The Wisdom of No Thing

man’s outer deeds
betray that which is hidden
within his heart

the vain seek mirrors;
the generous seek the beggars
and the lowly

O’ you who’ve made your home
the brackish spring, repent that the
ocean may reappear!

walking a mile in
another’s moccasins; laying down
my sword and shroud

the wisdom of no thing;
no longer a slave
to cause and effect

Too Lovely!  Xylophone Solo: The Cook Wagon Is Rolling

https://x.com/NatalieRevolts/status/1805375610966999241

This is in reply to the first few posts  in this thread from AHH;

God can never be found
in the high and low,
but in the here and now

“The Triumph of Dullness”
By Alexander Pope (1688–1744)
Closing Lines of the ‘Dunciad’

IN vain, in vain,—the all-composing hour
Resistless falls; the Muse obeys the power.
She comes! she comes! the sable throne behold
Of Night primeval, and of Chaos old!
Before her Fancy’s gilded clouds decay,
And all its varying rainbows die away.

Wit shoots in vain its momentary fires,
The meteor drops, and in a flash expires.
As one by one, at dread Medea’s strain,
The sickening stars fade off th’ ethereal plain;
As Argus’s eyes, by Hermes’s wand opprest,
Closed one by one to everlasting rest:
Thus at her felt approach, and secret might,
Art after Art goes out, and all is night.
See skulking Truth to her old cavern fled,
Mountains of casuistry heaped o’er her head!

Philosophy, that leaned on Heaven before,
Shrinks to her second cause, and is no more.
Physic of Metaphysic begs defense,
And Metaphysic calls for aid on Sense!
See Mystery to Mathematics fly!
In vain! they gaze, turn giddy, rave, and die.
Religion, blushing, veils her sacred fires,
And unawares Morality expires.

Nor public flame, nor private, dares to shine;

Nor human spark is left, nor glimpse divine!

Lo! thy dread empire, Chaos! is restored;

Light dies before thy uncreating word:

Thy hand, great Anarch! lets the curtain fall;

And universal darkness buries all.

*****

Context: At the end of this poem, the poet shows all England delivered over to the Goddess Dullness, who says, “. . . make one mighty Dunciad of the land.” At her word, churches, chapels, and schools lose their sense, the people yawn and sleep. Army, navy, and diplomatic corps all sleep, too. With the muse’s help, the poet shows primeval night and chaos creeping across the land to take possession. Art after art leaves the scene; truth flies to a cavern; philosophy and morality expire. Nothing is left in the world once Dullness establishes her empire.
https://www.enotes.com/topics/dunciad/quotes/universal-darkness-buries-all

The Narcissist

The narcissist sits in his ivory tower,
Tending by night the rarest of flowers;
Fools fain to believe that the fates will permit,
And pass unnoticed, the crimes they commit,
Even as day approaches by the minute and hour!

What are we playing tonight?  Saturday night at the movies …

I realized I was only listening to old music and forgot about my protest music somewhere.  So, I remembered Xavier Rudd.  He is Australian and truly iconic.  Drums and a digiridoo are only some of the instruments that he plays.  He is of course a surfer and an activist and I would suggest a musical poet as well.  To my surprise he is on tour at the moment and very much musically right with it.

The first piece of his that I listened to ever was Follow the Sun.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0E1bNmyPWww

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0E1bNmyPWww

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7GQvdgT6Eh0

Haiku Sequence; “The Fool’s Ally”

broken hollow branch;
scattered corpses of hatchlings,
after the storm

coming from afar,
across the lonely expanse;
the sound of a flute

the ambrosia festival;
will you be attending?
so and so will be there!

hope springs eternal;
turning ignorance into wisdom;
the fool’s ally

soft morning light,
a tender magpie’s trill;
work to do

02 07 2024

The Mirror of God

God created soul
and then threw away
the mould

uncovering the secret way
soul has of being
with the mystery

the mirror of God
reflects the exact likeness
of that which we are

a single conscious
act of love, moves
the heavens up above

soul needs God, but God
needs soul too, and is constantly
calling it home

For Each

For each a row to hoe and sow,
For each a seed to plant and grow.

For each the seasons to hone and refine,
For each a hidden and unique design.

For each a decree to give and receive,
For each a reason to believe.

For each a question to be construed,
For each an answer to elude.

For each a strong and willing hand,
For each the time to understand.

