Buttering the Sky

Slipping

On my shoes,

Boiling water,

Toasting bread,

Buttering the sky:

That should be enough contact

With God in one day

To make anyone

Crazy.





Hafiz
Photo:  Peter Bowers

an ordinary life

Unchain yourself from achievement
and enjoy an ordinary life.
Flow like the Tao, unhindered,
unnoticed, unnamed,
with no goals, no expectations,
Be like a child, like a fool.
Know that there is nothing to know.
This is the direct way to freedom.





Commentary

... The day unfolds its little surprises, you flow from concentration to relaxedness to concentration, from morning to evening, the only possible break in the current of delight is an untrue thought.  Everyday mind is the Tao.




Stephen Mitchell
The Second Book of the Tao, 51
Photo:  Peter Bowers

love is the every only god

love is the every only god 

who spoke this earth so glad and big

even a thing all small and sad

man,may his mighty briefness dig

for love beginning means return

seas who could sing so deep and strong

one queerying wave will whitely yearn

from each last shore and home come young

so truly perfectly the skies

by merciful love whispered were,

completes its brightness with your eyes

any illimitable star

e.e.cummings

photo: Peter Bowers

gift of form

The specific forms that love take in our lives arise and pass in time, 

for this is the way of form. Time is the great dissolver. 

But love itself is that which never comes and goes.

We never know what form love will choose to take in the future, 

for there is no love in the future. Love is only now.

 But it can take a cleansing of perception to see through the veil,

 behind the scenes where love is always at work…

 giving birth to one of its forms, one of its children,

 while recycling and dissolving another.

If we become too fused with a specific form we believe 

we need love to take—a particular person or way 

of finding purpose and meaning—our heart will inevitably

 break when love obliterates that form for something new, 

which it always will. This shattering is the great gift of form,

evidence not of error and mistake,

 but of wholeness and profound compassion.

This dissolution and reorganization is a special kind of grace

 that the conventional mind struggles to know.

 But the heart knows. The body knows.

Matt Licata

from A Healing Space

with thanks the beauty we love

photo  Peter Bowers

the dance

At the still point of the turning world.

Neither flesh nor fleshless;

Neither from nor towards;

At the still point, there the dance is,

But neither arrest nor movement.

And do not call it fixity,

Where past and future are gathered.

Neither movement from nor towards,

Neither ascent nor decline.

Except for the point, the still point,

There would be no dance,

And there is only the dance.

T. S. Eliot

...we clasp the hands of those who go before us, and the hands of those who come after us;

we enter the little circle of each other's arms,

and the larger circle of lovers whose hands are joined in a dance,

and the larger circle of all creatures, passing in and out of life, who move also in a dance, to a music so subtle and vast that no ear hears it except in fragments.

Wendell Berry

excerpt: Healing

Photo:  Peter Bowers

lute music

The Earth will be going on a long time

Before it finally freezes;

Men will be on it; they will take names,

Give their deeds reasons.

We will be here only

As chemical constituents—

A small franchise indeed.

Right now we have lives,

Corpuscles, Ambitions, Caresses,

Like everybody had once—

Here at the year’s end, at the feast

Of birth, let us bring to each other

The gifts brought once west through deserts—

The precious metal of our mingled hair,

The frankincense of enraptured arms and legs,

The myrrh of desperate, invincible kisses—

Let us celebrate the daily

Recurrent nativity of love,

The endless epiphany of our fluent selves,

While the earth rolls away under us

Into unknown snows and summers,

Into untraveled spaces of the stars.

Kenneth Rexroth

Photo:  Peter Bowers

precious gift

No, I was not busy when you came!

I was not preparing to be busy.

That's the armour everyone puts on

to pretend they had a purpose in the world. 

Naomi Shihab Nye

excerpt: Red Brocade

The most precious gift you can give

to the one you love is your true presence. 

Do you have enough time to love?

My dear, I am here for you.  

Thich Nhat Hanh

True Love 

... Why not become the one who lives

with the full moon in each eye

that is always saying

with that sweet moon language 

what every other eye in this

world is dying to hear.

Hafiz

Photo:  Peter Bowers

between going and staying

Between going and staying

the day wavers,

in love with its own transparency.

The circular afternoon is now a bay

where the world in stillness rocks.

All is visible and all elusive,

all is near and can't be touched.

Paper, book, pencil, glass,

rest in the shade of their names.

Time throbbing in my temples repeats

the same unchanging syllable of blood.

The light turns the indifferent wall

into a ghostly theater of reflections.

I find myself in the middle of an eye,

watching myself in its blank stare.

The moment scatters.  Motionless,

I stay and go:  I am a pause.

Octavio Paz

Translated by Eliot Weinberger

Photo: Peter Bowers

 

the last verse

not pretending to know

not pretending to not know

with no place to stand

she steps into her shoes

tushti

photo: Peter Bowers

recognition

They were like two mirrors facing each other.  

Who sees, who is seen?

Seeing each other like this, 

they experienced the recognition everyone craves  - 

to be seen exactly as we are, 

nothing more, 

and nothing less.

Seen like this, 

all the many forms in the world 

are the same 

as one's own hand,

one's own face.

the iron grinder, Liu Tiemo (780-859)

Women of the Way

 Sallie Tisdale

Photo:  Peter Bowers

transition

for WCW

I wish I understood the beauty

in leaves falling. To whom

are we beautiful

as we go?

I lie in the field

still, absorbing the stars

and silently throwing off

their presence. Silently

I breathe and die

by turns.

He was ripe 

and fell to the ground

from a bough

out where the wind

is free

of the branches

David Ignatow

---

Attempting to answer David Ignatow's question

I wish I understood the beauty

in leaves falling. To whom 

are we beautiful

as we go?

We are beautiful to the Mother as we go.

There are mysterious roads in jade that

Old men follow,

Routes that migratory birds walk on,

The circle dances

Iron filings do,

The things we cannot say.

Salmon find their way to old beds;

Sleeping bodies are not alone.

Robert Bly

thank you beauty we love 

whatever happens

 

Whatever happens. Whatever

what is is is what

I want. Only that. But that.

Galway Kinnell