Take a few moments out of your day and sit and breath and allow Rumi’s words to heal and comfort you.
In harmony and love, Namaste, Barbara
Take a few moments out of your day and sit and breath and allow Rumi’s words to heal and comfort you.
In harmony and love, Namaste, Barbara
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
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’.
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.
“Wherever I go, thou art my companion.
Having taken me by the hand thou moves me.
I go alone depending solidly on thee.
Thou bearest too my burdens.
If I am likely to say anything foolish, thou makest it right.
Thou hast removed my bashfulness and madest me self-confident.
O Lord, all the people have become my guards, relatives and bosom friends.
Tuka says, I now conduct myself without any care.
I have attained divine peace within and without.”
—Book of Prayers, M. K. Gandhi
“All things in creation and manifestation, even all things in existence, are held together by Ishk. This is Divine Love. It is difficult to express it in such a limited way, but we know that sunlight contains electricity, magnetism and numerous other forces or aspects of cosmic force.”
—From Spiritual Brotherhood, Samuel Lewis
“Gravitation, light, attraction, adhesion, and cohesion are all aspects of this Divine Love in the physical world. But even these aspects extend far into the unseen, and it cannot be said that Divine Love is limited or qualified by its mental aspects and characteristics…Behind all mysteries, behind all activity and behind all life is Love or Agape or Karuna which holds all things and persons together, which creates the beauty and harmony of this cosmos.”
“I desire you
more than food
hunger for your taste
I can sense your presence
in my heart
although belong to all the world
with silent passion
for one gesture
from you. ”
—Rumi, The Love Poems of Rumi
“In your light I learn how to love.
In your beauty, how to make poems.
You dance inside my chest,
where no one sees you,
but sometimes I do, and that
sight becomes this art.”
—-The words of Rumi
“Love is the greatest component of life. It unifies everything. It attracts and draws to us all that is good. Through love we become more aware and responsive to the needs of humanity. We see the oneness, commonality, and the spark of God in each person. We can begin with our family, friends, and coworkers. We can love them even if we think they have done something wrong. We can be there for them, with compassion, kindness, gentleness and acceptance. That is how we demonstrate our human love.”
—James Van Praagh
I am writing today to share something that many of you who have followed me here at WordPress have heard me say before. We are not born racist. We are born completely loving and accepting of goodness. We are born not seeing each other differently but as a version of ourselves. We are not racist at birth. What happens? Well, we are taught by others, by adults to be racist. We are taught to care what color we are and what color others are. We are taught that color has value. Some colors are more important than others.
Being a painter as well as a photographer, color is important to me. The color of a flower, a bird, a tree, the color of sand at the beach, the color of the majestic mountains which scrape the sky. When I am painting, I often mix two or perhaps three colors to create the perfect color for what I am painting in the world. One color is not needed more than others. Some colors are needed in just a little dab. Sometimes you wash a little color over what you have already painted to enhance the color. It doesn’t really change it. It deepens or accentuates the color. Every color on my palate is just as important to me as the next one. Yes, they are different, but each has equal value to the heart and to this beautiful Universe.
I included the Iris below because it is an unusual color. I raised it and photographed it. It not a common color for an iris, but it is a pretty color. And the photograph is my gift to you. I can’t really give you a gift but this is as close as I can come. Please accept it in the spirit in which it is given.
I am also writing this blog in memory of every human being, adult or child, who has suffered in any way or has been killed because of the color of their skin. I am writing for every grief stricken parent who will never be able to fill the hole within themselves. I am writing for every sibling left behind because their sister or brother is dead because of the color of their skin. I am writing for every lost sibling who will never laugh together over a private joke. I write today for everyone who is different in some manner and is afraid that one day someone will kill them for their differences.
I am writing this today for a young man. A young man who worked for me along time ago. He was a hard worker, he had a good sense of humor, he had a good and loving heart. He offered someone a ride home one evening and the person slit his throat because he was different. He bled out all alone. I am sure he was afraid, and wondering why? Why? Why?
Because he was different and this person hated him for being different. Labels were applied by the stranger who killed him and so he slowly bled out behind the wheel of his car alone. Alone and gone too soon.
“Immature grapes are made by the breath of the Master.
Then the sourness of duality, hate, and strife disappears,
and they are peeled of their skins to become one in the wine.”
“Lord, the air smells good today, straight from the mysteries
within the inner courts of God.
A grace like new clothes thrown
across the garden, free medicine for everybody.
The trees in their prayer, the birds in praise,
the first blue violets kneeling.
Whatever came from Being is caught up in being,
drunkenly forgetting the way back.”
“too much industry
too much eats
too much beer
too many cigarettes
Too much philosophy
too many thought forms
not enough rooms—
not enough trees
Too much Police
too much computers
to much hi fi
too much Pork
Too much coffee
too much smoking
under slate grey roofs
Too much obedience
Too many bellies
Too many business suits
Too much paperwork
too many magazines
Too much industry
No fish in the Rhine
Too much embarrassment.
