Saturday, March 24, 2018

metta, saturday morning practice

That this



To become

And be

A person

A place



Compassion and


In a world

That is

So often

(or always?)

Dark and


And suffering

That despite


We face what




Kindness and




God present

in the moment


God is

presence as

the moment

What is

the difference


as it


Friday, March 23, 2018


This from Ryõkan (1758-1831):

The thief left it behind: 
the moon 
at my window

For this poet, gratefulness!

Thursday, March 22, 2018

yes, unborn

The Layman once said:

The world over,
Men without wives,
Women lacking husbands, 

Face to face,
Speaking of what is unborn.20 

(-from The Sayings of Layman Pang)

Wednesday, March 21, 2018

sighting a hermit

Rare spotting of hermit in basement of empty church in Bangor.

She asks, "Have you seen one lately?"

I say, "Just a minute ago."





Some words. A promise of prayer. Walking away.

Once every nine years is good frequency.

Tuesday, March 20, 2018

poem, dover beach by matthew arnold. (a poem to contemplate)

Dover Beach

           by MATTHEW ARNOLD

The sea is calm tonight. 
The tide is full, the moon lies fair 
Upon the straits; on the French coast the light 
Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand, 
Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay. 
Come to the window, sweet is the night-air! 
Only, from the long line of spray 
Where the sea meets the moon-blanched land, 
Listen! you hear the grating roar 
Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling, 
At their return, up the high strand, 
Begin, and cease, and then again begin, 
With tremulous cadence slow, and bring 
The eternal note of sadness in. 

Sophocles long ago 
Heard it on the Ægean, and it brought 
Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow 
Of human misery; we 
Find also in the sound a thought, 
Hearing it by this distant northern sea. 

The Sea of Faith 
Was once, too, at the full, and round earth’s shore 
Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled. 
But now I only hear 
Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar, 
Retreating, to the breath 
Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear 
And naked shingles of the world. 

Ah, love, let us be true 
To one another! for the world, which seems 
To lie before us like a land of dreams, 
So various, so beautiful, so new, 
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light, 
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain; 
And we are here as on a darkling plain 
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight, 
Where ignorant armies clash by night.

Monday, March 19, 2018

Beher Emno Beth

Six of my favorite words.
Being,       Embodying,       Becoming
Here,         Now,                  This 
Triadic and Trinitarian.

Expanded into eighteen.

         Creativity/Delusion Destroyer/Transforming/Becoming/This

Compacted into three to contemplate:
Beher Emno Beth

Sunday, March 18, 2018

here is what is found

After researching “Beher” and learning it is the meter or pattern of sher (couplets) in Urdu poetry*. Then there is the ghazal**. A Sunday morning’s meander into the found spiritual/philosophical acronym’s beginning word of beher emno beth (from Saturday morning practice).

Here is
What is



What follows is a Ghazal: 

Maaz Bin Bilal

Not a Wish Comes to Fruition
A Ghazal by Mirza Asadullah Khan Ghalib (1797–1869)
Translation by Maaz Bin Bilal
Not a wish comes to fruition.
I can see no conclusion.

The day for death is a given,
Then why can’t I sleep this season?

I could laugh at myself once,
Now no humour, just remission.

I know the rewards for faith, still,
That is not my predilection.

There is a reason I am quiet now,
Else I’m eloquent in conversation.

Why should I not shout in remembrance?
Inaudible is my voice of reason.

If the wounds of my heart are not visible,
There’s no stench either, o physician.

We are there where to us, even,
Comes no news of our condition.

We die in the hope of dying (for love),
Death waits, with its repetition.

How will you show your face at the Kaaba, Ghalib?
You know no shame, only humiliation.

Transliteration of Urdu Text

koi ummīd bar nahiñ ātī
koi sūrat nazar nahiñ ātī

maut ka ek din mu’ayyan hai
nīnd kyūñ rāt bhar nahiñ ātī

āge āti thī hāl-e-dil pe hañsīñ
ab kisi bāt par nahiñ ātī

jāntā hūn sawāb-e-tā’at-o-zohad
par tabīyat udhar nahiñ ātī

hai kuchh aisī hī bāt jo chup hūñ
warna kya bāt kar nahiñ ātī

kyūn na chīķhūn ke yād karte haiñ
meri āvāz gar nahiñ ātī

dāġ-e-dil gar nazar nahiñ āta
bū bhi ai chārahgar nahiñ ātī

hum wahañ hain jahañ say hum ko bhī
kuchh hamārāī ķhabar nahiñ ātī

martay haiñ ārzū meiñ marnay kī
maut ātī hai par nahiñ ātī

kā’ba kis muñh se jāoge ġhālib
sharm tum ko magar nahiñ ātī