Oneness
By Don
One we seek,
One we never know,
One we hope for,
One is how we really are.
Sunday, October 31, 2004
~ The Invitation ~
By Oriah Mountain Dreamer
It doesn't interest me what you do for a living.
I want to know what you ache for,
and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.
It doesn't interest me how old you are.
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love,
for your dreams, for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon.
I want to know if you have touched the center of your sorrow.
If you have been opened by life's betrayals,
or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain.
I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own,
without moving to hide it or fade it or fix it.
I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own.
If you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you
to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us to be careful, be realistic,
or to remember the limitations of being human.
It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true.
I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself,
if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own self.
I want to know if you can be faithful and therefore be trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see beauty even when it is not pretty everyday,
and if you can source your life from God's presence.
I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine,
and still stand on the edge of a lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon, "Yes!"
It doesn't interest me where you live or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up after a night of grief and despair,
weary and bruised to the bone,
and do what needs to be done for the children.
It doesn't interest me who you are, how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me
and not shrink back.
It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away.
I want to know if you can be alone with yourself,
and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.
By Oriah Mountain Dreamer
It doesn't interest me what you do for a living.
I want to know what you ache for,
and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.
It doesn't interest me how old you are.
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love,
for your dreams, for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon.
I want to know if you have touched the center of your sorrow.
If you have been opened by life's betrayals,
or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain.
I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own,
without moving to hide it or fade it or fix it.
I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own.
If you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you
to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us to be careful, be realistic,
or to remember the limitations of being human.
It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true.
I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself,
if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own self.
I want to know if you can be faithful and therefore be trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see beauty even when it is not pretty everyday,
and if you can source your life from God's presence.
I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine,
and still stand on the edge of a lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon, "Yes!"
It doesn't interest me where you live or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up after a night of grief and despair,
weary and bruised to the bone,
and do what needs to be done for the children.
It doesn't interest me who you are, how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me
and not shrink back.
It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away.
I want to know if you can be alone with yourself,
and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.
On second thought...
Sann-ya-sin
"One who . . is dedicated to the life of spiritual growth and values, and to their teaching to others." Source: "Serving Humanity", Alice Bailey
"A Sannyasin cannot belong to any religion, for his is a life of independent thought, which draws from all religions; his is a life of realisation, not merely of theory or belief, much less of dogma".
Source: Swami Vivekananda
Sann-ya-sin
"One who . . is dedicated to the life of spiritual growth and values, and to their teaching to others." Source: "Serving Humanity", Alice Bailey
"A Sannyasin cannot belong to any religion, for his is a life of independent thought, which draws from all religions; his is a life of realisation, not merely of theory or belief, much less of dogma".
Source: Swami Vivekananda
Saturday, October 30, 2004
Friday, October 29, 2004
Thursday, October 28, 2004
Wednesday, October 27, 2004
Tuesday, October 26, 2004
Monday, October 25, 2004
Sunday, October 24, 2004
Saturday, October 23, 2004
By Our Presence Alone
By Don
Inspire me,
don't lead me,
show me by example,
don't tell me,
let me hear you laugh,
let me see you cry,
let me hear your questions,
not the answers you find,
give me room to grow,
in the sunlight outside your shadow,
reassure me with your presence,
not your intervening thoughts or actions,
just be there and be who you are,
then I can find myself.
By Don
Inspire me,
don't lead me,
show me by example,
don't tell me,
let me hear you laugh,
let me see you cry,
let me hear your questions,
not the answers you find,
give me room to grow,
in the sunlight outside your shadow,
reassure me with your presence,
not your intervening thoughts or actions,
just be there and be who you are,
then I can find myself.
Friday, October 22, 2004
Thursday, October 21, 2004
Wednesday, October 20, 2004
Tuesday, October 19, 2004
On Friendship
By Don
Friends are wonderful living reminders,
they help us take off our blinders,
they fill us with good cheer,
and tell us not to fear.
Friends wake us when up we're sleeping,
they keep our love from seeping,
they show us the way when we are lost,
and give us their love at no cost.
Friends sit by our side when we're sick,
never a fight do they pick,
they tell us the things we need to hear,
even when we don't want to look in the mirror.
