Your body is here with us,
but your heart is in the meadow.
You travel with the hunters
though you yourself are what they hunt.
Like a reed flute,
you are encased by your body,
wth a restless breathy sound inside.
You are a diver;
your body is just clothing left at the shore.
You are a fish whose way is through water.
In this se there are many bright veins
and some that are dark.
The heart receives its light
from those bright veins.
If you lift your wing
I can show them to you.
You are hidden like the blood within,
and you are shy to the touch.
Those same veins sing a melancholy tune
in the sweet-stringed lute,
music from a shoreless sea
whose waves roar out of infinity.
Rumi
Friday, January 14, 2011
Quatrains
Pale sunlight,
pale the wall.
Love moves away.
The light changes.
I need more grace than I thought.
*
I would love to kiss you.
The price of kissing is your life.
Now my loving is running toward my life shouting,
What a bargain, let's buy it.
*
You have said what you are.
I am what I am.
Your actions in my head,
my head here in my hands
with something circling inside.
I have no name
for what circles
so perfectly
*
Daylight, full of small dancing particles
and the one great turning, our souls
are dancing with you, without feet, they dance.
Can you see them when I whisper in your ear?
*
They try to say what you are, spiritual or sexual?
They wonder about Solomon and all his wives.
In the body of the world, they say, there is a soul
and you are that.
But we have ways within each other
that will never be said by anyone.
*
ome to the orchad in Spring
There is light and wine, and sweethearts
in the pomegranate flowers.
If you do not come, these do not matter.
If you do come, these do not matter.
*
Walk to the well.
Turn as the earth and the moon turn,
circling what they love.
Whatever circles comes from the center.
*
I circle your nest tonight,
around and around until morning
when a breath of air says, Now,
and the Friend holds up like a goblet
some anonymous skull.
*
No better love than love with no object,
no more satisfying work than work with no purpose.
If you could give up tricks and clevernss,
that would be the cleverest trick!
Rumi
pale the wall.
Love moves away.
The light changes.
I need more grace than I thought.
*
I would love to kiss you.
The price of kissing is your life.
Now my loving is running toward my life shouting,
What a bargain, let's buy it.
*
You have said what you are.
I am what I am.
Your actions in my head,
my head here in my hands
with something circling inside.
I have no name
for what circles
so perfectly
*
Daylight, full of small dancing particles
and the one great turning, our souls
are dancing with you, without feet, they dance.
Can you see them when I whisper in your ear?
*
They try to say what you are, spiritual or sexual?
They wonder about Solomon and all his wives.
In the body of the world, they say, there is a soul
and you are that.
But we have ways within each other
that will never be said by anyone.
*
ome to the orchad in Spring
There is light and wine, and sweethearts
in the pomegranate flowers.
If you do not come, these do not matter.
If you do come, these do not matter.
*
Walk to the well.
Turn as the earth and the moon turn,
circling what they love.
Whatever circles comes from the center.
*
I circle your nest tonight,
around and around until morning
when a breath of air says, Now,
and the Friend holds up like a goblet
some anonymous skull.
*
No better love than love with no object,
no more satisfying work than work with no purpose.
If you could give up tricks and clevernss,
that would be the cleverest trick!
Rumi
And He Is With Us
Totally unexpected my guest arrived.
'Who is it?' asked my heart.
'The face of the moon,' said my soul.
As he entered the house,
we all ran into the street madly looking for the moon.
'I'm in here,' he was calling from inside,
but we were calling him outside unaware of his call.
Our drunken ightingale is singing in the garden,
and we are cooing like doves,' Where, where, where?'
A crowd ormed: 'Where's the thief?'
And the thief among us is saying,
'Yeah, where's the thief.'
All our voices became mixed together
and not one voice stood out from the others.
And He is with you means He is searching with you.
He is nearer to you than yourself. Why look outside?
Become like melting snow; wash yourself of yourself.
With love your inner voice will find a tongue
grwing like a silent white lily in the heart.
Rumi
'Who is it?' asked my heart.
'The face of the moon,' said my soul.
As he entered the house,
we all ran into the street madly looking for the moon.
'I'm in here,' he was calling from inside,
but we were calling him outside unaware of his call.
Our drunken ightingale is singing in the garden,
and we are cooing like doves,' Where, where, where?'
A crowd ormed: 'Where's the thief?'
And the thief among us is saying,
'Yeah, where's the thief.'
All our voices became mixed together
and not one voice stood out from the others.
And He is with you means He is searching with you.
He is nearer to you than yourself. Why look outside?
Become like melting snow; wash yourself of yourself.
With love your inner voice will find a tongue
grwing like a silent white lily in the heart.
Rumi
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Shell.
This cage is cold and lonely
This shell is silent and warm.
Nothing to hurt me; no one to hurt.
This is safety.
Rain drips down this window in front
Acid hurls at my back
But I am not stung,
I can not sting.
This is my shell.
My little enclosure,
Hollow, lonely, safe.
It is dark in here,
I do not feel
the loving touch of light.
I can not give, my light.
Do I stay, or should I go?
Do I give back what I once stole?
Should I stay here, alone, yet safe?
Or do I give my all,
draining all my so-called light,
Then lie down and die,
As I rot,
from the inside out.
This shell is silent and warm.
Nothing to hurt me; no one to hurt.
This is safety.
Rain drips down this window in front
Acid hurls at my back
But I am not stung,
I can not sting.
This is my shell.
My little enclosure,
Hollow, lonely, safe.
It is dark in here,
I do not feel
the loving touch of light.
I can not give, my light.