Too many fatigued
workers on the train
Ghost Jews scream
on the street corner
Too much old murder
too much white torture
Too much one Stammheim
too many happy Nazis.
Too many crazy students
Not enough farms
not enough Appletrees
Not enough nut trees
Too much money
Too many poor
turks without vote
“Guests” do the work
Too much metal
Too much fat
Too many jokes
not enough meditation.”
—Allen Ginsberg, twentieth century Beats poet
May we all remember to thank Mother Earth for what we have been given. May we ask forgiveness for what we have destroyed. May we do restitution to our planet to undo what we have destroyed. May our words, prayers and actions make a difference.
This poem grabbed me. I wasn’t thinking about Death, but the beauty of the words — the possibility of it — captured my imagination today.
We all will face Death, one day — some of us sooner than others — but how we face it, how we accept it or fight it, can be as important as how we live on the way there.
Death is scary. It isn’t something I want to do, any time soon — I have grandchildren to watch grow up, great-grandchildren to welcome many years from now — but when it comes, it would be nice to think it would be like this poem. Nice to think that those I’ve loved and lost were welcomed to the Other Side in so gentle and beautiful a fashion.
I’d want her to come for me smelling of cinnamon
wearing bright cotton purple maybe hot pink
a red bandana in her hair She’d bring
good coffee papaya juice bouquet of sea grass
saltine crackers and a lottery ticket We’d dip
our fingers into moist pouches of lady’s slippers
crouch down to see how cabbage feel when wind
bumps against them in the garden We’d walk
through Martin’s woods find the old house
its crumbling foundation strung with honeysuckle vines
and in the front yard a surprise jonquils
turning the air yellow glistening and ripe
still blooming for a gardener long gone
We’d head for the beach wearing strings of shells
around our left ankles laugh at their ticking
sounds the measured beat that comes with dancing
on hard-packed sand the applause of ocean and gulls
She’d play ocarina songs to a moon almost full
and I’d sing off-key We’d glide and swoop
become confetti of leaf fall all wings
floating on small whirlwinds never once dreading
the heart-silenced drop And when it was time
she would not bathe me Instead we’d scrub the porch
pour leftover water on flowers stand a long time
in sun and silence then holding hands
we’d post for pictures in the last light
I hope everyone enjoys this wisdom from Rumi.
Wake and Walk Out
If I flinched at every grief, I
would be an intelligent idiot. If
I were not the sun, I’d ebb and
flow like sadness. If you were not
my guide, I’d wander lost in Sanai.
If there were no light, I’d keep
opening and closing the door. If
there were no rose garden, where
would the morning breezes go? If
love did not want music and laughter
and poetry, what would I say? If
you were not medicine, I would look
sick and skinny. If there were no
leafy limbs in the air, there would
be no wet roots. If no gifts were
given, I’d grow arrogant and cruel.
If there were no way into God, I
would not have lain in the grave of
this body so long. If there were no
way from left to right, I could not
be swaying in the grasses. If
there were no grace and no kindness,
conversation would be useless, and
nothing we do would matter. Listen
to the new stories that begin every
day. If light were not beginning
again in the east, I would not now
wake and walk out inside the dawn
Form is Ecstatic
There is a shimmering excitement in
being sentient and shaped. The
caravan masters sees his camels lost
in it, nose to tail, as he himself is,
his friend, and the stranger coming
toward them. A gardener watches the
sky break into song, cloud wobbly with
what it is. Bud, thorn, the same.
Wind, water, wandering this essential
state. Fire, ground, gone. That’s
how it is with the outside. Form
it ecstatic. Now imagine the inner:
soul, intelligence, the secret worlds!
And don’t think the garden loses its
ecstacy in the winter. It’s quiet, but
the roots down there riotous.
If someone bumps you in the street,
don’t be angry. Everyone careens
shout in this surprise. Respond in
kind. Let the knots untie, turbans
be given away. Someone drunk on this
could drink a donkeyload a night.
Believer, unbeliever, cynic, lover,
all combine in the spirit-form we are.
but no one yet is awake like Shams.
I was at the hospital today, visiting my friend who is recovering from the surgeries well, but she still has Stage 4 cancer. And I could hear Rumi putting words in my head, and I could feel his energy and his reminder that his religion is Love, and our religion is Love, no matter what path you follow. The ecstasy in the path of Love can help you get through the trying times and sometimes in the devastating times. When the going is the toughest, it’s good to remember that the God is Love, Lover and Beloved, and nothing else can be all three.
There is a lot of negativity and darkness in the world right now. I still don’t believe in war but I can see we need to stop this barbaric and horrific genocide. In the UK, there was a demonstration and it consisted of Muslims holding up signs which said, “They don’t speak for me.” I give these young people my support and I want to praise their bravery to take a stand against the fundamentalists in their countries. It will be important going forward that we remember that not all Muslims are fundamentalists and extremists. Many thousands of them are just like you and I. They don’t want war anymore than we do. They want peace and the ability to live their lives without constant danger and retaliation.