By Don
Friends are wonderful living reminders,
they help us take off our blinders,
they fill us with good cheer,
and tell us not to fear.
Friends wake us when up we're sleeping,
they keep our love from seeping,
they show us the way when we are lost,
and give us their love at no cost.
Friends sit by our side when we're sick,
never a fight do they pick,
they tell us the things we need to hear,
even when we don't want to look in the mirror.
Monday, October 18, 2004
Monday Thought: Einstein the Buddhist
"A human being is a part of the whole
called by us universe, a part limited in
time and space. He experiences himself,
his thoughts and feeling as something
separated from the rest, a kind of optical
delusion of his consciousness. This delusion
is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to
our personal desires and to affection for
a few persons nearest to us. Our task
must be to free ourselves from this prison
by widening our circle of compassion to
embrace all living creatures and the whole
of nature in its beauty."
--Albert Einstein
"A human being is a part of the whole
called by us universe, a part limited in
time and space. He experiences himself,
his thoughts and feeling as something
separated from the rest, a kind of optical
delusion of his consciousness. This delusion
is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to
our personal desires and to affection for
a few persons nearest to us. Our task
must be to free ourselves from this prison
by widening our circle of compassion to
embrace all living creatures and the whole
of nature in its beauty."
--Albert Einstein
Sunday, October 17, 2004
Saturday, October 16, 2004
Friday, October 15, 2004
Thursday, October 14, 2004
Autumn Day in Cleveland
By Don
Noisy rambunctious bluejay,
bouncing frantically limb to limb,
golden sunlight streaks through treetops,
warming my inquisitive face
pressed against the window,
a single red maple leaf lets go
of her need to hold on,
Autumn day in Cleveland,
happiness is comfortably within reach today.
By Don
Noisy rambunctious bluejay,
bouncing frantically limb to limb,
golden sunlight streaks through treetops,
warming my inquisitive face
pressed against the window,
a single red maple leaf lets go
of her need to hold on,
Autumn day in Cleveland,
happiness is comfortably within reach today.
Wednesday, October 13, 2004
Shadow Truths
By Don
In ancient shadows find,
the sacred and sublime,
where darkness reveals the light,
the heart sees with perfect sight,
without the one, there is no other,
seek the truth without cover,
walk the path where shadows fall,
learn to walk it very tall,
the shadows tell what sun light hides,
for there too truth abides.
By Don
In ancient shadows find,
the sacred and sublime,
where darkness reveals the light,
the heart sees with perfect sight,
without the one, there is no other,
seek the truth without cover,
walk the path where shadows fall,
learn to walk it very tall,
the shadows tell what sun light hides,
for there too truth abides.
Tuesday, October 12, 2004
Monday, October 11, 2004
Sunday, October 10, 2004
Saturday, October 09, 2004
Things We Need
By Don
Laughter,
like butterflies in our garden,
touches us lightly,
but ever so deeply.
Caring smiles,
in a time of need,
cut gently,
but sharply into our despair.
Love,
given unconditionally,
captures us,
but ultimately sets us free.
Brilliant sunsets,
following long days,
help us lose ourselves,
just enough to find ourselves.
By Don
Laughter,
like butterflies in our garden,
touches us lightly,
but ever so deeply.
Caring smiles,
in a time of need,
cut gently,
but sharply into our despair.
Love,
given unconditionally,
captures us,
but ultimately sets us free.
Brilliant sunsets,
following long days,
help us lose ourselves,
just enough to find ourselves.
Friday, October 08, 2004
Thursday, October 07, 2004
Wednesday, October 06, 2004
Autumn Leaves
by Tom Hyland
I sit here at my window,
staring out into space.
My mind is a-wandering,
searching for your pretty face.
A gentle breeze caresses the trees,
bristling and whistling your name.
When I hear those Autumn leaves,
I breathe a quiet sigh — what a shame!
The golds and reds and oranges,
twirl and twist within the mist,
whispering of a Love once known,
and I miss those lips once kissed.
The olive greens and browns and limes,
these leaves perceive as they intermingle,
reminding me that I have myself to blame,
for once again being single!
But pause a moment, consider this,
these falling, dying leaves are not in vain.