For each a slow and burning love,
For each the patience of heaven above.

https://my.mail.ru/mail/makushin_vitalii/video/20928/58703.html

Saturday night at the music (or the movies)

OK, I had this horrendous experience.  This state took everything, even computers and so on, but I have some back now, as they decided I am too salty for them to digest.  Long story, luckily I knew some laws, made friends with their lawyer and now they are leaving me alone.  So, computers came back.  One has a screen problem and of course I don’t have another cable to test on another computer.  I have not touched my husband’s computer which is still there in the corner, and when I feel strong, I’ll put it up and clean up.  What also came back and I waited for it, is four backup disks – this contains almost all of our history for many many years.  One disk had about aah .. easily 800 movies, selected, sorted, not too violent as I watched them with my son and he reacted to something too violent and so on.  First the little cable would not plug in and I despaired – it felt as if the slots were broken after being forced.  Then, I sat down with the phone cable, my tablet cable and another one that I found, and a new one (which I did not even know about) slipped in and I could open the backups.  So, the big sort out has started but first I backed up my current computer and feel a whole lot better.  There still is some work to do, some sort out, but oh man .. a good backup .. I feel fine!

You know what is missing?  The disk with the movies.  Some sneak thief took that one.  This was 10 years worth of careful selection, music concerts, movies, documentaries, and so on.  OK,

What are we playing tonight?

“I can’t do otherwise”
– Valentina Tolkunova (1982)

Lyrics and translation:

There is no sleep or day without anxiety.
A zhaleika is crying somewhere.
Forgive me for my love,
I can’t do otherwise.

I am not afraid of insults and quarrels,
The insult will flow into the river.
There is such space in the sky of love,
My heart is not a stone.

If you get sick, I’ll come,
I’ll spread the pain with my hands.
I can do everything, I can do everything,
My heart is not a stone.

I will fly – you tell me,
I will go through the storm and the flame,
I just will not forgive the cold lie, –
My heart is not a stone.

You see – a star lit up in the night,
Whispering a fairy tale to my son.
Only heartlessness ruins us,
Love and affection heal.

I will melt the pieces of ice
with my hot heart.
I will always love you,
I can’t do otherwise.

Я не могу иначе – Валентина Толкунова (1982)

The Shape of my Heart

the shape of my heart;
clumps of silver grass swaying
in the winter wind

moving cloud;
fierce white head of a dragon
slowly dissolving

morning drizzle,
dewdrops glistening on cobwebs;
first rays of the sun

yesterday’s hopes;
dogs barking one after another before
falling silent

10 07 2024

“The Ural Rowan Tree”
Lyrics by Mikhail Pilipenko

Chinese version of the song:

A Few Words on the Power of Love…

the Word transforms
the doubtful seeker into
the incandescent
lover of God

the fine line
between truth and illusion
is laid bare by love

love is the essence,
spirit and soul of all
that exists

lovers build the house
of love while men of reason
and sceptics look on

to see is to believe
but to believe is to see,
to know and to be

every day is
new year’s day, every moment,
a brand new day

love comes with a sword
but also with a
soothing balm

Men are April when they woo, December when they wed.
Maids are May when they are maids, but the sky changes when they are wives…. Shakespeare

My Delirium

I have two loves I’ve loved so well,
One’s face is dark, the other fair.
But whilst my lady does excel,
My mistress is beyond compare.

How blue the eyes, how pure the heart;
The one I could never do without.
How dull the hue, how black the art;
The one that sows the seed of doubt.

Each have their time, each have their place,
Their secret trysts and rendezvous.
Each have their smell, each have their taste,
Each have their long and fond adieus.

Where is the man who’d dwell in strife,
Where is the man who’d fret and strut?
Where is the man who’d leave his wife,
And risk it all for some poor slut?

Come, raise your glass to those that wed,
And speak of love most eloquently;
Without a mistress in one’s bed,
Life passes, oh, so miserably!

How blue the eyes, how pure the heart,
The one I could never do without.
How dull the hue, the lips that part,
The one that has the perfect pout.

I have two loves I’ve loved so well,
One’s cheek is wan, the other, red.
But whilst my lady does excel,
My mistress is the best in bed!

Come, raise your glass, come drink your fill,
Come sing from my psalterium;
Who’ll come to free, the all of me
From my delirium?

For me it is such a day for your poetry.  Today was my husband’s birthday – first birthday without him since he died.  I thought I would be OK, but oh dear – I fell apart.  I felt pain viscerally – remembrances.

My beloved, my sun, my moon.  Today was a harsh day.  And some very good things happened too.   So I can feel the contrasts of your two lovers.