Do I stay, or should I go?
Do I give back what I once stole?
Should I stay here, alone, yet safe?
Or do I give my all,
draining all my so-called light,
Then lie down and die,
As I rot,
from the inside out.
28th Dec. 10
You gaze at me with your ten thousand eyes,
you do so and it is I,
I do not stir,
my feet are completely embedded in the ground,
I allow myself to be reached by your ten thousand glances
or if you prefer
by the single glances of your ten thousand eyes
but it is not the same,
such an immense gaze touches me everywhere,
I hesitate to move,
if I raise my arms toward the sun
you slant your eyes to adjust to the light,
they sparkle but you look at me or else if I should move into the shade
I am cold
your eyes are not visible
there where you follow me
I too am unseen by you,
I am dumb in this desert devoid of your tenthousand eyes
darker than the dark
where you reyes would appear to me
ten thousand fold black and shining,
I am alone until the moment when I hear a variety of sounds of bells of tintinnabulation.
I tremble.
I am giddy, it reverberates within me,
it makes me quiver,
it is the music of the eyes I say to myself,
either they clash together gently and with violence
or they produce these many sounds by themselves,
I fling myself flat on my face
in front or behind this side or that,
I gesticulate wildly to that I cannot escape
the multiplicity of your regard,
wherever I may be
my ineffable one
you gaze at me with your ten thousand eyes.
Monique Wittig.
you do so and it is I,
I do not stir,
my feet are completely embedded in the ground,
I allow myself to be reached by your ten thousand glances
or if you prefer
by the single glances of your ten thousand eyes
but it is not the same,
such an immense gaze touches me everywhere,
I hesitate to move,
if I raise my arms toward the sun
you slant your eyes to adjust to the light,
they sparkle but you look at me or else if I should move into the shade
I am cold
your eyes are not visible
there where you follow me
I too am unseen by you,
I am dumb in this desert devoid of your tenthousand eyes
darker than the dark
where you reyes would appear to me
ten thousand fold black and shining,
I am alone until the moment when I hear a variety of sounds of bells of tintinnabulation.
I tremble.
I am giddy, it reverberates within me,
it makes me quiver,
it is the music of the eyes I say to myself,
either they clash together gently and with violence
or they produce these many sounds by themselves,
I fling myself flat on my face
in front or behind this side or that,
I gesticulate wildly to that I cannot escape
the multiplicity of your regard,
wherever I may be
my ineffable one
you gaze at me with your ten thousand eyes.
Monique Wittig.
20/12/2010
Running through the shadows
Darting this way and that
I swallow hard
And keep running.
A looming darkness hisses against my neck
I Cling to the Fear
And run.
I'm running for my life
Blind
Feeling the way in front of me.
How do I know the way to go?
The way is the softest against my skin.
Do you not see me?
Sobbing in the dimming light
Clutching at hope
For sanity.
Death is all around me
Its cold, sickly fingers stroke my cheek,
Whispering sweetly, softly.
Like a breath of wind.
Do I stay, or do I go?
What is the meaning; my purpose here?
I'm running for my life.
Is this darkness, really light?
Darting this way and that
I swallow hard
And keep running.
A looming darkness hisses against my neck
I Cling to the Fear
And run.
I'm running for my life
Blind
Feeling the way in front of me.
How do I know the way to go?
The way is the softest against my skin.
Do you not see me?
Sobbing in the dimming light
Clutching at hope
For sanity.
Death is all around me
Its cold, sickly fingers stroke my cheek,
Whispering sweetly, softly.
Like a breath of wind.
Do I stay, or do I go?
What is the meaning; my purpose here?
I'm running for my life.
Is this darkness, really light?
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Child
"I am" just a shell.
A case, for this sacred divinity
My soul was beaten, bruised,
Torn and abused.
Discarded, left to rot in misery.
But it could not die.
It stayed in its dark hole, and built
a "safe" enclosure round itself.
Day by day, the walls grew harder and thicker.
Dirt and mud crusted every crevice and crack,
so no light could get in.
You grew dark and bloody, pulsating with
Anger and pain.
Left alone, you withered...
I called to you, one lonely day.
I tore off the tangled vines,
Broke down the gates, and thundered through the walls.
I looked for you, but could not find you.
I found a lock, hidden behind a rock,
discoloured and rusting with age.
Forcing it open, I found you.
There you were, bright and shining, yet so small.
So alone.
Enclosed within a raw heart, oozing with putrefied blood.
With one final scream, I tore through the murderous skin.
I ran to you, and covered you with my love.
I cradled you, crooning and rocking as I poured my love in.
You sobbed and cried, clawing at my flesh.
"How could you leave me here? Where were you?"
And I answered, "I was always here, just on the other side. I was just as terrified as you.
I am you, and you are me. We are different, yet one.
Don't be afraid, Little One. I have come."
The dam broke, and you let out a guttural scream.
You were so raw and broken, Little One.
I picked you up and carried you.
Out through the terror.
And you grew.
With every step, you grew larger and stronger,
Brighter and Whole!
You grew with me, and we ate the darkness.
The whispers stopped and light flooded the body that held us.
Upwards we grew, bigger and brighter!
We burst through the simple body barrier, and joined the clouds,
the stars and rainbows.
We played in the sun, and chased each other over the moon.
You showed me wonders, and light
Where I thought there was none.
My body called us home.
We sunk down, down down, into the safe, soft warm body that is ours.
Oh, Little One, You are big and strong, now.
Protect me from my nightmares.
Together, we will help each other.
I am you, and you are me.
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