Today is Poetry Day. Poetry can be celebrated around the world. Read a poem. Write a poem. Send me a poem.
Ann has introduced me to the music and songs of Krishna Das. It began with "Flow of Grace", chanting the Hanuman Chalisa. Hanuman is a powerful, compassionate being, "son of wind, a fire to consume the forest of evildoers, destroyer of the darkness of ignorance, in whose wide heart resides Sri Ram, the holder of the bow." Tulsi Das, Hindu poet-saint of the 16th century.
It happened one night long ago that I dreamed I was in a holy place. In fact, I was sitting on the hem of Creator-Creator's great gold robe. Thousands of others were with me. People of all nations in all manner of attire were softly speaking in their own tongues. We were arranged in a circle facing Creator-Creator who sat elevated at the center. It seemed we were all equal but some sat very close while others were far away. Peaceful patience prevailed among these devotees of prayer and devotion. It was so comfortable that I wondered what we sat on and found the robe cool and smooth, it was firm but also soft. I was so far from the center that I could not see what Creator-Creator looked like. I could not see which direction Creator-Creator faced. I sat content in the presence of unconditional love, bathed in the glow of grace, at peace, in joy, at one.
I was up at 7 AM and noticed that in the shadows that held the morning at bay a small crack appeared and allowed a narrow shaft of light to splash the dark bark of the brittle old tree just beyond the high wood fence. For several gracious golden minutes it stood bathed in crisp morning light. Now it stands in shadow but we, the tree and I, remember how for one splendid moment it stood bathed in the glow of grace. I wonder where that light will fall tomorrow. Does the tree wonder with me? No, I think the tree is simply waiting... ready to accept the shadow or the light.
Ann has introduced me to the music and songs of Krishna Das. It began with "Flow of Grace", chanting the Hanuman Chalisa. Hanuman is a powerful, compassionate being, "son of wind, a fire to consume the forest of evildoers, destroyer of the darkness of ignorance, in whose wide heart resides Sri Ram, the holder of the bow." Tulsi Das, Hindu poet-saint of the 16th century.
It happened one night long ago that I dreamed I was in a holy place. In fact, I was sitting on the hem of Creator-Creator's great gold robe. Thousands of others were with me. People of all nations in all manner of attire were softly speaking in their own tongues. We were arranged in a circle facing Creator-Creator who sat elevated at the center. It seemed we were all equal but some sat very close while others were far away. Peaceful patience prevailed among these devotees of prayer and devotion. It was so comfortable that I wondered what we sat on and found the robe cool and smooth, it was firm but also soft. I was so far from the center that I could not see what Creator-Creator looked like. I could not see which direction Creator-Creator faced. I sat content in the presence of unconditional love, bathed in the glow of grace, at peace, in joy, at one.
I was up at 7 AM and noticed that in the shadows that held the morning at bay a small crack appeared and allowed a narrow shaft of light to splash the dark bark of the brittle old tree just beyond the high wood fence. For several gracious golden minutes it stood bathed in crisp morning light. Now it stands in shadow but we, the tree and I, remember how for one splendid moment it stood bathed in the glow of grace. I wonder where that light will fall tomorrow. Does the tree wonder with me? No, I think the tree is simply waiting... ready to accept the shadow or the light.
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