Poetry: The language of the Divine

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Re: Poetry: The language of the Divine

Postby treasuretheday » Thu Jul 25, 2013 11:23 pm

The author of this poem, an 18th century Jesuit priest, wrote eloquently and frequently about the "sacrament of the present moment."

The Divine Will
~Jean Pierre de Caussade

The divine will

is a deep abyss

of which the present

moment is the entrance.

If you plunge

into this abyss

you will find it

infinitely more vast

than your desires.
Life itself is the proper binge.
-Julia Child
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Re: Poetry: The language of the Divine

Postby kiki » Fri Jul 26, 2013 12:01 am

Nice one, treasure - thanks.
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Re: Poetry: The language of the Divine

Postby treasuretheday » Thu Aug 01, 2013 7:07 pm

Glad you like that, Kiki! Thanks for commenting.

What I Remember

You departed this earthly turf.
Left it!
Void
of your vibrant heart and
ferocious love.

I was one of those you left behind.

Others tell me, but I can't remember,
how you worked so diligently,
toiled over a hot stove, planted gardens,
built things with your own two hands.

They swoon about the beautiful songs you sang,
as you were strumming a guitar.
Even that gorgeous music
became a distant memory.

But, a knowing smile,
the gleam in your eye,
a luminous, lit-from-within
spark, so radiant.
That-I remember.

Truly, the intoxicating fragrance of bountiful aliveness not only
lingers, it envelops me.

You were here, really here, on the
journey.

That, I remember.
Life itself is the proper binge.
-Julia Child
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Re: Poetry: The language of the Divine

Postby snowheight » Fri Aug 02, 2013 5:56 pm

treasuretheday wrote:Glad you like that, Kiki! Thanks for commenting.

What I Remember

You departed this earthly turf.
Left it!
Void
of your vibrant heart and
ferocious love.

I was one of those you left behind.

Others tell me, but I can't remember,
how you worked so diligently,
toiled over a hot stove, planted gardens,
built things with your own two hands.

They swoon about the beautiful songs you sang,
as you were strumming a guitar.
Even that gorgeous music
became a distant memory.

But, a knowing smile,
the gleam in your eye,
a luminous, lit-from-within
spark, so radiant.
That-I remember.

Truly, the intoxicating fragrance of bountiful aliveness not only
lingers, it envelops me.

You were here, really here, on the
journey.

That, I remember.


moss is soft and yielding and springs back from the weight of a footfall
to concrete the walker is of no significance
mud will slow his progress and preserve his record for a bit
while the ocean resets the beach each night

the impressions made in the heart
these are the bed of a river
that bears us through life
Stop talking. Hear every sound as background. Look straight ahead and focus. Take one deep breath. This is you. This is Now.
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Re: Poetry: The language of the Divine

Postby SandyJoy » Fri Aug 02, 2013 8:35 pm

What a beautiful poem Treasure. Did you create, compose that? It is very tender and touching, deeply moving--I love it. Thank you for posting that. I shall assume you created it-- If it is yours, you gotta put your signiture on it --- It's a genuine treasure :D
You are not finished, until you play in that meadow and live there. You can, you know. But only you can take yourself there.
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Re: Poetry: The language of the Divine

Postby treasuretheday » Fri Aug 02, 2013 9:37 pm

Oh gosh, thank you SandyJoy! Saying that it wrote itself is more accurate. It just gushed out of the faucet, so to speak! I didn't edit! From your response I gather it may be a diamond in the rough. I will polish it up! (This used to happen at the piano. Melodies would write themselves!).

the impressions made in the heart
these are the bed of a river
that bears us through life


Nice Snowheight!
Life itself is the proper binge.
-Julia Child
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Re: Poetry: The language of the Divine

Postby snowheight » Fri Aug 16, 2013 1:50 am

anewmirth wrote:Image


look here and there and fritter about
but rest well assured and don't have a doubt
that mirth it does lurk, right underneath
the surface of where you now find your feet

it is a lightness there you can feel
just look and see
noone at the wheel
the weight that gets lifted never was there
the heavy downtrodden cry "hey that's not fair!"

they'll throw a few stones and grumble about
how callow and callous you are and a lout
they'll hound you sometimes but do rest assured
that energy's finite and all rests on words

you'll find a true lilt and a lift to your step
just play along, leave the world there to fret
whistle a tune that is lively and light
amusing can seem that perpetual fight

do have compassion and sometimes a care
for those left in pain and with a fixed stare
that misses the sight that they somehow can't see
nothing restrains them or keeps them not free

sometimes that though they might take for fear
and mistake the source of your bright shiny tear
don't try to explain that there's no way to try
to banish the difference between laugh and cry
Stop talking. Hear every sound as background. Look straight ahead and focus. Take one deep breath. This is you. This is Now.
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Re: Poetry: The language of the Divine

Postby snowheight » Sat Aug 24, 2013 2:25 am

kiki wrote:ET has an exercise where you pretend that you are like a cat watching a mouse hole, waiting for the mouse to appear. Maintain an attitude of alertness that could be put into these words: "What's my next thought going to be?" and then simply watch, waiting to see the mouse poke its nose out. It's a very innocent approach to thoughts' appearance, not an exercise of suppression. Lay aside any belief in what they are saying and simply watch them without judgment.


