I Know The Way You Can Get
I know the way you can get
When you have not had a drink of Love:
Your face hardens,
Your sweet muscles cramp.
Children become concerned
About a strange look that appears in your eyes
Which even begins to worry your own mirror
And nose.
Squirrels and birds sense your sadness
And call an important conference in a tall tree.
They decide which secret code to chant
To help your mind and soul.
Even angels fear that brand of madness
That arrays itself against the world
And throws sharp stones and spears into
The innocent
And into one's self.
O I know the way you can get
If you have not been drinking Love:
You might rip apart
Every sentence your friends and teachers say,
Looking for hidden clauses.
You might weigh every word on a scale
Like a dead fish.
You might pull out a ruler to measure
From every angle in your darkness
The beautiful dimensions of a heart you once
Trusted.
I know the way you can get
If you have not had a drink from Love's
Hands.
That is why all the Great Ones speak of
The vital need
To keep remembering God,
So you will come to know and see Him
As being so Playful
And Wanting,
Just Wanting to help.
That is why Hafiz says:
Bring your cup near me.
For all I care about
Is quenching your thirst for freedom!
All a Sane man can ever care about
Is giving Love!
From: IHeard God Laughing - Renderings of Hafiz
Translated by Daniel Ladinsky
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Heroes
A couple of years ago I attended a series of classes based on the “This I Believe” series that was done by NPR and based on the 1950’s radio program of the same name. The goal was to write an essay that could be submitted to NPR for inclusion in the project. Mine turned out to be entirely too long for submission, and I was unwilling to shorten it enough to fit within NPR’s time restraints. So I simply shared it with the others in the class and kept it to share selectively when I thought it would be appropriate. My essay follows.
Several years ago someone suggested I make a list of my heroes. This was to be a list of people who in one way or another had a significant impact on my thinking and my life. They could be people whom I knew personally or had never met, just no fictional characters. After making the list I was to review it, meditate on it and see what it had to say about the person I was or wanted to be, my values, hopes and dreams.
My list contains several names that would appear on any list made by a bleeding heart liberal American who came of age in the 1950s and 1960s—Martin Luther King, Jr., Desmond Tutu, Nelson Mandela and Gandhi—all men who faced the injustice they saw in their time and place and confronted it with courage and vision of a better world.
There are folks like Albert Einstein whose brilliant mind I stand in awe of. And there are those who have such insight and such a way with words that their writings entertain, inform and inspire me.
But there are heroes on my list you, almost certainly, never heard of. For instance there is my mother’s sister, my Aunt Leila Smith. Aunt Leila’s unwavering faith, her humility, her capacity for unconditional love and her generous spirit were an inspiration to everyone who knew her. At her funeral the minister said, “Mrs. Smith was such a humble person I’m sure she was surprised to see the angles waiting at the gates of heaven just to welcome her.” None of us who knew her would have been surprised. I remember seeing her cry once because she had to buy a washing machine to replace an old one that had broken down. She had wanted to use that money—she didn’t have much—to help my mother who was struggling financially.
And there is my mother’s brother, my Uncle John Cook. Uncle John stepped in to be the father figure in my life when my parents divorced; I was less than two years old at the time. Uncle John worked at least two jobs all his life but still had to time hang out with his “buddy.” In addition to working in the cotton mills in eastern Alabama where we lived, he was a small-time politician who served several terms as Justice of the Peace. He would take me with him on the campaign trail; knocking on doors, talking to folks, leaving his campaign cards for those who were not home, and visiting the old country stores around Chambers County and chatting with the farmers as they sat around the wood stoves playing checkers. Now, that would be enough to get him on my heroes list, but there’s more to it.
Uncle John was born in 1905 and lived his entire life in the rural south, Georgia and Alabama. He would not have been considered a liberal by today’s standards, but (and considering the time and place, this is quite amazing) I never once heard him say the word “nigger.” When Uncle John died in 1964 his body was brought to his house, as was the custom at the time. An elderly black man came to the house, the back door of course, and asked if he could see “Mr. John” one more time. All the white folks left the living room; my aunt escorted him in and left the room herself. I stood in a hallway where I could see into the living room; no one else could see or hear as they had all moved to a different part of the house. Our visitor removed his hat—almost all men wore hats back then—stood beside Uncle John’s casket for a few moments and then said, “Lawd, Lawd. What we gone do now Mr. John’s gone?” I have no idea who the man was or how he knew Uncle John, but clearly he and I shared the joy of having known, and the grief of having lost, this kind and gentle man.
