Flute over percussion,
Cool breeze over lava lakes.
We bless with gentle step
The surface of our Earth.
Beneath the surface strong
Swirling currents circle,
Then leap upward, bringing
Life through those of foot or root.
Channels of light and love,
Hara, heart, hand and eye
Open, allow, return.
Blessing with each gentle step….
I am love
Control, strength, oneness, power,
being, present, joy, affirming, clarity, presence,
force, balance, knowing and direction, precision,
harmony, coordination, movement, firmness, centeredness,
root, feet, stamping, contact, earth, connection,
energy, togetherness of body, rhythm, timing,
precision and presence,
Ebb and Flow
This way and that
Rhythms, they change
Sometimes slow, sometimes not
And the moments?
They ceaselessly tick away
No halt or force
Like ripples in still water where there is no
I, you, us, now, here, today This too shall pass
Tomorrow and after… That too shall pass
But yet I shall wind the clock
With such intensity, as though
It were for the first time.
Come enter me, O gentle Divine Spirit,
Flooding my Be-ing with Self-ness
With every stamp -Affirmation!
With every bend - Acceptance!
With every turn - Alignment!
And with each arm - Acknowledgement!
Learning Doing Be-ing Breathing Moving Changing
Adjusting Accepting Open and Flowing…….
Energise me, Loving Earth,
As I fill my Self with Self
I AM ! THIS ! HERE! NOW!
Spirit! - just whirling spinning Dancing breathing!
Golden energy moving through me Embracing Earth
red Molten orange glowing….
Power at my Center, Love in my Heart, Breath in
As I dance the Dance of Life! In Surrender!
Asked this morning to write about Great Prayer.
A poem or prose, she said.
My instant thought was "but, I can't write
This time, however, I switched off the auto-pilot
as quickly as I had turned it on.
Choosing "different" over automatic,
I nodded yes… even though
I had no idea how I'd go about it. And then I
began writing the following story in my head:
Again and again and again. Do, do, do.
Piece, piece, piece of a giant puzzle.
Pieces becoming segments.
One segment here, one segment there.
One more and - BLANK…
How to go to the next?… Just do.
Again and again and again.
And I do, and I do and I do.
Like the little child, learning to walk, falling
down and getting up over and over again. Tirelessly
and with perfect equanimity. It doesn't matter
how many times I have to do it.
Yes, I do want to learn it, but wanting to get
it, this time,
does not interfere with the happiness and peace
I experience as I move from one position to the
COUNTING one - one, two - one, two, three, four
- in seemingly no particular order at all.
Besides, the counting is in Russian!!
How can it be so enjoyable? queries my Head.
Could it be that there is no space for automaticity
and no possibility of doing anything but giving
one's full attention to this Prayer?
Is it experiencing every moment, and counting
each one that leaves me feeling so complete?
And what happened to Confusion and Impatience
two companions I have been able to count on when
trying to learn something new.
Oops, perhaps there was the answer. TRYING.
I am not trying to do Great Prayer.
I am doing it. Like that little kid who keeps
getting up without worrying about how many more
times she will fall.
I am missing another companion, too. Ms Worry.
What happened to her? No idea.
But she seems to have been replaced by Ms Trust,
who trusts that I will be able to join pieces
into segments, and segments into a complete puzzle
- one day
One final question from that busy Head of mine.
How to go from the safe life laboratory of Akash's
place to real life?
Do. Just do…
Tough movements, easy movements
She was a fellow traveler
No special bond of caring
In the play of sunlight and shadows
Anguish, yes, and the pain of bitterness and hurt
As we wrenched apart, I saw, in her eyes
The song I had not yet shared or sung
Strange are the ways of peace…They have
brought us to this space
That was beyond hope or possibility…
rough translation of a Ghazal by Naseer Turabi)
Second of November
The elements in Quiet insistent
"Move, move my sweet, Move"
Crystal lightness… Spreading in my being
Sweet honey music… Playing in my bones
…Throbbng in my thighs
I look to the skies
And, in unknown direction
….Thrumming in my ribs.
As I walk paths
My eye meets
That of the other
A ripple courses my body
For I recognize
The dance in her eyes.
A moment, A pause, To love the mirror.
And then, alone together
Like a star on shimmer trail
I leap into the fire
And become flame.
There I find her
No skin, no flesh, no bone.
Simply a vibrating note
On an emerald pole
That is real
In this moment…
Why Students Go To School
Bahauddin taught how to grow
red roses from white poplars
His son, To whirl in the marketplace.
This is no ordinary school of fact and
Where teacher or student expectations are met.
The universe provides the lesson plans
The teacher feels for them, choosing the paths
Touches, knowing that each infinite option
Responds to different light and angle.
Students follow the ever- brightening
Free to peer and venture into darker routes
Free to return.
Why grow roses from poplars?
To know the essence below flower, below tree,
To follow our paths to the place our light
Becomes the candle around which the moth - sun
Whirling in our marketplace.