“Hunger for love, He looks at you.
Thirsty for kindness, He begs from you.
naked for loyalty, He hopes in you.
Sick and imprisoned for friendship, He wants from you.
Homeless for shelter in your heart, He asks of you.
Will you be that one to Him?” —Mother Teresa
“What we need is to love without getting tired. How does a lamp burn? Through the continuous input of small drops of oil. What are these drops of oil in our lamps? They are the small things of daily life: faithfulness, small words of kindness, a thought for others, our way of being silent, of looking, of speaking, and of acting. Do not look for Divinity outside of yourself. It is not out there. Divinity is within us. Keep your lamps burning, and you will recognize the Divine.” —Mother Teresa
Rumi was very good friends with Shams Tabriz. He absorbed all of the traditions and doctrines in the ocean of reality. The way that Rumi and Shams clarified for the world of mystical experience is their continuously unfolding friendship. The source of that friendship-sunlight, everything the sun lights, and the mystery of the inner sun-is what he worships. This is a difficulty some traditional believers have with Rumi: he does not stress the distance between human beings and the Beloved, but rather he stresses the remembered intimacy. Rumi taught a continuous conversation with the Beloved.
Coming up on September
White butterflies, with single
black finger paint eyes on their wings,
dart and settle, eddy and mate
over the green tangle of vines
in Labor Day morning stream.
The years grinds into ripeness
and rot, grapes darkening.
pears yellowing, the first
Virginia creeper twining crimson,
the grasses, dry straw to burn.
The New Year rises, beckoning
across the umbrellas on the sand.
I begin to reconsider my life.
What is the yield of my impatience?
What is the fruit of my resolve?
I turn from my frantic white dance
over the jungle of productivity
and slowly a niggun slides,
cold water down my throat.
I rest on a leaf spotted red.
Now is the time to let the mind
search backwards like the raven loosed
to see what can feed us. Now,
the time to cast the mind forward
to chart an aerial map of the months.
The New Year is a great door
that stands across the evening and Yom
Kippur is the second door. Between them are song and silence, stone and clay pot
to be filled from within myself.
I will find there both ripeness and rot,
what I have done and undone,
what I must let go with the waning days
and what I must take in. With the last
tomatoes, we harvest the fruit of our lives.” —Marge Piercy
Tonight at sundown, the Jewish New Year begins. It is the beginning of the Days of Awe. It is a time for reflection and introspection. Where each Jew and the community look inside and see and confess their sins. The Jewish people look at things like lack of compassion, lack of kindness and withholding love as sins. They use these ten days to review their lives and decide what to change within themselves. Jews around the world will be eating a holiday dinner and going to Temple. Prayers and love for G-d will open their hearts for reflection. So I wish every Jewish person on Mother Earth to have a sweet New Year. May it be a good year.
What is a saint? One whose wine has turned to vinegar. If you’re still wine-drunkenly
Brave, don’t step forward. When your sheep becomes a lion, then come. It is said
of hypocrites, “They have considerable valor among themselves!” But they scatter when
a real enemy appears. Muhammad told his young soldiers, “There is no courage before
an engagement.” A drunk foams at the mouth talking about what he will do when he gets his sword
drawn, but the chance arrives, and he remains sheathed as an onion. Premeditating
he’s eager for wounds. Then his bag gets touched by a needle and he deflates. What sort of
person says that he or she wants to be polished and pure, then complains about being
handled roughly? Love is a lawsuit whose harsh evidence must be brought in. To settle
the case, the judge must see evidence. You’ve heard that every buried treasure has a snake
guarding it. Kiss the snake to discover the treasure! The severe treatment is not toward
you, but the qualities that block your growth. A rug beater doesn’t beat the rub, but
rather the dirt….
When a mother screams, “Get out of here!” she means the mean part of the child.
Don’t run from those who scold, and don’t turn away from cleaning conflict, or you will
remain weak. Also, don’t listen to bragging. If you go along with self-importance, the work
collapses. Better a small modest team. Sift almonds. Discard the bitter. Sour and sweet
sound alike when you pour them out on the rattling tray, but inside they’re very different.
Photographed and copyrighted by Barbara Mattio 2014
Soul and the Old Woman
What is the soul> Consciousness. The more awareness, the deeper the soul, and when
essence overflows, you feel a sacredness around. It’s so simple to tell one who
puts on a robe and pretends to be a dervish from the real thing. We know the taste
of pure water. Words can sound like a poem but not have any juice, no flavor to
relish. How long do you look at pictures on a bathhouse wall? Soul is what draws
You away from those pictures to talk with the old woman
who sits outside by her door
in the sun. She’s half blind, but she has what soul loves to flow into. She’s kind; she weeps.
She makes quick personal decisions, and laughs so easily. —Rumi, translated by Coleman Barks
“Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance, you must keep moving.” — Albert Einstein
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