Web

Intricate and untraceable
weaving and interweaving,
dark strand with light:

designed, beyond
all spiderly contrivance,
to link, not to entrap:

elation, grief, joy, contrition, entwined;

shaking, changing,

forever

forming,

transforming:

all praise,

all praise to the

great web.






Denise Levertov
Photo:  Peter Bowers

Learn by little the desire for all things

Learn by little the desire for all things
which perhaps is not desire at all
but undying love which perhaps
is not love at all but gratitude
for the being of all things which
perhaps is not gratitude at all
but the maker's joy in what is made,
the joy in which we come to rest.





Wendell Berry
Photo:  Peter Bowers

Cutting Loose

Sometimes from sorrow, for no reason,
you sing. For no reason, you accept
the way of being lost, cutting loose from
all else and electing a world
where you go where you want to.

Arbitrary, sound comes, a reminder
that a steady center is holding
all else. If you listen, that sound
will tell where it is, and you
can slide your way past trouble.

Certain twisted monsters
always bar the path—but that's when
you get going best, glad to be
lost, learning how real it is
here on the earth, again and again.





William Stafford
Photo:  Peter Bowers

Fullness

This is fullness.

That is fullness.

From fullness springs fullness.

Take fullness from fullness and

only fullness remains.

Om peace, peace, peace.

Om purnam-adah purnam-idam

Purnaat purnam-udachyate

Purnasya purnam-aadaaya

Purnam-eva-avashishyate

Om shanti shanti shanti

Invocation Brhadarayaka Upanishad

photo:  Peter Bowers

The Friend

In the old days, my Baba said,
True teachers, gurus, murshids,
Did not sit “in front of” groups, elevated above,
But were simple people… simple…
Always sitting “across from” a simple friend.

They were fellow Lovers of The Beloved,
In whose Hearts Her Flame was alight,
And in relationship with whom,
The ember in one's own Heart would ignite,
And one would become, in time… “like them”.

This is, after all, the point, is it not?

This was an intimate spiritual relationship,
Not seeing from a distance, seldom,
Over the heads of a crowd,
Not being “taught” in words and concepts,
But a Mystical Illumining of Grace…

Heart to Heart.

The guru, the murshid, the teacher,
Took tea with a friend, and chatted,
And together they bathed in the Presence,
That Illumined both their Hearts,
One aflame, the other igniting.

Things were said, questions asked, in this simplicity,
That would not be uttered in a crowd of strangers,
Revelations of the Heart's deepest Longing,
Questions utterable only in the Intimacy of Friendship,
And answers…

Born of a Heart Fulfilled.

It did not matter, my Baba said,
Whether the teacher, the guru, the murshid,
Was brilliant, of diamond-like mind,
Eloquent, and inspiring of speech,
Beautiful for the eyes to behold…

Or a drooling idiot.

All that was required, he said,
Was their Presence,
Which had become, over time,
Through Love, Longing, and inward turning,
Indistinguishable, inseparable from…

Her Timeless Presence.

Two simple Friends,
Two simple ones,
Two Lovers of The Beautiful Mystery,
Taking Tea, chatting, as only Friends can do;
Sipping… Sipping…

Vanishing in The Tea.
In this way, this Ancient Way, my Baba said,
The Flame in one, ignited the ember in the other,
And in time, when that ember burst into Flame,
Another teacher, guru, murshid was born,
A Simple friend, a Fellow Lover…

Of That for which “Love“ is a wholly inadequate word.

Two things he oft' repeated:
“Slowly, slowly; She is doing everything.”
And, more often even than that,
“Remain always, a simple man.”

For the old days are now.





Chuck Surface
Photo:  Peter Bowers

Humility

            I can see humility
            Delicate and white
            It is satisfying
            Just by itself

            And Trust
            absolute trust
            a gift
            a precious gift

            I would rather think of humility than
                        anything else.

            Humility, the beautiful daughter
            She cannot do either right or wrong
            She does not do anything
            All of her ways are empty
            Infinitely light and delicate
            She treads an even path
            Sweet, smiling, uninterrupted, free


       


             Agnes Martin
             Photo:  Peter Bowers

Like Snow

Suppose we did our work, 

like the snow, quietly, quietly,
leaving nothing out.





Wendell Berry
Photo:  Peter Bowers

Original Mind

How many evenings
have you turned away?

As if the life you really want
could only begin

once something else had happened,
something else that was not yet here…

All the unmet conditions
you’ve placed before happiness

have kept you a person in waiting
like someone overlooked, someone

whose time has yet to come,
as if God somehow

forgot to pack you a lunch…

Right now
a wheel of fortune is spinning

but notice: its center is completely still,
unchanging, completely empty

Bet all your money here
on a clear reception

of that hollowness
a nothing that lacks nothing.

It’s like we have two minds.
One is conditioned, and conditional…

And it’s filled with drama:
—your anchorless ship ever drawing close

to fearful rocks of loss
or hopeful shores of gain.

But we don’t need all the drama
--or special conditions, for happiness

to visit and stay awhile.
It doesn’t need to be imported,

doesn’t need to be Maui
under a full moon,

with a special enchanting
someone in tow. Nor do we need

all our duckies
finally lined up in a row.

Our original mind
is already content

standing in any line, sitting in any chair,
or parked in an old jalopy

in any Safeway parking lot.
This mind is empty

of all that clutching
to outcomes and conditions.

Less picky, more eco-friendly.
Just this is enough.






Gary Rosenthal
Photo:  Peter Bowers

In the Realm of the Passing Away

This is the realm of the passing away.  All that

exists does not for long.

Whatever comes into this world never stops sliding

toward the edge of eternity.

Form arises from formlessness and passes back,

arising and dissolving in a few dance steps between

creation and destruction.

We are born passing away.

Seedlings and deadfall all face forward.

Earthworms eat what remains.

We sing not for that which dies but for that which

never dies.

Stephen Levine

Photo:  Peter Bowers

Being the Song

Reminding others of the enormity of their own 

Great Nature is the highest service one can offer another.

Kyoto Zen Master

First we serve, then we become service.

It is alot like prayer; first you pray, 

but eventually your life becomes the prayer.

First you sing, then you become the song.

Gandhi said, 'My life is my message."

Stephen Levine

Photo:  Peter Bowers

s

The Avowal

As swimmers dare

to  lie face to the sky

and water bears them,

as hawks rest upon air

and air sustains them,

so would I learn to attain 

freefall, and float

in Creator Spirit's deep embrace,

knowing no effort earns

that all-surrounding grace. 

Denise Levertov

Photo:  Peter Bowers

the deep innerness of all things

You are the future, 

the red sky before sunrise

over the fields of time.

You are the cock's crow when night is done,

you are the dew and the bells of matins,

maiden, stranger, mother, death.

You create yourself in ever-changing shapes

that rise from the stuff of our days -

unsung, unmourned, undescribed,

like a forest we never know.

You are the deep innerness of all things,

the last word that can never be spoken.

To each of us you reveal yourself differently:

to the ship as coastline, to the shore as a ship.

 Rainer Maria Rilke

photo:  Peter Bowers