Archive for January 11, 2011


Matthew Arnold

“Ah, love, let us be true
To one another! for the world, which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,

Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night.”
Matthew Arnold (Dover Beach and Other Poems)

“But often, in the world’s most crowded streets,
But often, in the din of strife,
There rises an unspeakable desire
After the knowledge of our buried life;
A thirst to spend our fire and restless force
In tracking out our true, original course;
A longing to inquire
Into the mystery of this heart which beats
So wild, so deep in us—to know
Whence our lives come and where they go.”
Matthew Arnold

“We are here on earth to do good to others. What the others are here for, I do not know.”

“And we forget because we must and not because we will.”

“Life is not a having and a getting, but a being and a becoming.”
Truth sits upon the lips of dying men
The free thinking of one age is the common sense of the next
And each day brings it’s pretty dust,
Our soon-choked souls to fll
And we forget because we must,
And not because we will.”
Wandering between two worlds, one dead, The other powerless to be born.
Journalism is literature in a hurry

Resolve to be thyself; and know, that he who finds himself, loses his misery

The sea is calm tonight.
The tide is full, the moon lies fair
Upon the straits–on the French coast the light
Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand,
Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.
Come to the window, sweet is the night air!
Only, from the long line of spray
Where the sea meets the moon-blanched land,
Listen! you hear the grating roar
Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,
At their return, up the high strand . . .”

Do not stand at my grave and weep –Mary Elizabeth Frye

Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.

Mary Elizabeth Frye

rumi

http://www.enlightenedbeings.com/rumi.html

I died as a mineral and became a plant,
I died as plant and rose to animal,
I died as animal and I was Man.
Why should I fear? When was I less by dying?
Yet once more I shall die as Man, to soar
With angels bless’d; but even from angelhood
I must pass on: all except God doth perish.
When I have sacrificed my angel-soul,
I shall become what no mind e’er conceived.
Oh, let me not exist! for Non-existence
Proclaims in organ tones,
To Him we shall return.

 

I am so small I can barely be seen.

How can this great love be inside me?

Look at your eyes, they are small but they

see enormous things.

 

 

 

You were born with potential

You were born with goodness and trust

You were born with ideals and dreams

You were born with greatness

You were born with wings

You are not meant for crawling, so don’t

You have wings

Learn to use them and fly!

 

 

 

 

We are the mirror as well as the face in it.

We are tasting the taste this minute of eternity.

We are pain and what cures pain both.

We are the sweet cold water and the jar that pours.

I want to hold you close like a lute so we can cry out with loving.

You would rather throw stones at a mirror?

 I am your mirror, and here are the stones.

 

 

 

You bewilder us with your grace,

all evils transformed into goodness.

You are the master alchemist.

You light the fire of love in Earth and Sky,

in heart and soul of every being.

Through your loving, 

existence and non-existence merge.

All opposites unite. 

 All that is profane becomes sacred again

 

 

Is it your face that adorns this garden?

Is it your fragrance that intoxicates this garden?

Is it your Spirit that has made this brook a river of wine?

Hundreds have looked for you, and died searching in this garden,

where you hide behind the scenes.

But this pain is not for those who come as lovers.

You are easy to find here.

You are in the breeze and in this river of wine.

 

 

 I do not exist, am not an entity in this world or the next, 

did not descend from Adam and Eve or any origin story.

  My place is the placeless, a trace of the traceless.  Neither body or soul.

  I belong to the beloved, have seen the two worlds as one

 and that one call to and know, first, last, outer, inner, 

only that breath breathing human being.