Thanks Dimitar

🕊️ blessings, amarynth, i remember climbing through that day.  my stepdaughter took hold of my hand & said, let’s join him for lunch.  his favourites—let’s make all of them, let’s put candles everywhere & play his favourite music while we make it, but first, let’s put his favourite flowers on the table, & scatter petals all around the table & floor.  & after dinner let’s read his favourite poems  & then share our best our very best memories.

my stepdaughter can no longer be with me for every birthday but she & her father help me prepare & enjoy every sip every sound every morsel.

amarynth, I feel your pain

REMEMBERED MUSIC

‘Tis said, the pipe and lute that charm our ears
Derive their melody from rolling spheres;
But Faith, o’erpassing speculation’s bound,
Can see what sweetens every jangled sound.

We, who are parts of Adam, heard with him
The song of angels and of seraphim.
Out memory, though dull and sad, retains
Some echo still of those unearthly strains.

Oh, music is the meat of all who love,
Music uplifts the soul to realms above.
The ashes glow, the latent fires increase:
We listen and are fed with joy and peace.

R. A. Nicholson

Peace and Blessings

The Last Leaf

windless day;
dandelion seeds float by in
delicate parachutes

the rose bush;
for every flower a dozen
or more thorns

blood of my blood;
the world revolves around
this love I have for you!

the last leaf;
ask the autumn wind
when it will fall?

You are most welcome, dear Sudhi…

the world is full of
treasures, but none greater than
the human heart!

The House That Love Built

a wolf at the door;
an unearthly visitation
helping us escape

the house that love built;
unshaken through the furious
winter rages

silence is death’s voice;
I rose above clouds and became
the light of the moon

chu-it, chu-wee,
plovers up on the roof;
same time every morning

Friday night blues…

“Mon Ami” (My Friend); Mark White

an ancient promise
from across the gulf of time;
I am always with you!

The Wayshower is the Master Principle, and represents God’s will as given through Divine Spirit, or the Voice of God. It takes form according to that which will be accepted by the seeker, and guides Soul over the rocky shoals of life. It is the Wayshower Rumi referred to as “The Friend”, which he encountered in the person of Shams of Tabriz; “What I thought of before as God, I met today in the person of Shams”.

The Wayshower

only love can overcome
the arrows and slings of
outrageous fortune

fear is a fine spur
but love is infinitely
more satisfying

two doors of soul;
on the cusp between the worlds
of becoming and of being

the wayshower;
“I can point the way but you
yourself must walk the path!”

wanting no thing,
needing no thing,
becoming no thing…

coolangubra “All in You, All in Me”

Conquest of Paradise;

Yes I have seen that video a long time ago Dimitar. Thank you for posting it. I believe it was recorded during his visit to Sweden in 1969 for a concert in Stockholm

and thank you for the Rumi poetry, such wisdom…

Pandit Kumar Ghandharva sings Kabir’s poem :

Ud Jayega hans akela
Jag darshan ka mela **
(What is this world if not a play of illusions,
the swan (individual soul) will fly away alone (from this play)

Jaise paat gire taruvar ke
Milna bahut duhela
Naa jaanu kidhar girega
Lageya pawan ka rela
**
(Just like it is difficult to trace a leaf that falls away from the tree,
Who knows where we go when the winds of death scatter us)

Jab howe umar puri
Jab chutega hukum huzuri
Jam ke doot bade mazboot
Jam se pada jhamela
**
(When our allotted time on earth is up, when we cease to act in this drama,
Then the messengers of Death (Jam/ Yama) will arrive to carry us away, forcefully if needed)

Das kabir har ke gun gaawe
Wah har ko paran pawe
Guru ki karni guru jayega
Chele ki karni chela
**
(Kabir is immersed in the praise of the one Lord and requests an early audience with the Lord,
Each one, guru and disciple alike will reap he fruits of their respective actions)

A translation:

The Swan takes flight all alone.
On a trip to see the world.
Like the leaf which falls from a tree,
which becomes difficult to find.

Who knows where it shall fall,
Once struck by the gust of the wind?
When life comes to an end,
we can no longer listen to Him.

Life comes to an end
following the lords orders
The messengers of death arrive
we become entangled with death.

Kabir praises the attributes of God.
He finds the Lord all too soon.
The Guru reaps according to his acts
the disciple reaps according to his own.

Dream Meeting

the scent of wisteria
in the soft moonlight;
clouds hurrying by

late at night,
glimmer of a dying lamp;
roar of heavy wind

dream meeting;
while my body sleeps,
a walk in the far country

awake;
saying your name, I remember
but cannot say!

