to help.
I am sending love and blessings to all of you and your loved ones.
Sep 30 2024
Rumi – I lost my world, my fame, my mind
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
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Mevlana Jelaluddin Rumi
Afghanistan & Turkey (1207 – 1273) Timeline |
Sep 27 2024
Ivan M. Granger – Bent
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
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Ivan M. Granger
US (1969 – ) |
Sep 27 2024
shared experiences
We are interconnected.
Our experiences
are always shared experiences.
Sep 06 2024
Rainer Maria Rilke – The hour is striking so close above me
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
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Rainer Maria Rilke
Germany (1875 – 1926) Timeline |