Seasons of the Soul

Poem by Rainer Maria Rilke

Perhaps all the dragons in our lives are princesses
who are only waiting to see us act, just once,
with beauty and courage.
Perhaps everything that frightens us is,
in its deepest essence,
something helpless that wants our love.  

--Rainer Maria Rilke

My Friend Alix

My dear friend, Alix Taylor Robertson passed over on my birthday in 2005. We had been very close, and her passing was a great loss.

Alix has left a legacy of work behind that would make anyone proud. Yet, I’m sure she felt to the end that she hadn’t done all she could do. She thought of herself as a difficult case, and we laughed often about our mutual rebellious attitudes to what we felt we were “supposed” to do.

Alix wrote several books, including her beautiful autobiography, A Door Ajar,  and in her last few years turned to poetry. I’d like to share some of them with you here as a way of honoring the lady I hold very dear to my heart.

Rumi

“There’s a field,” Rumi said.  
“I’ll meet you there.”
I waited and waited.  
I watched the corn blowing
in the next field making its dry   Rustling sound,
And watched the geese   
Walking away from the distant pond.   
I even thought I saw a leaf  
turn yellow on the little oak tree.   
Rumi never came.
And no poetry sprouted from the ground   
Or blew in with the breeze.

The Light

Where are you going? He asked.   
Into the light, I said.    
Where is the light? He asked.
It’s around you, around me, ahead of us.  
I don’t see it, he said.  
Keep walking, I said.  
Can you see the light? He asked.   
Yes, I said. I can see its edge
And I’m heading for its center.  
How will I ever see the light? He asked.    
Close your eyes, I said.

I Heard A Voice

I heard a voice.  
It said “Bee”?
It said, “Be.” You know  
Bees can do things I cannot do.  
They take something from inside themselves    
And something from outside—  
The pollen from the flower —
And make something totally new, 
Totally different, something   
That was not there before.  
I cannot do this. But the voice said, “Be”.   
And I threw the doors of my heart open   
And light flowed in,   
And something I did not know was inside
Flowed out like honey.

 

The Lizard

by Alix Taylor

When it was very hot   
The lizard used to crawl up the rock beside me.
He would not move for long stretches of time.   
I would stare at the huge mountains before us,
Then feel very small.
I would place my hand on  the lizard   
And he would move a little, then go still again.
And I, too, would go still again.   
Such little things we were, the two of us,
Enfolded in all that incandescent grandeur.
 

Kabir Poem

The flute of interior time is played whether we hear it or not,
What we mean by "love" is its sound coming in.
When Love hits the farthest edge of excess, it reaches a wisdom.
And the fragrance of that knowledge!
It penetrates our thick bodies,
It goes through walls -
Its network of notes has a structure as if a million suns were arranged inside.
This tune has truth in it.
Where else have you heard a sound like this?

-Kabir

Kabir Poem

Don’t go outside your house to see flowers.

My friend, don’t bother with that excursion.

Inside your body there are flowers.

One flower has a thousand petals. 

That will do for a place to sit.

Sitting there you will have a glimpse of beauty

inside the body and out of it,

before gardens and after gardens.

~The Kabir Book

Robert Bly version

The Swan

 
This laboring through what is still undone, as though, legs bound, we hobbled along the way, is like the awkward walking of the swan.

And dying—to let go, no longer feel the solid ground we stand on every day– is like his anxious letting himself fall

Into the water, which receives him gently and which, as though with reverence and joy, draws back past him in streams on either side; while infinitely silent and aware, in his full majesty and ever more indifferent, he condescends to glide.
-Rainer Maria Rilke

Wisdom of Rumi in Poetry

There’s a worm addicted to eating grape leaves.

Suddenly, he wakes up, call it grace, whatever,

something wakes him, and he’s no longer a worm.

He’s the entire vineyard,

and the orchard too,

the fruit, the trunks,

a growing wisdom and joy

that doesn’t need to devour.

    ~Rumi

Parting the Veils

 

Breaking waves crash

on the shore

Tension brimming

Veils are thinning

Tides are changing

But what for?

 

Walking through the

labyrinth maze

Anguished people in a haze

Looking for a daily fix

Where none is to be had

 

Alteration, altercation, liberation

Tiny granules forming sand

Tension brimming

Veils are thinning

Eternal law - supply/demand

 

Some will reap

and some will sow

Amidst the chaos

flowers grow

 

The soul does bloom

in light of day

But through the dark

the angels play

and people pray

and life gives way

 

Tension brimming

Veils are thinning

For Heaven is at hand

 

KJ

Simultaneously

I Create God In My World

With Gentleness and Gratitude

With Loving Acts Of Kindness

With Warm Words Of Giving

With Forgiving Bands Of Friendship

With A Joyous Heart Of Oneness

With Abundant Rings Of Mercy

With Overflowing Respect For All Life

With Connected Awareness

Of Being

With Self Love Knowing That I Am His Likeness

I Am His Vision

I Am His Actions

I Am His Thoughts

I Am His Spirit

I Am His Peace

I Am

 So That I May Be Like Him

I Am

So All Can Be Like Him

I Create God

 As He Created Me

Simultaneously

~Hal Manogue
www.shortsleeves.net

Miracles

 

Why, who makes much of a miracle?

As to me, I know of nothing but miracles,

Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan,

Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses towards the sky,

Or wade with naked feet along the beach just in the ledge of the water

Or stand under the trees in the woods,

Or talk by day with any one I love, or sleep in the bed at night with any one I love,

Or sit at table at dinner with the rest,

Or look at strangers opposite me riding in the car,

Or watch honey-bees busy around the hive of a summer forenoon,

Or animals feeding in the fields,

Or birds, or the wonderfulness of insects in the air,

Or the wonderfulness of the sundown, or of stars shining so quiet and bright,

Or the exquisite delicate thin curve of the new moon in spring,

These with the rest, one and all, are to me miracles,

The whole referring, yet each distinct and in its place.

To me every hour of the light and dark is a miracle,

Every cubic inch of space is a miracle,

Every square yard of the surface of the earth is spread with the same,

Every foot of the interior swarms with the same,

To me the sea is a continual miracle,

The fishes that swim - the rocks - the motion of the waves - the ships with men in them,

What stranger miracles are there?

                    ~Walt Whitman