The Fiddler and the Devil

O’, where on earth, young man, did you find,
That fiddle so light that you play with such flair?
I’ve travelled the length and the breadth of this land;
Never have I heard a more haunting air.

My father he made me this fiddle and bow.
My mother she taught me this tune so spare.
I live by my wits in the eye of the storm –
Of nought but this fiddle am I the heir.

Your clothes they are ragged, your feet they are raw;
Let cruel fate itself forswear!
I’ll make you lord of kingdoms of awe –
All for the price of your fiddle so rare!

When the raven turns white and the egret black,
When the grindstone blossoms into a tree,
When the camel passes through the needle’s eye…
’Tis then I’ll give my fiddle to thee!

John Coltrane; My Favourite Things

I’ve always loved this wonderful Rogers and Hammerstein song, since first hearing the captivating melody as a boy as part of the soundtrack of “The Sound of Music”. Later I discovered John Coltrane’s wonderful version. And with my 12 year-old son’s preparation of the same song with his “Sydney Southeast Symphonic Wind’s Orchestra” for their annual participation in the Cantabile Concert at the Sydney Opera House on August 19, the circle is complete. My son is performing his second year in a row at the SOH, and it is his fourth year of playing the Bass Guitar, a wonderful achievment especially as reading music is difficult to learn in later life, something he has now already achieved, whether he pursues music professionally or not.

A rewrite, nay, major overhaul of a poem originally written in April of 2019.

The Spirit of Life

The Spirit of Life is gentle and kind,
And gives of Itself without restraint.
It patiently waits for a welcoming sign,
And loosens the fetters of every constraint.

The Spirit of Life sustains and restores,
Soothing and healing the weary of heart.
It takes each broken dream and explores
Whether it’s time to replace or restart.

The Spirit of Life is powerful and just,
But will not tamper with the wheels of fate;
Till wilfulness gives way to perfect trust,
Soul must create what it wants to create.

The Spirit of Life always gives its assent,
But one day reclaims all things hers or his.
For the drumbeat of time will one day relent,
And Soul must accept Truth as it is.

The Spirit of Life is ancient and wise,
And knows all things at a single glance;
It clears the way and points to the prize,
Offering guidance through each circumstance.

The Spirit of Life ever calls us home,
A thin biting song haunting our dreams;
Its melody will find us wherever we roam,
Both building and laying waste to our schemes.

The Spirit of Life is gentle and kind
And gives of Itself without restraint;
It patiently waits for a welcoming sign…
To loosen the fetters of every constraint.

“Zara Halke Gadi Hanko,” sung by Prahlad Singh ‘Tipanya’, a respected Indian folk artist spreading awareness of Kabir bhajans.

A translation:
Slowly, slowly, oh my mind
Slowly, everything happens!
The gardener pours on hundred pots
The season arrives and fruits come!

Do one thing well, and all is done
Try to do all, and you lose the one!
When the gardener waters the root
The tree bears the flowers and fruit!

Move the cart along lightly
my Ram is riding !
Move the cart along slowly
my Ram is riding !
** chorus **

My cart is many coloured
with wheels of rosy red!
A lovely lady holding the reins
and sitting in the back is Ram!

The cart got mired in the mud
The destination is still far away!
The good ones have gotten across
The sinful ones were crushed!

Healers came from every land
bringing their herbs and roots!
The herbs were all but useless
When Ram had left the house!

Four fellows came to carry the palanquin
The cart to a wooden horse was tied!
They carried it to the burning ground
and lit it all up like firewood!

The wife weeps and sobs
my partner is taken away!
Kabir says, “Listen, O Sadhus”
the One who joins
is the One who breaks!

Toše Proeski; “Jano Mori”

From the comments;

“Even today, after his unfortunate death, he opens even the hardest of hearts…”

“Three hundred and thirty-three”
– Alexander Vanyushkin

The song “333”, which means battery, salvo, fire…

On a car with the inscription “Made in Germany”
On the field, on the polyushka goes DRG.
And behind that, behind the pole – a Russian boy
Clearly corrects “Grad ” and”Sun”

I must have lived several lifetimes in Asia because I love this music so much.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cuHLiGO2akU

The Human Heart

to the mind, truth is
relative, according to
one’s understanding

truth is easier
for the heart to accept
than it is for the mind

that which impedes the
soul is only a shadow
of a greater truth

truth is one but our
understanding of it varies
from soul to soul

love unties the
shackles of the mind and
frees the wings of soul

self sacrifice
enables God’s love to enter
the human heart

Old Age

You may beseech and importune,
The trail of calamity and misfortune.
As winter’s wreath dims autumn’s crown,
Old age steps up to take you down.

