Tuesday, April 29, 2014

Meditative & Spiritual Reflections & Poetry:I love you,gentlest of ways*Your First Word Was Light*God Speaks to Each of Us by Rainer Maria rilke/I am only the house of your beloved by Rumi/Not With Wings by Hafiz

Wilderness-Adam Hurst

I love you,gentlest of ways
Rainer Maria Rilke

I love you,gentlest of Ways,
who ripened us as we wrestled with you.

You,the great homesickness we could never shake off,
you,the forest that always surrounded us,

you, the song we sang in every silence,
you dark net threading through us,

on the day you made us you created yourself,
and we grew sturdy in your sunlight…

Let your hand rest on the rim of Heaven now and mutely bear the darkness we bring over you.

Your First Word Was Light
Rainer maria Rilke

Your first word of all was light,
and time began. Then for long you were silent.

Your second word was man, and fear began,
which grips us still.

Are you about to speak again?
I don't want your third word.

Sometimes I pray: Please don't talk.
Let all your doing be by gesture only.
Go on writing in faces and in stone
what your silence means.

You be our refuge from the wrath
that drove us out of Paradise.

Be our sheperd, but never call us--
we can't bear to know what's ahead

God Speaks to Each of Us
Rainer Maria Rilke

God speaks to each of us before we are,
Before he's formed us then, in cloudy speech,
But only then, he speaks these words to each
And silently walks with us from the dark:

Driven by your senses,dare
To the edge of longing.Grow
Like a fire's shadowcasting glare
Behind assembled things,so you can spread
Their shapes on me as clothes.
Don't leave me bare.

Let it all happen to you: beauty and dread.
Simply go no feeling is too much
And only this way can we stay in touch.

Near here is the land
That they call Life.
You'll know when you arrive
By how real it is.

Give me your hand.

I am only the house of your beloved

I am only the house of your beloved,
not the beloved herself:
true love is for the treasure,
not for the coffer that contains it.

The real beloved is that one who is unique,
who is your beginning and your end.
When you find that one,
you'll no longer expect anything else:

that is both the manifest and the mystery.
That one is the lord of states of feeling,
dependent on none;
month and year are slaves to that moon.
When he bids the "state,"
it does His bidding;
when that one wills,bodies become spirit.

Not With Wings

Here soar
Not with wings,

But with your moving hands and feet
And sweating brows--

Standing by your Beloved's side
Reaching out to comfort this world

With your cup of solace
Drawn from your vast reservoir of Truth.

Here soar
Not with your eyes and senses

That turn their backs
On the earth's sweet stumbling dance
Which needs you.

Here love, O here love,
With your mouth tender and open upon your lover,

And with your heart on duty
To the souls of rivers, children, forest animals,
All the shy feathered ones and laughing, jumping,
Shining fish.

O here, pilgrim, Love
On this holy battleground of life

Where there are bleeding men
Who are calling for a sacred drink,

A gentle word or touch from a man
Or God.

Hafiz, why just serve and play with angels?
They are already content.

Brew your knowledge well for men
With aching minds and guts,

And for those wayfarers who have gained
The rare courageous thirsts
That can never be relinquished
Until Union!

Leave your recipes in golden drums.

Tie those barrels to the backs of camels
Who will keep circumambulating the worlds,

Giving nourishment
To all our tender wondrous spheres.

O here Love, O love right here.
Find your happiness, dear wayfarer,

With your beautiful lips and body
So sweetly opened,

Yielding their vital gifts upon
This magnificent

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