Sunday thoughts


” Are you looking for Me?

I am in the next seat.

My shoulder is against yours.

You will not find Me in stupas,

not in Indian shrine rooms,

nor synagogues, nor in cathedrals,

not in masses, nor kirtans,

not in legs winding around your own neck,

nor in eating nothing but vegetables.

When you really look for Me,

you will see Me instantly—

You will find Me in the tiniest house of time.”

—Khabir, a thirteenth century Eastern poet

 

 

 

 

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Holden Beach, NC Photographed and copyright by Barbara Mattio 2015

Paul Laurence Dunbar


Paul Laurence Dunbar was a true American son. He was born in 1872. He was the son of freed Kentucky slaves. He became a published poet at fourteen. His first book was, Oak and Ivy. He sold it to riders on his elevator as they rode with them.

 

He moved to Chicago and became friends with Frederick Douglas. He was an internationally recognized poet.

 

“Out in the sky the great dark clouds are massing;

I look far out into the pregnant night,

Where I can hear a soleman booming gun

And catch the gleaming of a random light,

That tells me that the ship I seek is passing, passing.

 

My tearful eyes my soul’s deep hurt are glassing;

For I would hail and check that ship of ships.

I stretch my hands imploring, cry aloud,

My voice falls dead a foot from mine own lips,

And but its ghost doth reach that vessel, passing, passing

 

O Earth, O Sky, O Ocean, both surpassing,

O heart of mine, O soul that dreads the dark!

Is there no hope for me? Is there no way

That I may sight and check that speeding bark

Which out of sight and sound is passing, passing?

 

—Paul Laurence Dunbar, Ships That Pass in the Night

 

 

Justice will bring peace

Justice will bring peace

Eastern Thoughts


Many of us enjoy reading the poetry of Rumi, Hafiz, Kabir and others. I always feel as if I have been in the presence of God. Whatever form of the Divine you follow, their words take us into his/her presence. This is the same kind of experience. I hope you can enjoy these beautiful Zoroastrian words.

 

In Thy image let me pattern my life, Oh Ahuramazda,

Let me awake with Thy name on my lips,

In my eyes let me ever carry Thy image,

To enable me to perceive Thee and

Thee alone in everyone else.

 

Let my mind never waver elsewhere except

to hold Thee in mind.

Let me ever sing songs of praise for Thee.

Let me dance with joy ever in Thy presence.

Let me await Thee patiently for Thy coming

Let that be my everlasting joy.

To be with Thee forevermore.

 

I await Thee, Thee and Thee alone.

I seek none but Thee.

I long for Thee, I yearn for Thee.

Bless me with Thy vision and let me hold

That enchanted Vision every in my memory,

To Thy Glory, Oh Ahuramazda.

 

Teach me to knock, teach me to sing, to clim

So that the door may open with sweet music,

That will lull me to the world of creation,

World of geniuses, who all sing one song,

the song of Praise to Thee.

 

Oh Ahuramazda, I long for Thee,

I await Thee in patience, when shall I perceive?

When shalt Thou bequeath?

I patience I kneel and bow.

I await in silence, in expectation.

 

Have mercy on this aching heart.

Transform me with Thy Divine Touch.

My aching heart calls out to Thee.

My anguish can only cease with Thy Divine Touch.

I await Thee, I surrender to Thee.

I look forward to They coming in silent meditation.

–A Zoroastrian Prayer which is recited before meditating

 

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The Dove of Peace.

The Dove of Peace.

Love is in the Air


I dedicate this poem to everyone. Everyone of us who has experienced love. I send hugs to all who have loved and then lost that love. This year, my husband will have been gone twenty years. Hearts to all.

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HOW DO I LOVE THEE? LET ME COUNT THE WAYS

Elizabeth Barrett Browning

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and heightZentangle-Valentine2

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight

For the ends of being and ideal grace.

I love thee to the level of everyday’s

Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.

I love thee freely, as men strive for right.

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I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.

I love thee with  the passion put to use

In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose

With my lost saints, —I love thee with the breath,

Smiles, tears, of all my life!  —And, if God choose,

I shall but love thee better after death.

 

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Love is the sweetest and most painful of emotions. Some say that love is a state of mind. I like what Gibran has to say about love. We experience love every day from somewhere, but let it not bound you and let your being be whole within the love.

