Poem for the day
adamcrossley
VeteranUK Veteran
Labour is blossoming or dancing where
The body is not bruised to pleasure soul,
Nor beauty born out of its own despair,
Nor blear-eyed wisdom out of midnight oil.
O chestnut tree, great rooted blossomer,
Are you the leaf, the blossom or the bole?
O body swayed to music, O brightening glance,
How can we know the dancer from the dance?— ‘Among School Children’, W. B. Yeats (1933)
Aristotle said the purpose of a pen is to write, the purpose of a human is “eudaimonia”. Translation: “blossoming”.
Line by line, I take the sentiment of this stanza, which is the last in the poem, to be:
1) and 2) Perform your work in this world with body and soul as one. (“Mind” does just as well as “soul” for those who prefer.)
3) Beauty is your nature, it doesn’t require any alteration.
4) Rest in your inherent wisdom, no need to stay up all night studying.
5) and 6) Just as no single part of the tree is the tree, so the self cannot be found in any single part of our experience, nor indeed in any convenient package of those parts. Thich Nhat Hanh has also used trees to teach this truth.
7) and 8) Yeats uses the perfect image to show just how inseperable person and action really are. When you do your work, be your work. This is mindfulness to me.
Comments
The Small Boy and the Mouse by D H Maitreyabandhu
https://www.theguardian.com/books/2009/oct/28/keats-shelley-buddhist-poet
“I walk down the street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I fall in.
I am lost... I am helpless.
It isn't my fault.
It takes forever to find a way out.
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I pretend I don't see it.
I fall in again.
I can't believe I am in the same place.
But, it isn't my fault.
It still takes me a long time to get out.
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I see it is there.
I still fall in. It's a habit.
My eyes are open.
I know where I am.
It is my fault. I get out immediately.
walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I walk around it.
I walk down another street.”
Portia Nelson. Quoted in, among other places, TTBOLAD.
I am the slave of passion and the slave of the Beloved.
The fire of passion burns my heart
And the One I love is in my mind.
Passion has seized hold of the reins of my heart
So wherever I turn my gaze
Passion is facing me.
http://www.ibnarabisociety.org/articles/addas1.html
Melt yourself down in this search:
venture your life and your soul
in the path of sincerity;
strive to pass from nothingness to being,
and make yourself drunk with the wine of God.
— Hakim Sanai, the Hadiqa: The Walled Garden of Truth
Cheers @Kerome
My legacy -
What will it be?
Flowers in spring,
The cuckoo in summer,
And the crimson maples
Of autumn ...
http://gardendigest.com/zen/quotes.htm
I love the Persian Sufi poets, especially Rumi, Attar and Hakim Sanai. They just have a particular flavour which calls to me.
BREATH OF LIFE
By Danna Faulds
I breathe in All That Is-
Awareness expanding
to take everything in,
as if my heart beats
the world into being.
From the unnamed vastness beneath the mind,
I breathe my way into wholeness and healing.
Inhalation. Exhalation.
Each Breath a “yes,”
and a letting go, a journey, and a coming home.
Abou Ben Adhem
Leigh Hunt
Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!)
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,
And saw, within the moonlight in his room,
Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,
An angel writing in a book of gold:—
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,
And to the presence in the room he said,
"What writest thou?"—The vision raised its head,
And with a look made of all sweet accord,
Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord."
"And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so,"
Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low,
But cheerly still; and said, "I pray thee, then,
Write me as one that loves his fellow men."
The angel wrote, and vanished. The next night
It came again with a great wakening light,
And showed the names whom love of God had blest,
And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest.
Gets me every time.
Thanks all! I’ve really appreciated these contributions. Would anyone care to offer a poem with some of their own commentary?
In all my daze
I have wondered through cymbals
Clanged past sleeping
Until the Light came
Silent, Empty, Dark
And I swam with stilled currents
Electrified and static
Who New
My days are All
?
“When your mother has grown older,
When her dear, faithful eyes
no longer see life as they once did,
When her feet, grown tired,
No longer want to carry her as she walks -
Then lend her your arm in support,
Escort her with happy pleasure.
The hour will come when, weeping, you
Must accompany her on her final walk.
And if she asks you something,
Then give her an answer.
And if she asks again, then speak!
And if she asks yet again, respond to her,
Not impatiently, but with gentle calm.
And if she cannot understand you properly
Explain all to her happily.
The hour will come, the bitter hour,
When her mouth asks for nothing more.”
http://newbuddhist.com/discussion/16874/the-mother-a-poem
SELF-KNOWLEDGE
AND a man said, Speak to us of Self–Knowledge.
And he answered, saying:
Your hearts know in silence the secrets of the days and the nights.
But your ears thirst for the sound of your heart's knowledge.
You would know in words that which you have always known in thought.
You would touch with your fingers the naked body of your dreams.
AND it is well you should.
