Music has the power to delight, to entertain, to soothe, to uplift, and to heal. In this particularly trying time, when the world is awash in chaos and off the charts unpredictability, it provides additional magic mojo. I have a friend named Robin D. Brackbill who has been doing amazing karaoke covers of well-known songs […]
Words come from a Divine Source, as far as I am concerned. since my writing (as if does for other wordsmiths) ‘writes me’. It flows through me and not from me. There are times when I have looked back at journal entries or articles I have penned over the years and think “Who wrote this? I don’t remember writing this.” There are times when writing feels like prayer; devotional and primal. It is like worshiping at the altar of creativity.
Part of what feeds my soul are the words of those referred to as ‘ecstatic poets’; Rumi and Hafiz. Much of what they write can be construed as sensual and outright seductive. They can also be viewed as love poems to God. The book entitled The Gift that contains golden nuggets from Hafiz was indeed a gift from a lover. We used to read to each other from what became dog-eared pages. I have treasured memories of the man who remains a dear friend.
Here are some of my favorites for your reading pleasure:
It Felt Love
Did the rose
Ever open its heart
And give to this world
It felt the encouragement of light
We all remain
These Beautiful Love Games
Young lovers wisely say,
“Let’s try it from this angle,
Maybe something marvelous will happen,
Maybe three suns and two moons
Will roll out
From a hiding place in the body
Our passion has yet to ignite.”
Old lovers say,
“We can do it one more time,
How about from this longitude
And latitude –
Swinging from a rope tied to the ceiling,
Maybe a part of God
Is still hiding in a corner of your heart
Our devotion has yet to reveal.”
Do not stop playing
The Seed Cracked Open
‘It used to be
That when I would wake in the morning
I could with confidence say,
”What am ‘I’ going to
That was before the seed
Now Hafiz is certain:
There are two of us housed
In this body,
Doing the shopping together in the market and
Tickling each other
While fixing the evening’s food.
Now when I awake
All the internal instruments play the same music:
”God, what love-mischief can ‘We’ do
For the world
The Guest House
This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice.
meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.
Be grateful for whatever comes.
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
— Jelaluddin Rumi,
translation by Coleman Barks
LOVE IS THE MASTER
Love is the One who masters all things;
I am mastered totally by Love.
By my passion of love for Love
I have ground sweet as sugar.
O furious Wind, I am only a straw before you;
How could I know where I will be blown next?
Whoever claims to have made a pact with Destiny
Reveals himself a liar and a fool;
What is any of us but a straw in a storm?
How could anyone make a pact with a hurricane?
God is working everywhere his massive Resurrection;
How can we pretend to act on our own?
Sometimes Love hoists me into the air,
Sometimes Love flings me into the air,
Love swings me round and round His head;
I have no peace, in this world or any other.
The lovers of God have fallen in a furious river;
They have surrendered themselves to Love’s commands.
Like mill wheels they turn, day and night, day and night,
Constantly turning and turning, and crying out.