I am going into sesshin tomorrow for a week.
So here is a poem:
Today, like every day, we are ruined--ruined.
(surrender now)
Don't open the door of thinking; pick up a lute.
(or a shovel, or a kitchen knife)
There are a hundred kinds of prayer, bowing and prostration.
(I vow to enter them)
For the one whose prayer niche is the beauty of the Friend.
(resting in the one mind)
Text in blue is an alternate translation from a review of a new edition of Rumi's work, published on my #1 favorite progessive Muslim news & views site, muslimwakeup.com.
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A personal, practical search for what was never lost: the sanctity of each moment; the profound presence of the physical body; the kindliness of the human heart; the interreflections of psyche and nature.
What Is It?
This blog spans many years of personal inquiry, from early days as a lay Zen trainee at an American Zen Monastery, to more recent times as a Dharma practitioner and parent in suburbia.
The latest offerings aren't exactly poems. I am just trying to tell the truth in the simplest way I know how, paying attention to phrasing and the sounds of language.
All text © 2013 unless attributed otherwise. Do not use without permission.
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1 comment:
Irish Blessing:
May the road rise to meet you.
May the wind be always at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face.
And rains fall soft upon your fields.
And until we meet again,
May God hold you in the hollow of His hand.
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