one swaying being

love is not a condescension, never that,
nor books, nor any marking on paper,
nor what people say of each other.

love is a tree
with branches reaching into eternity
and roots set deep in eternity,
and no trunk.

have you seen it? the mind cannot.
your desiring cannot.

the longing you feel for this love
comes from inside you.

when you become the friend,
your longing will be as a man in the ocean
who holds to a piece of wood.

eventually, wood, man and ocean
become one swaying being..
the secret ~

                         - rumi


a friend told me that eternity is just a word..

of course, i reply in my mind's eye..
as all words are..
how to incarnate into eternity?
the breath..i imagine..
the breath is the path..
could be the in-breath..
could be the out-breath..
could be the space between breath..

incarnate...
to make meat of..yes?
to be the very flesh of..
difficult to be the meat of eternity..
one letter at a time as in a word
a word made flesh
is love eternity?
are we flesh and blood of love eternal?
a whiplash of longing
one swaying being

to love is to understand what is perceived as eternal

valentine

from me  -
from brian doyle -
         the wet engine

what might we be, as a species in the years 
to come? o what, o god tell me, o people tell me,
o friends and lovers tell me, o enemies tell me,
o come clear to me in the entrails of birds
and the fleeting tails of stars, what we might be 
if we rise and evolve,
if we reach and leap,
if we deepen and sing,
if we come further down from the brooding trees
and out onto the smiling plain,
if we unclench the fist and drop the dagger,
if we emerge blinking 
from the fort
and the blockade 
and the prison,
if we smash the bricks from around our hearts,
if we cease to stagger and swagger,
if we peel the steel from our eyes,
if we yearn and learn,
if we do what we say we will do,
if we act as if our words really matter, 
if our words become muscled mercy,
if we grow a fifth chamber in our hearts
and a seventh and a ninth,
and become as if new creatures
arisen from our shucked skins,
creatures who become what we are
so patently 
and brilliantly
and utterly
and wholly
and holy
capable of...
                what then ?

o happy day!

two poems by naomi

one -
the art of disappearing

when they say don't i know you?
say no.

when they invite you to the party
remember what parties are like
before answering.
someone telling you in a loud voice
they once wrote a poem.
greasy sausage balls on a paper plate.
then reply.

if they say we should get together
say why?

it's not that you don't love them anymore.
you're trying to remember something
too important to forget.
trees. the monastery bell at twilight.
tell them you have a new project.
it will never be finished.

when someone recognizes you in a grocery store
nod briefly and become a cabbage.
when someone you haven't seen in ten years
appears at the door,
don't start singing him all your new songs.
you will never catch up.

walk around feeling like a leaf.
know you could tumble any second.
then decide what to do with your time.

two -
dog

the sky is the belly of a large dog,
sleeping.
all day the small gray flag of his ear
is lowered and raised.
the dreams he dreams has no beginning.

here on earth we dream
a deep-eyed dog sleeps under our stairs
and will rise to meet us.
dogs curl in dark places,
nests of rich leaves.
we want to bury ourselves
in someone else's home.

the dog who floats over us
has no master.
if there were people who loved him,
he remembers them equally,
the one who smelled of smoke,
the one who brought bones from the restaurant.
it is the long fence
of their hoping he would stay
that he has jumped.

                - naomi shihab nye

sea me thee

how could i have misplaced the sea for so long ~
did circe slip into my dreams with the potion of forgetfulness?
what an empty chamber in the corner of my heart ~
moisten this kernel with remembering ..


hue and cry
each solitary unified wave upon wave..
brilliancing the shimmer..
when the wind & the excitement of waters
lift the sheer sheaths..
gulls surfing that transparent valance - the spray fantastic -
polish my wings with the grace of your glister..

the surfing seals sanding their bellies
as they practice salambasana on the shore's slurp..
take me in - take me up - take me

sometimes a man - rilke

sometimes a man stands up during supper
and walks outdoors, and keeps on walking,
because of a church that stands somewhere
in the east.

and his children say blessings on him
as if he were dead.

and another man, who remains
inside his own house,
dies there, inside the dishes
and the glasses,
so that his children have to go far
out into the world toward that same church,
which he forgot.

dazzling light - change...

the whole universe is an ocean of dazzling light
on it dance the waves of life and death..
                                    a service for the spirits of the dead

                                               .
                                              . .

coyote and earth maker whirling about in the world winds
found a meadowlark nest floating and drifting; stretched it
to cover the waters and made us an earth --

                       us critters hanging out together
                       something like three billion years.

                       three hundred something million years
                       the solar system swings around
                       with all the milky way --

                       ice ages come one hundred fifty million years apart
                       last about ten million
                       then warmer days return --

                       a venerable desert woodrat nest of twigs and shreds
                       plastered down with amber urine
                       a family house in use eight thousand years,
                                  & four thousand years of using writing equals
                       the life of a bristlecone pine --

                       a spoken language works
                       for about five centuries,
                       lifespan of a douglas fir;
                       big floods, big fires, every couple hundred years,
                       a human life lasts eighty,
                       a generation twenty.

                       hot summers every eight or ten,
                       four seasons every year
                       twenty-eight days for the moon
                       day / night    the twenty-four hours


                        & a song might last four minutes,

                        a breath is a breath.

                                  ~ gary snyder
                                  old woodrat's stinky house
                                 mountains and rivers without end

crazy words..

i have long had the desire that my actions
in this world and any problems caused by my crazy words 
and extravagant language will ..  in times to come...
be transformed into a clarification of the dharma..
to be but another way to spread the buddha's teachings..
          t'ang poet -
                        po chu-i 

EMAHO !
may it be just so ~