 

LOVE ONE ANOTHER

From The Prophet

Khalil Gibran

Love one another, but make not a bond of love.FullSizeRender

Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.

Fill each other’s cup but drink not from one cup.

Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf.

Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone.

Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music.

Give you hearts, but not into each other’s keeping.

For only the land of Life can contain your hearts.

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And stand together yet not too near together

For the pillars of the temple stand apart,

And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other’s shadow.

 

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Thank you for being part of my WordPress family. I love you all. Hearts, Barbara

Eastern Poetry and Thought


The poet who cannot express his poetry in his life is not complete. He/she has not reached that stage where his poetry can be called a ripened poetry. It is not what we say, it is what we are. We each express our heart, soul and condition in all we do. But the tendency of receiving all the beauty we can receive, and giving it to others—that is the poetic tendency, and this grows into the Prophetic tendency.

 

The dancing soul cannot express itself except in rhythm and in poetry. It cannot refrain from expressing itself in a music which appeals to other souls.

 

The Word of an Opening Rose

 

“Last night’s storm was a journey to the Beloved.

I surrender to that, the wind that

is my friend, and my work.

 

Each night, the lightening flashes.

Every morning, a breeze.

 

Not in some protected place, but in the flood

of the heart’s pumping in the wind

of a rosebud’s opening out,

that puts a small crown on each narcissus.

 

A tired hand collapse, exhausted,

that in the morning holds your hair again.

 

Peace comes when we are friends together,

remembering. Hafiz! Your honest desire

and your benevolence free the soul

to emerge as what it is.”  —-The poet Hafiz

 

It is said that the poetry of Hafiz and Rumi is living energy. I can understand their words in this manner.

 

I’ve become a rabid fan of Divine Order for one good reason. For all my supposed intelligence, I would routinely feel overwhelmed and frozen by life’s never-ending problems and decisions. Now I invoke the Divine Order to connect with the cosmos.

 

“Let every aspect of this journey unfolded in harmony.

Let Divine Order arrange and show me every detail.

Let me be gently guided to my path and I will follow

where I am shown where to go.”

 

Some days, we all need some humor. I have over a foot of snow here. So you get humor!!!

 

“Let the beauty we love be what we do.”   —Rumi

 

 

The Dalai Lama

The Dalai Lama

 

The Dove of Peace.

The Dove of Peace.

Women’s Voices


There was a time when women had strong voices. They were lovers, mothers, healers, and midwives. Then came the “Burning Times”. Women and children called witches and tortured with drowning, hanging and burning. Millions were killed in Europe and really no woman was safe.

 

This was followed by Patriarchy and the silencing of women’s voices. There have been a few women through the years who discovered their voices but it was unusual. The Suffragettes found their vocal chords and their mouths and women have been speaking ever since. Of course, the louder we speak, the more some people close their minds off from truth and equality.

 

Clearing the Air

 

It’s been ten years since you tried to kill me.

Biking home one night, I saw only your legs

stepping behind a tree, then you fell on my throat

like a cat. My books crashed the birds out of sleep.

We rolled in the leaves like lovers. My eyes popped

like Christmas lights, veins snapped, your teeth wore

 

my blood, your fingers left bars on my neck.

I can’t remember your name,

and I saw your face only in court.

You sat in a box, docile as old shoes.

And I, who had never felt any man’s weight

sometimes felt yours for nights afterwards.

 

Well, I’m ready to forgive

and I don’t want to forget.

Sometimes I tell myself that we met

differently, on a train. You give me

a Batman comic and show me your passport

I have nothing but my report card.

 

but I offer my mother’s fudge for the grapes

rotting the one paper bag you carry.

In my tale you are younger and loved.

Outside you live in a thousand faces

and so do your judges, napping in parks,

rushing to fires, folded like bats on the truck.

 

mad and nude in a white Rolls’

pinching dollars and leather behinds.

Burned from a tree by your betters, you take

to the streets and hang in the dark like a star,

making me see your side, waking me

with the blows and the weight of it.

 

—Nancy Willard

 

 

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February Zentangle. Copyright 2015

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We can...we will change our one world.

We can…we will change our one world.