On Hope

If you give a deaf man a colorful music box with an ethereal dancing figurine within it. Do you hope that he hears the music? Do you hope that he enjoys the visual beauty and pirouette of the ballerina? Or perhaps you hope that he simply appreciates the gesture of giving or that he passes it along to someone who can hear the music he only imagines.

Reasonableness and thoughtfulness are necessary companions to hope. Just like every choir needs a tenor. And in our example above, there is always hope if you search for it… hope before action, and hope after action. If we allow ourselves to linger in the remembrance of the the divine, our actions will become second nature and quite consistent with “hope.” Thoughtfully listen to the entire choir, if you want to hear the tenor.

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On Sorrow

Too often we treat sorrow as the shadow in the light that is better-off ignored. We might find it as the single black sheep in the flock that doesn’t see the white sheep as different. This thin and mangled dog in need of nourishment and yet we shun it, send it away. Sorrow has a beauty and a note to play in the song of life. A soft and subtle glistening and the elegant markings of the Divine artisan. A shudder in the breath of the neyzan that quivers the registers of his ney.

We treat sadness and doubt as if it’s an unwanted limb. A blemish we wish we could rid. But sadness is a birthmark; to be examined for the beauty that gathers around it.

Our lives do more than endure sorrow, whether it has descend upon us through the actions or lack thereof by loved ones, significant others, lost lives and loves, and colleagues. Sorrow can be simply the pure essence of a misfortune that has yet to manifest; general malaise without reason, and so we create explanations for the inexplicable.

There are clusters of dense knots in the smooth and sinuous aloeswood. Still the wood burns as sweet, knowing the knots are but fragrant florets.

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Spring Heart

Spring is a time of renewal.
I’ve had more springtimes than years. Some kind of
daily vernal awareness dawns. Something changes
and there is a slight ache before the buds unfold,
yet it is all serene and beautiful. 

There are lovers who do not speak much anymore. 
God gives them each silence,
so they might hear.  I’ve cycled through
a visceral aching each day
until it has become my close friend. 

Then one day the pain betrays me and
I realize the ache I once loved,
is the promise of true love’s winter
wearing me down
to my spring heart.

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Posted in love poems, poetry | 1 Comment

One Stays, One Leaves

theroom4So long as we hide within the shadows
in the fields behind our own abode,
the heart is never empty,
the heart is never full.

And so all wayfarers eventually leave
seeking their own light
thereby missing the flame
that could have been yours,
and in turn you missing theirs.

There is always a window to the world
where walls make a corner.

One stays, one leaves,
so who is accountable for what?
When all paths come and go
in one direction.

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Posted in love poems, Poems Beyond Their Words | Leave a comment

Fire within the Moth

There must be a bit of the fire within the moth,
to be so ecstatically drawn to the flame;
even the candle light itself dances ecstatically,
nourished by the scent
of singed wings.

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Posted in Poems Beyond Their Words, poetry, Short Stuff | 1 Comment

Never Ending Spells of Bliss

meminiJust beneath the expressive notes of the consoling ney (reed flute) I hear the current of His breath carrying the burden of the neyzen’s lamenting song. Such intimacy between the lips of man and the kiss of his Creator reveals a musical beauty that does not discriminate between sadness and joy.

Many of us feel the spells of bliss amidst the austerity of living in this world.  Within these moments are radiating spires of clarity streaming through the breaks of shifting clouds.  It is the undercurrents of our present awareness dispersing the fog of pain and confusion.

We often react to our pleasure so blindly and thus quickly go from both creator and created to simply spectator.  And so we whip out our cameras, open our notebooks and sketchpads, or raise our hands and voices toward the magnificence. No sooner do we set the snare for our experience, than the elusive moment shimmers one last time and blinks out for good.

While walking with my young son along the Shenandoah mountain trails yesterday, he said, “…it’s weird how we rush down the path just to get to the next location, and then we get to that location and all we do is think about all the things we saw on our way to that location…” Was he simply impatient with our stops along the way, or was the effort of waiting revealing something so deeply profound to us both?

We covet the beauty as if the sky-clearing-breath is solely our own; an occasional and accidental gust of wind.  Do we choose to be the occasional neyzen or are we each music’s timeless messenger? Beyond the limits of our easily distractible consciousness is a state of pure presence that is forever an open channel to the true breath.  The potential to shift the opacity and translucency of the heavens is not acquired from the crypts and treasure troves around us, but rather is recognized within ourselves through meditation and prayer.  We may withdraw our reach, but beauty is always within reach inside of us.

Everything in the world is breath, persistent and unified. We are both the ney and its hollowness; the polished surface is the harmony to the melody within us.  The rising music is our honored wayfaring guest, a gracious essence – nourished by our presence and hospitality.

Be all things by resisting possession of anything in particular.  And should you come across the wealth spring of being, give it away to the world’s chorus that stirs you.

 

 

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Posted in essay, Poems Beyond Their Words, vignette | 5 Comments

Dervishes in a Raindrop

hyacinthI am a raindrop
cradled in the center of a hyacinth sprout.
My silhouette shown
In its verdant cup.

There below the azure,
above the green leaf’s blade,
stands a circle of dervishes
in reflected shades of gray.

A silent gathering
in stillness and devotion,
to be swallowed by the blossom,
as a drop of water sates the ocean.

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Posted in photo, Poems Beyond Their Words, poetry, Short Stuff | 2 Comments

People Are No Different (#25wtT)

We think we know,
But we cannot see Spring,
we only sense its signs,
its buds and blossoms,
breezes, and fragrance.
People are no different.

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The Friend

A friend arrives so silently
through the shadowed wings
of our own hearts.
Even when you seem alone,
on the stage of life’s great drama,
the mere awareness of them
dilutes a hurtful memory,
soothes a troubling situation,
and dispels the fear of doubt.
But of what use is it
to be surrounded by friends,
if you cannot let one in?
Be what you seek.

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#25wtT (vol 2) Skipping Stones

It’s often more meaningful
to drop a precious gem into the depths of another’s heart
than skip a stone across the surface of their ocean.

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