poem

 A thousand years look back in the mirror and I praise the not knowing  I cry clenching balls of emotion that don' belong to me, I hold it for all I can not know and skim but the froth of any pain, staying grateful for the blessings ‎ For the work feels like a fire burning  Surely it will leave a surface  I have not seen before ‎ ‎ The candle flickers and the silence of  Alone is broken by those who came thru me ‎ And today the work is a bread I will bake to feed them "And if a man bakes a bread bitter with his disdain he feeds but half a stomach ‎ Amen-, ,,,,,

By Pablo Neruda
(1904 - 1973)

English version by Anthony Kerrigan

 

And it was at that age... Poetry arrived
in search of me. I don't know, I don't know where
it came from, from winter or a river.
I don't know how or when,
no, they were not voices, they were not
words, nor silence,
but from a street I was summoned,
from the branches of night,
abruptly from the others,
among violent fires
or returning alone,
there I was without a face
and it touched me.

I did not know what to say, my mouth
had no way
with names
my eyes were blind,
and something started in my soul,
fever or forgotten wings,
and I made my own way,
deciphering
that fire
and I wrote the first faint line,
faint, without substance, pure
nonsense,
pure wisdom
of someone who knows nothing,
and suddenly I saw
the heavens
unfastened
and open,
planets,
palpitating planations,
shadow perforated,
riddled
with arrows, fire and flowers,
the winding night, the universe.

And I, infinitesimal being,
drunk with the great starry
void,
likeness, image of
mystery,
I felt myself a pure part
of the abyss,
I wheeled with the stars,
my heart broke free on the open sky‎

‎
Sent from my BlackBerry 10 smartphone.‎

Grateful for so much, including words from Pema today. "

Perhaps there is no solid obstacle except out own need to protect ourselves from being touched. Maybe the only enemy is that we don't like the way reality is now and therefore wish it would go away fast. But what we find as counselors, coaches practitioners is that nothing ever goes away until it has taught us what we need to know.

Up from the prayer cushion

I contemplate

As long as there is a story

I'm telling it to

For love just is

And the heart of christ is compassion

The story 

Pathways away from the unknown

Circling circling 

I choke, and emotion wells,spring of love

Cup of overflowing waters

And while I will give and let then flow

I am still attached to them being received-

Grateful for a heart whose story is love

When we feel primarily concerned with others and bear in mind that they are so numerous that, in comparison, our own personal concerns are negligible.

- Matthieu Ricard

A reflection today brings me back to group process at the hospital during my cpe programs. 

It reflects to me how space needs to make room. To plant that sucks.... along side and now..... I can make space for that too.... the quiet lonely fearful moment that passes, and a cry wells up, 

And while the sun always rises even when we can see it somewhere, we can be certain if we look straight at it, we will be blinded for just a moment.

‎

We will look somewhere away, there will be a blinding spot and in that spot. May God see us....

May be water the roots of this new planted seed, space. And may those roote bring forth a tree with the necter of love, the peace of forgiveness and the gentle compasion of an open heart

A heart of christ

Lord I pray to be always in ur blinding light- to not see all but I knnow but have u look for me, thru me, let words come forth rooted in peace, let the nector of love and life flow thru me...

I pray make room by removing all that burdens so I can know this lesson in gift and be ur cup overflowing...

In christ I pray-‎

‎

Sent from my BlackBerry 10 smartphone.

y Kahlil Gibran
(1883 - 1931)

And one of the elders of the city said, Speak to us of Good and Evil.
And he answered:
Of the good in you I can speak, but not of the evil.
For what is evil but good tortured by its own hunger and thirst?
Verily when good is hungry it seeks food even in dark caves, and when it thirsts it drinks even of dead waters.

You are good when you are one with yourself.
Yet when you are not one with yourself you are not evil.
For a divided house is not a den of thieves; it is only a divided house.
And a ship without rudder may wander aimlessly among perilous isles yet sink not to the bottom.

You are good when you strive to give of yourself.
Yet you are not evil when you seek gain for yourself.
For when you strive for gain you are but a root that clings to the earth and sucks at her breast.
Surely the fruit cannot say to the root, "Be like me, ripe and full and ever giving of your abundance."
For the fruit giving is a need, as receiving is a need to the root.

You are good when you are fully awake in your speech,
Yet you are not evil when you sleep while your tongue staggers without purpose.
And even stumbling speech may strengthen a weak tongue.

You are good when you walk to your goal firmly and with bold steps.
Yet you are not evil when you go thither limping.
Even those who limp go not backward.
But you who are strong and swift, see that you do not limp before the lame, deeming it kindness.

You are good in countless ways, and you are not evil when you are not good,
You are only loitering and sluggard.
Pity that the stags cannot teach swiftness to the turtles.

In your longing for your giant self lies your goodness: and that longing is in all of you.
But in some of you that longing is a torrent rushing with might to the sea, carrying the secrets of the hillsides and the songs of the forest.
And in others it is a flat stream that loses itself in angles and bends and lingers before it reaches the shore.
But let not him who longs much say to him who longs little, "Wherefore are you slow and halting?"
For the truly good ask not the naked, "Where is your garment?" nor the houseless, "What has befallen your house?"

Grateful for these words today- for as st John of the cross teaches it's the dark night of the soul where the greatest finding happens. Somewhere it's sidartha too, what one seeks one thinks to find, it's in the seeking we live being found...