The hidden well–spring of your soul must needs rise and run murmuring to the sea;
And the treasure of your infinite depths would be revealed to your eyes. But let there be no scales to weigh your unknown treasure;
And seek not the depths of your knowledge with staff or sounding line. For self is a sea boundless and measureless.
SAY not, "I have found the truth," but rather, "I have found a truth."
Say not, "I have found the path of the soul." Say rather, "I have met the soul walking upon my path."
For the soul walks upon all paths.
The soul walks not upon a line, neither does it grow like a reed. The soul unfolds itself, like a lotus of countless petals.
— Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet
L-O-V-E 'The Prophet'...!
Well, @Kerome, I think you win the prize for best offering so far ? ?
Glad that this thread has borne fruit.
The Guest House
This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
As an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
~Rumi~
It’s out of copyright now, you can download a pdf for free...
Thank you, but I have the book! Good to know though...
We are The Poem.
The Brain is just the weight of God-
For - Heft them - Pound for Pound -
And they will differ - if they do -
As Syllable from Sound -
~Emily Dickinson
Before, it was, then it wasn't.
Before, it wasn't, then it was.
It wasn't, won't be,
& now isn't to be found.
In your light I learned how to love.
In your beauty how to compose.
You dance within my heart,
Where no-one can see.
Yet sometimes I catch a glimpse.
From that glimpse comes my art.
— Rumi
"Extra pounds won't stalk me from my past, so long as sometimes I declare a fast."
Extra pounds
stalk me passed
I declare a slow fast
Dance
Why are people called Buddhas
After they die?
Because they don't grumble any more,
Because they don't make a nuisance
Of themselves any more.
— Ikkyū
Between quietness and silence,
Between emptiness and nothingness,
Between darkness and void,
Between stillness and stone,
Peace abounds.
-first thing I wrote after surviving a heart attack and flat-lining
Barn’s burnt down --
now
I can see the moon.
~ Masahide
I am neither here
Nor am I to be found there
Am I just a thought ?
~Haiku~
I wandered lowly in a Cloud
That dotes on hi om veils and wills
When all At Once I saw A Crow
A Ghost, of Golden Dildo Daffy;
Beside the Lack, beneath the Bo
Fluttering and Dancing In The Eeze.
originally ...
I wandered lonely as a Cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and Hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden Daffodils;
Beside the Lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Wordsworth's version was one of the very first* poems I ever memorised, as a just-teen-schoolgirl; without need or prompting, for no other reason that I loved it so. I remember it still...
I don't feel though, that I could ever do @lobster's version the proper justice it merits....
(*The other, being Shakespeare's 'Winter'....)
A Meal Of Fresh Octopus
Lots of arms, just like Kannon the Goddess;
Sacrificed for me, garnished with citron, I revere it so!
The taste of the sea, just divine!
Sorry, Buddha, this is another precept I just cannot keep.
— Ikkyū
Ok I’m calling it. @lobster is Ikkyū reincarnated.
Once in a forest red and yellow
Did a bear strut up and down and bellow:
“Who but I can eat this honey sweet,
Preserved from all manner of defeat.”
A wayward crow did o’er-hear
And quickly on the honeycomb did peer.
She wondered: “Who is this beast that doth yell,
Pompous, rude and loud as a bell?
Stealing the bees’ hard work in surfeit
As though he alone were worth it?”
Flying she visited her violet crew
And rightly expressed her bitter view.
In the midst of the heated cawing,
A plan was formed with insight dawning.
Thus it was arranged for them to take
The mushrooms by the shores of the lake
To forthwith poison the bear’s water well,
And by gradation cause his brains to swell.
As I awake to face another day
Monkey mind comes out to play
Yak yak yak, it never stops
Oh I wish I had some knockout drops
Then I remember what I've been taught
About the pesky annoying thought
It's really not who I am
It's just neuropathway spam
Very nice, @Shoshin. However, as an English graduate it’s my solemn duty to do this:
I wake to face another day
And monkey mind comes out to play.
Yak yak yak, it never stops.
I wish I had some knockout drops.
Then I recall what I've been taught
About the peskiness of thought:
It isn’t who I really am;
It's just some neural pathway spam.
(Iambic tetrameter)
I’m happy not to be credited though. All rights remain yours
Aaaah! A person after my own heart! Such judicious and apposite amendment! * swoon * !!
Those who look down upon this world
will surely take hold and try to change things
But this is a plan
I’ve always seen fail
The world is Tao’s own vessel
It is perfection manifest
It cannot be changed
It cannot be improved
For those who go on tampering, it’s ruined
For those who try to grasp, it’s gone
Allow your life to unfold naturally
Know that it too is a vessel of perfection
— Tao Te Ching, verse 29
My apologies...English is my second language....Cockney is my native tongue
saw a spook a spying me
a ghoul a geek, bearing gifts
welcome in mind sucker, have my fear
and shalom
they were toast