Where is He? – Jelaluddin Rumi

May 4, 2009

 I tried to find Him on the Christian cross, but He was not there; I went to the Temple of the Hindus and to the old pagodas but I could not find a trace of Him anywhere.

I searched on the mountains and in the valleys but neither in the heights nor  in the depths was I able to find Him. I went to the Kaaba in Mecca, but He was  not there either.

I questioned the scholars and philosophers but He was beyond their understanding.

I then looked into my heart and it was there where He dwelled that I saw Him : He was nowhere else to be found.

Jelaluddin Rumi

I took a picture of his tomb in Konya, Turkey. Click here to see it.

Some other quotes by Rumi:

This quote below we used on the homepage of the HopeCaravan website, which is no longer active. However, the yahoo group still is on the net though it is no longer active.

“Come, come, whoever you are.
Wanderer, worshipper, lover of leaving.
It doesn’t matter.
Ours is not a caravan of despair.
Come, even if you have broken your vow
A hundred times.
Come, yet again, come, come.”

Other quotes which have touched me include:

“Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it.”

“Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field. I will meet you there.”

“Only from the heart can you touch the sky.”

“Let the beauty of what you love be what you do.”

“You were born with wings. Why prefer to crawl through life?”

RumiRumi


History is an Angel

April 21, 2009

 

History is an angel
Being blown backwards
Into the future
History is a pile of debris
And the angel wants to go back
And fix things
To repair things that have been broken
But there’s a storm blowing from paradise
And the storm keeps blowing the angel backwards
Into the future
And this storm
This storm is called Progress

Laurie Anderson, ‘The Dream Before’

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Laurie_Anderson


Freedom from restriction.

April 21, 2009

 

Why do I always restrict myself?  Why do I always lose courage in being myself?

The world eats me but I starve. I look into the world, the matrix made of non locational neural connections and the lattice of social mores, culture, language and structures – the whole “catastrophe”. I ask myself is it important to grasp the lattice bars and call myself a responsible and reasonable citizen? The answer comes like a wisp of sacrificial smoke – let go these bars of so called “adulthood” and come home.

Home?  Where is HOME?

The restriction is within the mind. The way of opening lies in a different direction. Restriction and its opposite –  expansion, in and out can be seen as the rhythm of life, the breath of life. The way of the heart is the door both into and out of life.

I hear a voice within saying,

 “Become what you are, blossom from your own stem. This blossoming is nothing other than the freedom you seek from restriction. The Heart is the Way, the way to the centre of everything, follow it and all the worlds will be yours because the centre of the Heart is All the Worlds.”


Lines of Crazy Fortune

April 12, 2009

 

Another set of lyrics of a song a friend wrote the music for. In some ways, the title alludes to hexagrammic calamities and signs of the I Ching that speak to one who approaches oracles for answers.

lines-of-crazy-fortune


Forgotten Madonna on the Run

February 20, 2009

 

I found some poems and lyrics I wrote some time ago, in a box of stuff I had forgotten about. So here’s one. Yes, it’s a song with chords and melody……., but here all you’re getting are the lyrics.

Forgotten Madonna on the Run

Along the punished ground with no fences,
down the road I go.
I lost my defenses.
Chased the ashes blown by the wind,
siezed the moment that was between
the parting of the ocean, the parting of a dream.

You stood there so warm and still,
in the door of a Dollar Hotel.
With a secret late in the night,
a Forgotten Madonna on the run,
a Forgotten Madonna on the run.

I searched for gold when I was younger,
near the place where angels linger.
Now my life’s flung around a TV dial
stopping where vision is on file,
where a pair of eyes stare in the dark within a dreaming.

You stood there so warm and still,
in the door of a Dollar Hotel.
With a secret late in the night,
a Forgotten Madonna on the run,
a Forgotten Madonna on the run.

Civilized days drape over the window pane
of those who live with the Flood,
who scorch their eyes in all night cinemas
obsessed with heroes,
who fool around revolving doors
between hell and paradise.

The young sing Armaggedon tunes,
the old dance to satellite news.
The neon light flickers on
a Forgotten Madonna on the run,
a Forgotten Madonna on the run.

stavros


I am sanctified . . . . . . . . .

February 20, 2009

 

My heart is being stretched. I am sanctified after being petrified. I’ve lost everyone’s tomorrows and have found my own. The sky above is my sky. Never before have I owned the earth, never before has the sun burnt  through my shadow to enlighten the crevices of my brain. I await no one and no one awaits me. I dip my finger into the Aegean Sea and taste its salt. This same salt is in my blood, and yours, yet my life had lost its savour, until now. Hidden eyes in my skull open like blossoming flowers to see my nakedness.

Kiss my eyes, kiss my mouth, kiss my hands, kiss my feet, kiss my heart, for I am now sanctified. I’ve leapt into the abyss and it’s nothing, like tomorrow is nothing, like yesterday is nothing. The abyss is none other than this moment, the Today of my life. I’ve let go my fears, my hopes, my wishes, I only breathe and feel the pulse of here and now. This here and now is not limited by a circumference of a clock and hands that tick and cut like a knife each moment. No, this now is the Present of my whole life. In this Now, I am being conceived, I am being buried in my grave, I love, I hate, I cry, I laugh, every moment of existence is here and now.

I no longer need to believe, I’ve crossed the threshold of belief.

To what?

The great Unknown.

stavros


A Wish to Pray – Donald Petacchi

February 15, 2009

Below is a copy of a hand written poem by Donald Petacchi taken from his book,  “Work for Being in the Machine Age”.

 

A Wish to Pray, by Donald Petacchi

A Wish to Pray, by Donald Petacchi


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