Poems to God


This poem is written in the old Eastern form to God

 

You found your pearl in the wine

But you became the vessel to carry by lilac

When in the ocean of purple wisdom

I look for my myself being lost and drifted

The vessel that contains the True-Love finds within distilled wine

O Beloved

Hold my wine as an ’embryo’beholds all that Truth’

As for the pearl, I am the womb…

And you are born each night being the pearl within me…, that ‘the night vigil’

As I evaporate in you

and you contain me-for the room is for one only,

Oh my beloved, my Murshid, my son

I am the oyster, you are the pearl

Born  each night, within the wine the ‘very you’ hold for me

Being the vessel, containing the ocean within…

I was meant to find you,

Beyond the horizon of right and wrong, truth or lie

Beyond all that is ‘limitless’

I will meet you there floating on the notes of pure music

Will hold you hands, whether it is paradise of not

The womb will meet the drop of wine which creates the ‘Best of the Pearls’.

—Naajnin Soofian

sufism

 

 

Oysters and Pearls

Oysters and Pearls

Love is the way messengers

from the mystery tell us things,

Love is the mother.

We are her sons and daughters.

She shines inside us,

visible-invisible, as we trust

or lost trust, or feel it start to grow again.

— Rumi

A Trip Up the East Coast of America


 

It has been a very long week here. Not bad, just full of hassles and things not going quite the way I had hoped.  I found this video and a friend of mine has made the trip several times. I have been to different sections of the Intracoastal Waterway. So I have included two of my own photographs. It is very pretty and some day I would love to make the entire trip.

 

So in honor of all of us who need a minute of relaxation and to see the beauty of Mother Earth, may I present…

 

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   Intracoastal waterway, the Carolinas. Photograph and

                             copyright by Barbara Mattio 2013

 

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DSC_0711                               Intracoastal waterway Carolinas. Photograph and copyright by 

                               Barbara Mattio 2013

 

 

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    “Blessed sister, holy mother, spirit of the fountain,

                                spirit of the garden,

                                 Suffer us not to mock ourselves with falsehood

                                 Teach us to care and not to care

                                  Teach us to sit still

                                   Even among these rocks

                                   Sister, mother,

                                   And spirit of the river, spirit of the sea,

                                   Suffer me not to be separated

                                   And let me cry come unto Thee.”

                                                                     —T. S. Eliot

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Save our Oceans and Save Ourselves


As this new year begins, we need to think about the year to come and how we will act in it.  What can we do to make the world better?

I’ve often talked about the poorest people in the world, and needing to help them and take care of them.  One way is to feed them, to give them the nourishment they need to thrive and grow, which gives them the strength to learn and earn a living, and gives them hope.  People with hope learn to love and through love, we all know, Peace can grow in the world.

There’s an organization that is working to help the poorest of the poor, by helping the oceans of our world to survive and replenish themselves.  Oceana.org is that organization, and I want to share with you a bit of what they do, and what it can mean, and why it’s so important to save the oceans.  We can feed the poor, and protect the beauty of our planet at the same time.

Please help.  A donation, volunteering for this organization, or just spreading the word on your own blog would be a wonderful step towards peace, harmony and beauty in the world as this new year begins.

Namaste,

Barbara

Holding onto Mellow Yellow Monday as Summer Flies By


“Though many a house has sheltered me in the course of summers past, one memory serves to tie them all. It’s early afternoon and all is sweet peace. Just
a shift of the pillows sets the porch swing swaying gently–pillows covered in faded chintz with the musty scent that attests to their long winter’s nap in the shed. The book lying tented across my chest is slightly musty too, foxed with the brown spots of age, since it was left downstairs in the bookcase thirty or forty years ago. You may be sure there’s nothing in it to tax the brain: It’s a romance and Cressida and Percy are settling their futures over a game of tennis. But I shall simply revel in the pleasures of the present, listening to the burr of the lawn mower down the road, watching the hornets busy themselves with their nest, biting into the slice of lemon I’ve finished with my iced tea.

Ah, the joys of a summer place!…Making our house our own was always easy. We could add what we liked–and subtract. Sometimes we’d spend the first few hours hiding the owners’ plastic lobsters, fake fishnets, and seagull mobiles in the deep dark closet to allow a clean-sweep for our time there…Drape a Marseilles spread over the sofa, swap the lamps around, frag the softest chair into the landing that overlooks the lake–all is permissible, all is comfortable…Someone would gather a bucket of irresistible shells, as pink as the first light of morning, and scatter them along the mantelpiece. There were always tomatoes ripening in the windowsills and handfuls of berries found on country lanes. A seagull feather was dropped on the duck decoy, and wildflowers, filled every jelly glass, shedding their petals on the table…We’d line the sideboard with jars of beach plum jelly from the Ladies Beautification Committee Fair and hang a watercolor of a rose discovered at a tag sale– and consider all of it quite beautiful indeed ( if anyone had paused to look between the dashes to the tennis courts or bike rides to the beach.)”

—-Catherine Calvert
” Porch Swings, Old Novels, and Memories of
Summers Past”
The Quiet Center: Women Reflecting on Life’s
Passages from the Pages of Victoria Magazine

When I read this, my mind took me back to summer’s past. Summers spent at the family camp in the Allegheny Mountains. There was this rugged cabin. When we arrived we had to unshutter the windows and brush away cobwebs. Make the double bunk beds up in all the bedrooms. Wood needed to be cut because we cooked on a wood stove, or outside on this brick fireplace with a metal grill over the fire. All crafted by my Uncle.

There was no electricity and we used kerosene lanterns for light.. There was also no running water and we pumped the needed water with a hand pump. I can remember thinking my arm would fall off.

There was an outhouse and I painted the door one vacation. I painted a sugar bowl on the door and lettered “The Sugar Shack.” Hunters called my Uncle the next winter to compliment the art work.

I learned some lessons there that have never left me. This planet of ours is so beautiful and precious. I learned to walk the paths in the forest as quiet as a mouse. I learned to appreciate the wildflowers and learned many of their names. I learned that the most beautiful thing in the world is being on top of a mountain and looking up and seeing that huge sky lit by the heavenly lights

I learned that I was small in comparison but that I was connected to all that I could see in the night sky. It was a lot. I began learning the lesson of appreciating each individual moment. I learned the importance of them and the contentment of living in the present moment. I would look up and yesterday didn’t matter anymore, and tomorrow would never come. When it arrived it wasn’t the future, it was the present. So my journey of living in the present began on the top of a mountain and it has taken me to lakes, oceans, gulfs, bigger mountains and right now; at this moment I am here writing for you..