For they will rot, decompose, and re-fertilize,
with each droplet of gentle rain.
So is there a lesson here for me to learn,
as I ponder Nature’s course?
What is the bond ‘tween these leaves and me,
perhaps old nourishment for a New Love’s force?
Would you suppose, like Nature’s clothes,
we have to shed the old to become quite bold,
and frolic amidst the Holly and the Ivy,
or is this Ode just — one man’s Lovelorn Folly?
by Tom Hyland
I sit here at my window,
staring out into space.
My mind is a-wandering,
searching for your pretty face.
A gentle breeze caresses the trees,
bristling and whistling your name.
When I hear those Autumn leaves,
I breathe a quiet sigh — what a shame!
The golds and reds and oranges,
twirl and twist within the mist,
whispering of a Love once known,
and I miss those lips once kissed.
The olive greens and browns and limes,
these leaves perceive as they intermingle,
reminding me that I have myself to blame,
for once again being single!
But pause a moment, consider this,
these falling, dying leaves are not in vain.
For they will rot, decompose, and re-fertilize,
with each droplet of gentle rain.
So is there a lesson here for me to learn,
as I ponder Nature’s course?
What is the bond ‘tween these leaves and me,
perhaps old nourishment for a New Love’s force?
Would you suppose, like Nature’s clothes,
we have to shed the old to become quite bold,
and frolic amidst the Holly and the Ivy,
or is this Ode just — one man’s Lovelorn Folly?
Tuesday, October 05, 2004
Morning Poem
By Mary Oliver
Every morning
the world
is created.
Under the orange
sticks of the sun
the heaped
ashes of the night
turn into leaves again
and fasten themselves to the high branches ---
and the ponds appear
like black cloth
on which are painted islands
of summer lilies.
If it is your nature
to be happy
you will swim away along the soft trails
for hours, your imagination
alighting everywhere.
And if your spirit
carries within it
the thorn
that is heavier than lead ---
if it's all you can do
to keep on trudging ---
there is still
somewhere deep within you
a beast shouting that the earth
is exactly what it wanted ---
each pond with its blazing lilies
is a prayer heard and answered
lavishly,
every morning,
whether or not
you have ever dared to be happy,
whether or not
you have ever dared to pray.
from Dream Work (1986) by Mary Oliver
By Mary Oliver
Every morning
the world
is created.
Under the orange
sticks of the sun
the heaped
ashes of the night
turn into leaves again
and fasten themselves to the high branches ---
and the ponds appear
like black cloth
on which are painted islands
of summer lilies.
If it is your nature
to be happy
you will swim away along the soft trails
for hours, your imagination
alighting everywhere.
And if your spirit
carries within it
the thorn
that is heavier than lead ---
if it's all you can do
to keep on trudging ---
there is still
somewhere deep within you
a beast shouting that the earth
is exactly what it wanted ---
each pond with its blazing lilies
is a prayer heard and answered
lavishly,
every morning,
whether or not
you have ever dared to be happy,
whether or not
you have ever dared to pray.
from Dream Work (1986) by Mary Oliver
On second thought...
"It takes a lot of courage to
release the familiar and seemingly
secure, to embrace the new. But
there is no real security in what
is no longer meaningful. There is
more security in the adventurous
and exciting, for in movement
there is life, and in change there
is power."
--Alan Cohen
"It takes a lot of courage to
release the familiar and seemingly
secure, to embrace the new. But
there is no real security in what
is no longer meaningful. There is
more security in the adventurous
and exciting, for in movement
there is life, and in change there
is power."
--Alan Cohen
Monday, October 04, 2004
Letting Go
By Don
Some days your soul seems to wander,
in search of tattered memories and faded dreams,
Some days you long to retrieve your roots,
however twisted and convoluted they may be,
Some days you want your youth back,
the eager spring in your step,
and long days of just play,
filled with honest imagination,
Some days you wish you could go back
and cut the painful ties holding you still
to things buried deep in the past,
Some days you long to be free
of all the addictions, compulsions, obsessions,
and even the dreams that keep you from being truly free,
Some day...
you will care less about your past
and surrender to the stars in the sky,
the contented birds that sing,
and the gentle waves lapping on the beach.
