Saturday, April 8, 2017

Master Hsu Yun - The poise of a dying man

Beyond meditation practice, there is attitude.
 A beginner must learn to cultivate what is called
‘the poise of a dying man.’ What is this poise?
It is the poise of knowing what is important and what is not,
 and of being accepting and forgiving.

Anyone who has ever been at the bedside of a dying man will understand this poise.
What would the dying man do if someone were to insult him? Nothing.
What would the dying man do if someone were to strike him? Nothing.
As he lay there, would he scheme to become famous or wealthy? No.
If someone who had once offended him were to ask him for his forgiveness would he not give it?
Of course he would.

A dying man knows the pointlessness of enmity.
Hatred is always such a wretched feeling.
Who wishes to die feeling hatred in his heart? No one.
The dying seek love and peace.

The Autobiography of the Chinese Zen Master

Ella May Brown - The Room-less Kingdom

Fear dies to love,
it fades to an unknowing that love is made new in every place
the beloved whispers in all forms
like light in the darkest room
Though it seems time moves to something
there is only ever this,
as though the answer is never given or any question asked.
A fire burns always
it never dies
its the beloved
warming every cell
Clouds rush to it
from nowhere
they change it seems
but the dark vast sky it moves in always remains
Peace comes to no one,
peace laughs to see the search
through pages looking for a book
But the door is not open
for there is no door to the room-less kingdom.

Friday, April 7, 2017

Sahajo - Those gone mad in love

Those gone mad in love,
All of life is transformed for them.
Sahajo says: They don’t see
Who is a beggar or a king.

Those gone mad in love,
Caste and color have disappeared for them.
Sahajo says: The world calls them crazy,
And everyone near runs off.

Those gone mad in love,
Sahajo says: Their bodies waver
And their feet stagger out of control –
Then the divine takes care.

The mind is blissful,
The body is drunk with ecstasy.
Sahajo is with no one,
No one is with Sahajo

 more info on Sahajo at Source  site

Thursday, April 6, 2017

Mansur Al-Hallaj - Oh Thou, Wholeness of My Wholeness…

A leaf from an illustrated manuscript on poetry, Kashmir, 19th century. 
The scene depicts the burning and crucification of Mansur al-Hallaj.

   Lo and behold, here I am, here I am, oh my secret, oh my confidence!

    Lo and behold, here I am, here I am, oh Thou my aspiration, oh Thou my consequence!

    I call upon Thee… No, Thou art the one who calls me towards Thee!

    How could I have talked to Thee, if Thou would not have talked to me?

    Oh Thou, essence of the essence of my existence, oh Thou, end result of my design,

    Thou who makest me talk, oh Thou, my enunciations, Thou my blinks!

    Oh Thou, wholeness of my wholeness, oh my ear, oh my sight!

    Oh my totality, my constitution, and my parts!

    Oh Thou, wholeness of my wholeness, wholeness of everything, equivocal enigma,

    I darken the wholeness of thy wholeness when wanting to express thy being!

    Oh Thou, from whom my spirit was suspended before now when dying of ecstasy,

    Ah… thy pledge continues being my misfortune!...

    Oh supreme objective that I request and wait, oh my guest,

    Oh nourishment of my Spirit! Oh my life in this world and in the other!

    Let my heart be thy ransom! Oh my ear, oh my sight!

    Why so much delay in my seclusion, so distant?

    Ah, albeit, thy presence, before my eyes, is hidden within the invisible,

    My heart by now contemplates Thee, from my remoteness, yes, from my exile!


Hafiz - Good poetry

"Good poetry
Makes a beautiful naked woman
Materialize from words
Who then says,
With a sword precariously waving
In her hands,
“If you look at my loins
I will cut off your head,
And reach down and grab your spirit
By its private parts,
And carry you off to heaven,
Squealing in joy.”
Hafiz says,
“That sounds wonderful, just wonderful.”


Javad Nurbakhsh - The Beloved

An entire lifetime we have remained captives in our own cage.
This much is clear: we cannot become settled in this trap.

O Beloved, cast but a glance our way; have mercy:
We are the wretched and poor of Your lane.

O auspicious master, you who pay no attention to us,
Through your love our hearts grow young, however old we may be.

Ever since your love brought light to the house of the heart,
Our minds have been at peace, far from both cleric and king.

Once we heard Gabriel's call at the tavern door,
We became strangers to the melodies and songs of the world.

Come back and take this ego away, that only You might remain:
We've been weary and fed up with our existence for such a long time.

We've washed our hands of everything, that You might bestow light:
We've given our heads on Your path, and lie ready to die at Your feet. 


Wednesday, April 5, 2017

Marianne Broug - The green temple

I was wandering today
amidst the busy-ness
of my life,
wondering how it is
that so many must hold
this world with a restlessness such as this
in their hearts.

And then,
quite by chance,
I found
your temple.

I wondered if perhaps I was
too full of my everyday concerns,
to intrude.
But you saw me
and with opening arms
invited me in.
Of course. Of course.

I was captivated
by the beauty of my surrounds:
the vaulted ceilings,
the domes, the arches, the pillars,
the breathtaking
tapered walls,
the white mosaic
amidst the green and delicate design.

So many times I have entered
this place,
blind to your work.

But here, here, here,
Here you are.
Always here.
If only I would look.

Monday, April 3, 2017

Nesimi - What of it?

I myself took up the cloak of blame;
I smashed the bottle of honour and virtue on a stone.
        What of it?

Sometimes I rise up and watch the universe from above,
sometimes I go down to earth and lose myself in love.
        What of it?

Sometimes I study life’s meaning in the holy books,
sometimes I go to the tavern and get drunk.
        What of it?

Sometimes I enter my garden to pick roses for my darling;
I grew those roses and I gathered them.
        What of it?

The wine of this love is a sin, the orthodox think--
The sin is mine, I fill my glass and drink.
        What of it?

The pious bow to the niche in the mosque;
I bow at the Beloved’s doorstep, pressing my face up close.
        What of it?

My enemy says loving beauty is sinful.
I love my beloved so I’ll gladly pay that price.
        What of it?

They ask Nesimi,
are you and your beloved getting along?
Whether we get along or not, my Beloved is mine.
        What of it? 

translated by Latif Bolat and Jennifer Ferraro

Nesimi (15th c.) Little is know of the early life of Seyid Imadeddin Nesimi, 
one of the greatest Turkish mystical poets of the late 14th and early 15th centuries. 
Download Nasimi's poetry PDF HERE

Sunday, April 2, 2017

Jiddu Krishnamurti - There is no being aware all the time

I find it impossible to be aware all the time.

Don’t be aware all the time! Just be aware in little bits. 
Please, there is no being aware all the time, that is a dreadful idea!
It is a nightmare, this terrible desire for continuity. Just be aware for one minute, for one second, and in that one second of awareness you can see the whole universe. That is not a poetic phrase. We see things in a flash, in a single moment, but having seen something, we want to capture, to hold it, give it continuity. That is not being aware at all. When you say, ‘I must be aware all the time’, you have made a problem of it, and then you should really find out why you want to be aware all the time. See the greed it implies, the desire to acquire. And to say, ‘Well, I am aware all the time’, means nothing.

Jiddu Krishnamurti  - The Collected Works, Vol. XIII,184,Choiceless Awareness


The Butterfly Song Beautiful Music for Healing