Never full frontal, that relentless assault,
Were it that I time’s march could halt!
Were it that I, with days to spare,
Could lie in the sun without a care!

But now those drums are drawing near,
The tide of thunder will soon be here;
No rhyme or reason to drown in regret,
No time to remember, no time to forget.

Some fall to the ground, some rot on the vine,
Some still smile out from roadside shrines.
You start out a runner and end up a limper,
Go out with a bang or go out with a whimper.

Kings and princes and simpletons, too,
All bow down to time like me and like you.
You may well laugh, you may well cry,
You may well eat out your heart and die.

Early in the morning you say your prayer,
You run toward noon and the sun’s bright glare.
Some time around evening some thief robs you blind,
Stealing your joy and leaving grief behind…

You may beseech, you may bewail,
The arrows and slings of calamity’s trail;
As winter’s wreath steals autumn’s crown
Old age sneaks up and takes you down!

Sultans of String performed at our annual Folk Music Festival this summer. They were great. So many skillful musicians

Man’s survival, not only as an individual, but as a species, depends upon his creative faculty. Where there is a will there is a way. We overcome the seemingly impossible through patience, through discovering new, innovative ways of catching what Divine Spirit is imparting to us, even on a moment to moment basis. I’ve had little time to devote to writing, and so offer this piece from “an earlier epoch”, its truth still as relevant as ever. The point being, when we’ve exhausted all avenues, that elusive white horse appears. And if it doesn’t, it may be that we need more patience, for the moment to see that wonderful creature is not yet upon us. Indeed, patience may be the single most important trait we need to develop. That and faith, if not always knowing.

Dream Of White Horses

I’ll go down to the sea where the white horses roam,
I’ll keep my eyes and my ears peeled.
Ill scour the wind, the sand and the foam,
And hope that one may be revealed.

I’ll go down to the sea where the white horses shine.
I’ll bring all I know as my own true wealth.
I’ll dive through the depths of the salty brine,
And pray that one may show itself.

I’ll go down to the sea where the white horses glide,
In the haze of summer and the winter’s rime.
I’ll ride the ebb and the rise of the tide,
And accept that one will appear in time.

I’ll go down to the sea where the white horses neigh,
I’ll ask that my wit and wile collude.
I’ll lay my traps as they sport and play,
And expect that one will be lassoed.

I’ll go down to the sea where the white horses fly,
I’ll forget the prophecy that’s been foretold.
I’ll ‘cross my heart and I’ll hope to die’
And trust that fortune will reward the bold!

Today is the 20th Anniversary of the shocking terrorist attack at Beslan; Andrej  Martjanov

For those children that passed from this world on that day…

Lullaby

Go to sleep my little one,
The day’s been long, we had our fun.
Close your eyes my sleepy head,
And with the angels, off to bed.

See the gentle lambs so rare,
Gambolling in the meadows there.
We’ll call them in in ones and twos
And count them as they pass on through.

Hear them bleat and hear them cry,
Hear them fuss and hear them sigh;
Until each one, now bleary-eyed,
Finds its way to mother’s side.

Time for bed, my little one,
The day so long is finally done;
Close your eyes without a peep,
And with the angels, off to sleep!

Yon rising Moon that looks for us again
How oft hereafter will she wax and wane
How oft hereafter rising look for us
Through this same Garden–and for one in vain.

– Omar Khayyam

Peace and blessings to all who visit here

Mother Russia 🙏

Miscellaneous Haiku

demons devouring
their young, jetblack cat slinking
by in the shadows

you’ve saddled your horse
and are getting ready to leave –
how cold my heart

the subtlest haiku –
rising breeze, rippling surface,
morning lake

lost and alone,
a ghost looking for springtime
over withered moors

swallows returning
in spring, giving thanks for
the gift of life

lovers loving love;
a thousand lanterns lighting up
the evening sky

bending and re-stringing
the bow of soul,
then taking aim

Mohabbat meñ nahīñ hai farq jiine aur marne kā,
usī ko dekh kar jiite haiñ jis kāfir pe dam nikle
— Mirza Ghalib

In love there is no difference between life and death do know,
the very one for whom I die, life too does bestow

ham ko maʿlūm hai jannat kī ḥaqīqat lekin
dil ke ḳhush rakhne ko ġhālib yih ḳhayāl achchhā hai
— Mirza Ghalib

we know the reality of paradise,
but to keep the heart happy, Ghalib, this is a good idea