By Don
Some days your soul seems to wander,
in search of tattered memories and faded dreams,
Some days you long to retrieve your roots,
however twisted and convoluted they may be,
Some days you want your youth back,
the eager spring in your step,
and long days of just play,
filled with honest imagination,
Some days you wish you could go back
and cut the painful ties holding you still
to things buried deep in the past,
Some days you long to be free
of all the addictions, compulsions, obsessions,
and even the dreams that keep you from being truly free,
Some day...
you will care less about your past
and surrender to the stars in the sky,
the contented birds that sing,
and the gentle waves lapping on the beach.
Sunday, October 03, 2004
On second thought...
Arrogance and conceit in a person
may be recognized by three signs:
When alone does he feel gloomy,
and in company feel happy?
When people praise him, does he
perform more worship? When they
speak badly of him, does he perform
very little worship?
--Al Ghazzali (Essential Sufism)
Arrogance and conceit in a person
may be recognized by three signs:
When alone does he feel gloomy,
and in company feel happy?
When people praise him, does he
perform more worship? When they
speak badly of him, does he perform
very little worship?
--Al Ghazzali (Essential Sufism)
Saturday, October 02, 2004
Friday, October 01, 2004
The Child Within
By Don
Don't allow the child within you die,
Brush back the hair
from his questioning eyes,
so he can see you,
and you can see him.
Go for a walk,
take turns showing each other
what you see,
find something new together
that you can both see for the first time.
Listen to that
tiny voice inside,
you're never
too old
to be young again.
By Don
Don't allow the child within you die,
Brush back the hair
from his questioning eyes,
so he can see you,
and you can see him.
Go for a walk,
take turns showing each other
what you see,
find something new together
that you can both see for the first time.
Listen to that
tiny voice inside,
you're never
too old
to be young again.
Autumn Begins In Martins Ferry, Ohio
By James Wright
In the Shreve High football stadium,
I think of Polacks nursing long beers in Tiltonsville,
And gray faces of Negroes in the blast furnace at Benwood,
And the ruptured night watchman of Wheeling Steel,
Dreaming of heroes.
All the proud fathers are ashamed to go home.
Their women cluck like starved pullets,
Dying for love.
Therefore,
Their sons grow suicidally beautiful
At the beginning of October,
And gallop terribly against each other's bodies.
By James Wright
In the Shreve High football stadium,
I think of Polacks nursing long beers in Tiltonsville,
And gray faces of Negroes in the blast furnace at Benwood,
And the ruptured night watchman of Wheeling Steel,
Dreaming of heroes.
All the proud fathers are ashamed to go home.
Their women cluck like starved pullets,
Dying for love.
Therefore,
Their sons grow suicidally beautiful
At the beginning of October,
And gallop terribly against each other's bodies.
A Heart's Thanksgiving
By Don
In my heart,
lingers a desire
to be connected,
attached,
to something larger,
more powerful,
more beautiful.
In my heart,
roams a lonely cat,
not everyday but some days,
that longs
to belong,
and be a part of
something with others.
In my heart,
flies a solitary eagle,
who soars high,
where no other
bird would dare fly,
and lives in a world
of high off places.
In my heart,
lives an artist and a monk,
wishing to serve
and create,
from a quiet,
simple place
without expectation of return.
In my heart,
lives and breathes
a silvery dew drop,
sparkling
in the morning sunlight,
hoping for another dream
that carries me far away.
In my heart,
a thanksgiving table
has been set,
around it sits
those who loved me enough
to allow me
to be who i am.
By Don
In my heart,
lingers a desire
to be connected,
attached,
to something larger,
more powerful,
more beautiful.
In my heart,
roams a lonely cat,
not everyday but some days,
that longs
to belong,
and be a part of
something with others.
In my heart,
flies a solitary eagle,
who soars high,
where no other
bird would dare fly,
and lives in a world
of high off places.
In my heart,
lives an artist and a monk,
wishing to serve
and create,
from a quiet,
simple place
without expectation of return.
In my heart,
lives and breathes
a silvery dew drop,
sparkling
in the morning sunlight,
hoping for another dream
that carries me far away.
In my heart,
a thanksgiving table
has been set,
around it sits
those who loved me enough
to allow me
to be who i am.
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