ShivAllahSita sutra 29

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Abiding at the point of perception,the thoughtless state is the means

and the endat the threshold of The Boundless,breathless with no

anticipation,effort gives way to the effortless,Cold Mountain lifts

the bride across,heart serene –

Bliss.

~b

 

a well nobody dug filled with no waterripples and a shapeless

weightless man drinks oh green green willow wonderfully red flowerbut

I know the colors are not theremy gray cat jumped up just as I lifted

this spoonwe're born we dieif there's nowhere to rest at the endhow

can I get lost along the way?

~Ikkyu by Stephen Berg

No where to go and nothing to do butgracefully undo the seven buttons

ascasually as the moment requires andmemory refrains from

intersecting thespace between thoughts, a kind of chasmwith no

bottom, no place to avoid the presencetowards which every creature's

face thrusts forward fromthe same neck in speechless awe, tongues

thick with the honey nectar of the current ofbliss, blessing,

blessing, blessingfalling down.

~b

 

you stand inside me naked infinite lovethe dawn bell rips my dreaming

heartwe're lost where the mind can't find usutterly lost

Ikkyu by Stephen Berg

 

Speaking of Han Shan and Shih-te’s poetry…

A great deal of this collection is about teetering on the edge,

about jumping off (or not), about words trembling on the lip.In one

poem, Han-shan and Shih-te find an old man

sitting on a cliff's edge, left there by his son,

who lacked the courage to push him over

(a solution, then, for the problems of caring for the aged). The man

is laughing and refuses to fall over or be pulled back.

"All for nothing," he giggled, "all for nothing."

This is finely distilled Taoist thinking:

Tao (translated as "The Way")

embodies a belief that all our accomplishments,

all our struggles and the things we hold dear are nothing;

to follow The Way is to calmly, even joyfully,

let life have its way with us.

Sitting on the cliff's edge,

the old man knows this.

~Kaihoku Yusho

 

This day, bleeding and dying, never finished with deathOf her who was

of this land I arrive, I land to walkThe path, the narrow river where

I bathe and showerAnd drown in memories, accompanied by the silent

Footsteps on dusty roads, on paddy fields, rock and sand A room, a

photograph, a tamarind tree, a coconut groove,A sister, a cousin, a

friend, a distant voice in the darknessSpill and overflow, drown and

expand, fold and unfold Walk over a buried temple, a grave of

childhood, Of adolescence when lips touched lips, hand held hand

There is no mirror, no reflection in the water, no grain of Sand,

only a boat adrift without ores seeks its origin in silence.

~ Anthony Gomes, M.D

 

Independent

Of this body is my mind

When the call from the Golden Nightingale

Lifts and pours my being throughout

The Sky.

Independent of this mind is my

Heart

When God unfurls even a shadow of His tress

Upon my bare shoulder.

Sovereign of my illumined heart

Is the indivisible knowledge

In the gaze of my spirit’s wings climbing to

Such a sublime height they each

Become the Sun

Itself

And reside – perched beyond every throne

Known to man.

Hafiz,

This Sufi path of love is so astoundingly

Glorious

That

One day each

Wayfarer upon it will become

The Inconceivable –

The Creator of God

Himself.

~Hafiz by Daniel Ladinsky

 

Don't worry about saving these songs! And if one of our instruments

breaks, it doesn't matter. We have fallen into the place where

everything is music. The strumming and the flute notes rise into the

atmosphere, and even if the whole world's harp should burn up, there

will still be hidden instruments playing. So the candle flickers and

goes out. We have a piece of flint, and a spark. This singing art is

sea foam. The graceful movements come from a pearl somewhere on the

ocean floor. Poems reach up like spindrift and the edge of driftwood

along the beach, wanting! they derive from a slow and powerful root

that we can't see. Stop the words now. Open the window in the center

of your chest, and let the spirits fly in and out.

~Rumi

 

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