At the edge of the constant precipice
the balancing act must be effortless
A shift by the will works only until
attention can slip in the breathlessness

Fickle's the point of our focus
but only until we do notice
even in moment held lightly
the thiefs hand need move only slightly

But any fall lasts only as long
as we are bemused by that tangled song
distractions sound and the spinning around
fade back into silence from whence they did sound

The notes of the song can come sweetly
beckoning toward slumber completely
leave the good with the bad
so that space might be had
and the edge balanced ever repeatedly

Leave any notion of progress or motion
of anything to be attained,
At the base of the road
take a breath and unload
throw the maps and the nets to the rain.
Smile at the thought
that a fall might be caught
there's no price to a moment
no thing to be bought

Instead let the play spin in gentleness
dissolution arrives with relentlessness.
No wisdom or lore it all falls by the shore,
of a vision fixed ever on endlessness
Stop talking. Hear every sound as background. Look straight ahead and focus. Take one deep breath. This is you. This is Now.
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Re: Poetry: The language of the Divine

Postby randomguy » Sun Oct 27, 2013 5:57 pm

Two by St. John of the Cross.
I think these are brilliant poems. I hope you enjoy them as much as I do.

I Entered Where I Did Not Know

I entered where I did not know,
And there remained unknowing,
All reason now transcended.

I did not know the door
But when I found the way,
Unknowing where I was,
I learned unheard of things,
But what I heard I cannot say,
For I remained unknowing,
All reason now transcended.

My knowledge was fulfilled
With serenity and peace.
In deepest solitude
I found the narrow way:
A secret giving such release
That I was left there stammering,
All reason now transcended.

I was so fully drunk,
So dazed and far away,
My senses were released
From feelings of my own.
My mind had found a surer way
A knowledge of unknowing,
All reason now transcended.

And he who does arrive,
Collapses as in sleep;
For all he knew before
Now seems of little worth,
And so his knowledge grows so deep
That he remains unknowing,
All reason now transcended.

The higher he ascends,
The darker is the wood;
It is the shadowy cloud
That clarified the night,
And so the one who understood
Remains at last unknowing,
All reason now transcended.

This knowledge by unknowing
Is such a soaring force
That scholars argue long
But never leave the ground.
Their reason always fails the source:
To understand unknowing,
All reason now transcended.

This knowledge is supreme
And meets a blazing height,
Though formal reason tries,
It crumbles in the dark.
For one who would control the night,
By knowledge of unknowing
He will have all transcended.

This is my final word,
The highest learning lead
To an ecstatic feeling
Of the most holy Being;
And from his mercy comes his deed:
To make one stay unknowing,
All reason now transcended.



The Ascent of Mount Carmel

To reach satisfaction in all, desire its possession in nothing.
To come to the knowledge of all, desire the knowledge of nothing.
To come to possess all, desire the possession of nothing.
To arrive at being all, desire to be nothing.
To come to the pleasure which you have not, you must go by a way in which you enjoy not.
To come to the knowledge which you have not, you must go by a way in which you know not.
To come to the possession you have not, you must go by a way in which you possess not.
To come to be what you are not, you must go by a way in which you are not.
When you turn toward something, you cease to cast yourself upon the all.
For to go from the all to the all, you must leave yourself in all.
And when you come to the possession of the all, you must possess it without wanting anything.
In this nakedness, the spirit finds its quietude and rest.
For in coveting nothing, nothing raises it up and nothing weighs it down, because it is the center of its humility.
Do the yellow-rose petals
tremble and fall
at the rapid's roar?
- Basho
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Re: Poetry: The language of the Divine

Postby Elliot_1 » Mon Dec 02, 2013 12:37 pm

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Re: Poetry: The language of the Divine

Postby treasuretheday » Tue Feb 11, 2014 5:36 pm

Woods

I wish to grow dumber,
to slip deep into woods that grow blinder
with each step I take,
until the fingers let go of their numbers
and the hands are finally ignorant as paws.
Unable to count the petals,
I will not know who loves me,
who loves me not.
Nothing to remember,
nothing to forgive,
I will stumble into the juice of the berry, the shag of bark,
I will be dense and happy as fur.

-- Noelle Oxenhandler
Life itself is the proper binge.
-Julia Child
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Re: Poetry: The language of the Divine

Postby treasuretheday » Wed Feb 12, 2014 3:22 pm

Risk

And then the day came,
when the risk
to remain tight
in a bud
was more painful
than the risk
it took
to Blossom.

--Anais Nin
Life itself is the proper binge.
-Julia Child
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Re: Poetry: The language of the Divine

Postby rachMiel » Wed Feb 12, 2014 3:43 pm

Necessity is the mother of awakening?
Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily ...
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Re: Poetry: The language of the Divine

Postby azooo » Thu Feb 13, 2014 8:11 pm

A quick haiku

Gently is snow falling on trees. Its weight causing dead branches to crush.
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Re: Poetry: The language of the Divine

Postby treasuretheday » Fri Feb 14, 2014 3:13 pm

Before you know what kindess really is you must lose things. Naomi Shihab Nye finds freedom in sorrow as her heart breaks open wide to her own pain and to the pain and sorrow of everyone. While she doesn't forge an identity out of sorrow, she graciously receives it as a facet of her being, and the being of us all. A "tender gravity of kindness" is discovered; a love that cannot die, a love given freely from the depths of Life that can never be taken away. Love becomes the air she breathes. Nye tell us this is what we are looking for---this love that is who we are.

KINDNESS
by Naomi Shihab Nye

Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.

Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.

Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.

Then it is only kindness that makes any sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to mail letters and purchase bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
It is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you everywhere
like a shadow or a friend.
Life itself is the proper binge.
-Julia Child
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