Wednesday, June 1, 2011

Poetry: So Much Happiness

~ So Much Happiness ~
It is difficult to know what to do with so much happiness. 
With sadness there is something to rub against, 
a wound to tend with lotion and cloth. 
When the world falls in around you, you have pieces to pick up, 
something to hold in your hands, like ticket stubs or change. 

But happiness floats. 
It doesn't need you to hold it down. 
It doesn't need anything. 
Happiness lands on the roof of the next house, singing, 
and disappears when it wants to. 
You are happy either way. 
Even the fact that you once lived in a peaceful tree house 
and now live over a quarry of dust and noise 
cannot make you unhappy. 
Everything has a life of its own, 
it too could wake up filled with possibilities 
of coffee cake and ripe peaches, 
and love even the floor which needs to be swept, 
the soiled linens and scratched records... 

Since there is no place large enough 
to contain so much happiness, 
you shrug, you raise your hands, and it flows out of you 
into everything you touch. You are not responsible. 
You take no credit, as the night sky takes no credit 
for the moon, but continues to hold it, and share it, 
and in that way, be known.

By Naomi Shihab Nye
It 
Submitted by Gina Thompson


George Elliot on Regeneration

“Deep, unspeakable suffering may well be called a baptism, a regeneration, an initiation through the passing over the threshold of pain and grief and anguish into a new state of being.”

Tuesday, May 3, 2011

Thursday, April 7, 2011

Poetry: What is Love & Other Poems

What is love?
Chi is love
I am love
Love is all around each of us now
Love is feeling the presence of Chi
Love is being the messenger of Chi
Love is expressing the inner Chi self
Love is thinking Beautiful thoughts
Love is seeing Chi as everything
Love is the story I sing everyday
Love is my life, Love is our life
Hao-la

I 
think  
 therefore  
 I am what I think 
 I am what I think I feel 
 -- yesterday, today, tomorrow -- 
 I empower myself with my thoughts
 I am careful with my thoughts
 I feel my thoughts deeply
 for this I am grateful
 and so I let it be 
 Namasté 



breathing deeply, I close my eyes
easily, gently, rhythmically my awareness
finds the eternal womb of creativity within me
this place in all existence from which all life comes
this moment I am one with Goddess, Mother of all life
her nurturing essence holding all in her warm embrace
relaxing, letting go, knowing she is with me always
opening inner eyes to follow her soft illumination 
opening my ears to receive her wise counsel
opening my heart I receive her gentle love
accepting with gratitude all she gives
returning her love to all creation
breathing, I open my eyes 



the stream of life flows ever onward
are your goals ahead of you
or are they behind you
think about it for
a moment
hmmm
I see
yes
?


                                                                                                  Peter Stickney

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

Poetry: Wings

WINGS

Feel the catapillar's struggle.
Last leaves eaten, flesh constricting, innards liquify.
She moors herself with a gossamer hook under a sheltering leaf.
Turning, twisting, she spins her shroud.
With one last breath she tucks herself into her silken ship,
        and dissolves,  dissolves.
Eons, kalpas, Akashic time.
Then it comes,
        sensed not felt
        felt not thought
        thought not seen
A pulsation growing
        KAI HUI  
        KAI HUI
Feeding on old richness, 
Breathing new light he is impelled forward,
Shoulders heave against the stiff sheath. Now breathing
        WAN YUAN LING TONG
        WAN YUAN LING TONG
Faith alone guides him.
He only knows to keep pulsing
        TONG
Suddenly a new dream, now of flight,
Unknown dimensions of joy.
Look, high in the temple
Amid the shafts of scarlet light and the dust motes
Wings

Donna Whitmarsh
April 2011

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

Poetry: Questions

What was I not thinking?
That day that I set off from home?
Leaving my spiritual center to find Spirit?
In some other land, some other home?
How thought free is this wonder lust?
That leaves happiness to find suffering?
Is this world fashioned by such actions?
As we spiral through this galaxy for Love?
Does the answer to Questions bring Peace?
Will happiness return at the end of the search?
When what i was not thinking shows itself?


Peter Stickney

Monday, April 4, 2011

Poetry: Mocking Bird's Reverie

No matter where
You write your truth
I will
Read it

Whether it be on cave walls
Or in pyramid depths
Or  on earth
With stick and stone
I will
Read it

Whether it be on napkin
Crunched beneath the table
I will crawl down and
Read it


I will read it
When you desperately
Want that it
Be heard

But should you not be ready
To unveil it like art work
Awaiting completion
I will wait

Or if it is like a birthday
Wish
Blown out into the dimming light
And you know the only way
That it may come true
Is to seal your lips tight

I will respect that too.

But should it come

On a mockingbird's wing
Who awakes me
In the middle of the night

Or if you drum it
On earth with your prayers
At dawn

I will read it

If you bless the water
I will read it in the glimmering
Light of sun on water
And see what you have transcribed on the
Flow of life

I will listen because you are
And always will be my
Mother, brother sister, father, child of mine

I will never stop
Listening,
For to stop would be like
Closing my eyes
Shutting my ears
Refusing to move

For you are all a part of me
Sea
Wind
Fire of the sun
Leaf falling
Back aching
Heart breaking

Root of
My life
Tree in winter, summer, spring

And I am you
And you are me
I am listening

And now that you have
Sung to me
Drummed to me
Prayed with me

I will forever be listening
To where and when and how
You speak to me

Under the covers
I will be there
Looking at the night  sky
I will be there
Singing to the morning birds
I will be there
And running on seedlings underfoot
I will be there

For I could be no where else

And I know you have read
The waves at the shore
The tea leaves in my hand
The tarot card I drew from a deck
Of fools and knaves
For you are me

Whenever we forget this
And do not hear our unique
Contribution to the chorus of life
From stick banging on earth
To candle quiet in wish making

May we remember
Bum bum, bum bum,
Bum bum.

ame

April 4, 2011