Another of my heroes is a beautiful lady, Essie Mayo. Essie was our maid when I was a young child and in addition to doing the cooking and cleaning around our house, she took care of me when my mother and Aunt Leila were away at work. She was probably in her sixties or seventies at the time, and she, like my Aunt Leila, loved me unconditionally, and it showed. One day—I would have been about six or seven years old —she scolded me for some sort of misbehavior, and I sassed her. Essie looked me straight in the eye and said, “Now, you think you can talk to me like that ‘cause you’re white and I’m colored, and you think you’re better than me, but I’m just as good as you are.” At that moment, for the first time in my life I felt the pain that we experience when we realize we have hurt someone who loves us and whom we love. I was embarrassed and angry with myself because I knew, even in my child’s heart, that she was right and I was wrong—very wrong.
My heroes have protected me; they held me when I was a frightened little boy; they tended my wounds—physical, emotional and spiritual—and they kept me safe. They teach me to see beauty, to be open to being amazed and awe struck, and to love. They teach me the power of words and give me courage to find my own voice and to use it to speak out against injustice. My heroes inspire me to believe a better world is possible and to work to bring it about. They challenge me to find joy in learning, to be curious and always to be skeptical of my limited perception of reality. They challenge me to honor my better angels of humility and generosity. And sometimes, even when I’d rather they didn’t, they hold up a mirror in which I can see the reflection of the dark side of myself—the side in need of forgiveness, of healing and of wholeness.
So…what do I believe? I believe in heroes. And by the way, my list of heroes is with me right now—on paper, in my mind and in my heart.
Several years ago someone suggested I make a list of my heroes. This was to be a list of people who in one way or another had a significant impact on my thinking and my life. They could be people whom I knew personally or had never met, just no fictional characters. After making the list I was to review it, meditate on it and see what it had to say about the person I was or wanted to be, my values, hopes and dreams.
My list contains several names that would appear on any list made by a bleeding heart liberal American who came of age in the 1950s and 1960s—Martin Luther King, Jr., Desmond Tutu, Nelson Mandela and Gandhi—all men who faced the injustice they saw in their time and place and confronted it with courage and vision of a better world.
There are folks like Albert Einstein whose brilliant mind I stand in awe of. And there are those who have such insight and such a way with words that their writings entertain, inform and inspire me.
But there are heroes on my list you, almost certainly, never heard of. For instance there is my mother’s sister, my Aunt Leila Smith. Aunt Leila’s unwavering faith, her humility, her capacity for unconditional love and her generous spirit were an inspiration to everyone who knew her. At her funeral the minister said, “Mrs. Smith was such a humble person I’m sure she was surprised to see the angles waiting at the gates of heaven just to welcome her.” None of us who knew her would have been surprised. I remember seeing her cry once because she had to buy a washing machine to replace an old one that had broken down. She had wanted to use that money—she didn’t have much—to help my mother who was struggling financially.
And there is my mother’s brother, my Uncle John Cook. Uncle John stepped in to be the father figure in my life when my parents divorced; I was less than two years old at the time. Uncle John worked at least two jobs all his life but still had to time hang out with his “buddy.” In addition to working in the cotton mills in eastern Alabama where we lived, he was a small-time politician who served several terms as Justice of the Peace. He would take me with him on the campaign trail; knocking on doors, talking to folks, leaving his campaign cards for those who were not home, and visiting the old country stores around Chambers County and chatting with the farmers as they sat around the wood stoves playing checkers. Now, that would be enough to get him on my heroes list, but there’s more to it.
Uncle John was born in 1905 and lived his entire life in the rural south, Georgia and Alabama. He would not have been considered a liberal by today’s standards, but (and considering the time and place, this is quite amazing) I never once heard him say the word “nigger.” When Uncle John died in 1964 his body was brought to his house, as was the custom at the time. An elderly black man came to the house, the back door of course, and asked if he could see “Mr. John” one more time. All the white folks left the living room; my aunt escorted him in and left the room herself. I stood in a hallway where I could see into the living room; no one else could see or hear as they had all moved to a different part of the house. Our visitor removed his hat—almost all men wore hats back then—stood beside Uncle John’s casket for a few moments and then said, “Lawd, Lawd. What we gone do now Mr. John’s gone?” I have no idea who the man was or how he knew Uncle John, but clearly he and I shared the joy of having known, and the grief of having lost, this kind and gentle man.
Another of my heroes is a beautiful lady, Essie Mayo. Essie was our maid when I was a young child and in addition to doing the cooking and cleaning around our house, she took care of me when my mother and Aunt Leila were away at work. She was probably in her sixties or seventies at the time, and she, like my Aunt Leila, loved me unconditionally, and it showed. One day—I would have been about six or seven years old —she scolded me for some sort of misbehavior, and I sassed her. Essie looked me straight in the eye and said, “Now, you think you can talk to me like that ‘cause you’re white and I’m colored, and you think you’re better than me, but I’m just as good as you are.” At that moment, for the first time in my life I felt the pain that we experience when we realize we have hurt someone who loves us and whom we love. I was embarrassed and angry with myself because I knew, even in my child’s heart, that she was right and I was wrong—very wrong.
My heroes have protected me; they held me when I was a frightened little boy; they tended my wounds—physical, emotional and spiritual—and they kept me safe. They teach me to see beauty, to be open to being amazed and awe struck, and to love. They teach me the power of words and give me courage to find my own voice and to use it to speak out against injustice. My heroes inspire me to believe a better world is possible and to work to bring it about. They challenge me to find joy in learning, to be curious and always to be skeptical of my limited perception of reality. They challenge me to honor my better angels of humility and generosity. And sometimes, even when I’d rather they didn’t, they hold up a mirror in which I can see the reflection of the dark side of myself—the side in need of forgiveness, of healing and of wholeness.
So…what do I believe? I believe in heroes. And by the way, my list of heroes is with me right now—on paper, in my mind and in my heart.
The Desert as Soul-Making Space
"As we have seen, the desert provides the environment for soul making. It is there we learn the lessons of the gift of tears…they teach us that love requires freedom, spontaneity, and the grace to stand back and allow another simply to be. The desert teaches us that love can often mean the willingness to stand guard over another’s solitude. Here is the basic paradox of soul making: in order for me to be myself, I need to be able to be alone; in order to be myself, I need to be with others.” ~~~ Alan Jones
All the Hemispheres
All the Hemispheres ~~~ The Poetry of Hafiz
Leave the familiar for a while.
Let your senses and bodies stretch out
Like a welcomed season
Onto the meadows and shores and hills.
Open up to the Roof.
Make a new water-mark on your excitement
And love.
Like a blooming night flower,
Bestow your vital fragrance of happiness
And giving
Upon our intimate assembly.
Change rooms in your mind for a day.
All the hemispheres in existence
Lie beside an equator
In your heart.
Greet Yourself
In your thousand other forms
As you mount the hidden tide and travel
Back home.
All the hemispheres in heaven
Are sitting around a fire
Chatting
While stitching themselves together
Into the Great Circle inside of
You.
From: 'The Subject Tonight is Love'
Translated by Daniel Ladinsky
Leave the familiar for a while.
Let your senses and bodies stretch out
Like a welcomed season
Onto the meadows and shores and hills.
Open up to the Roof.
Make a new water-mark on your excitement
And love.
Like a blooming night flower,
Bestow your vital fragrance of happiness
And giving
Upon our intimate assembly.
Change rooms in your mind for a day.
All the hemispheres in existence
Lie beside an equator
In your heart.
Greet Yourself
In your thousand other forms
As you mount the hidden tide and travel
Back home.
All the hemispheres in heaven
Are sitting around a fire
Chatting
While stitching themselves together
Into the Great Circle inside of
You.
From: 'The Subject Tonight is Love'
Translated by Daniel Ladinsky
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