Cupping My Hands Like a Mountain Valley

[The mountains of Clayoquot Sound, by Phillip Colla of oceanlight.com]

This poem by Hafiz has so many glorious lines in it, such inspired beauty, that I decided to share it with you this morning. Ah, to see the world like Hafiz - such shining wonder!

Like the way the valleys of the earth

Cup their hands for light and drink,

Like the way the desert opens up its sweet mouth

and laughs

When someone melts pearls in the sky

And rain, rain

Returns like a divine lover

With a hundred wonderful gifts

O, the words from the true Teacher

Bring my mind and cells

Such sacred nourishment and life.

When the moon is full

It gets gregarious and likes to chat.

I have heard it say,

"Look what can happen, dear seeker,

When you lean your graceful arms toward God in prayer,

Look at all that amorous light you can catch

That will help the night musicians and your soul

Get loose."

I stand revolving like a great dervish

In an ecstatic submission to His will.

I have been hired to perform the final act of grace.

I am the priest in every sacred wedding tent.

Tonight, I am a sovereign planet

With a great wool skirt.

I am a divine artist

On stage before God's entire court.

With each sublime whirl and orbit

I bow to the Sun's feet.

I fill my glass for you, dear pilgrim,

Beneath the luminous leaking barrel.

I then pour all the contents of my heart

And eye's experience

Upon this banquet table,

For your body and mind are a precious silk cloth

Hafiz has come to dye!

I circumnambulate the Truth from the sky

Like a golden vulture.

I have forsaken all the crippling manners

Of even the most  royal birds.

I carry a lute in my talons like a mortal weapon.

Please, please enter into a holy battle with me.

For I am God's friend

who maims with compassion!

And you are a lost dove upon His wing.

I can teach you

How to bribe the Beloved with an angelic tune

So that the divine manna of His glance

Will fall upon your palate.

Some days I know

That you are en route to your own slaughter.

Some days I know

You are being trained as an emmissary

To serve in His office of joy.

Dear one,

Last night, in the gallery of Reality

I saw a portrait I will never forget:

The Beloved was stirring a pot

With a spoon the size of a universe

And when He lifted it

I saw this whole world and its affairs

Were not even a floating speck of barley

Before the radiance of two diamonds

That were His brilliant cheeks!

All I could do when beholding that vision

Was to fall upon my knees

And cup my hands like a humble valley

Huddled between the thighs

Of this exquisite, holy mountain range

And try to build a reservoir to hold the Beloved's

Resplendent smile

That offers myriad tickets to freedom,

That offers the splendor of hearing God sing!

I am a spinning wheel upon the infinite.

I have swallowed that axis and hub

That fathered light and truth.

..................

God offers love, love, love

With His own hands,

To your beautiful parched  holy mouth.

..................

Tie yourself as a bell

To herds of mating camels

And spring flocks of clouds and birds.

Tie yourself as spawning stars

And to leaping whales

In a game of tag with the Moon!

Tie yourself to everything in creation

That got poured from God's magic hat.

........................

Dear wayfarer,

Now indulge me in a sober moment.

Please set down your glass.

I can help you write a letter of resignation

To all your fears and sadness.

........................

For all in existence is just spinning like this

Sweet earth

In a divine current.

Why not dance like Hafiz in the cup,

In the cup of His spoon?

...........................

Why not use my verse as a golden camel bell

That you can turn upside down into a chalice

And fill with wine?

Hafiz,

You are the divine camel bell

That the Beloved is ringing with His own hand.

...............................

Dear ones,

"God has sown Himself onto my tongue."

Like the way

The valleys of the earth

Cup their hands for light and drink.

Like

The way

The desert opens up its sweet mouth

And laughs

When someone melts pearls in the sky

And rain, rain

Returns like a divine lover

With a thousand wonderful

Gifts,

O, the luminous words of my Beloved

Now bring my mind and soul

Such a sacred

Nourishment

And

Peace.

The Crazy Dog-Sisters Go to the Movies

Lori and I went to see Bridesmaid tonight - I expected it would be one of those movies that is supposed to be funny but is actually stupid, but I was so wrong. Whoever wrote this screenplay knows women, and the dialogue was hilarious all the way through, as were the various situations the characters got into, non-stop laughs.  The acting was superb. We laughed all the way through and it wasnt polite little titters either, but big belly laughs - and the cackles for which I am famous.

Even funnier than the movie was our exit from the theatre. I have let it be known that I hobble quite often, given the trouble I have with my left leg and my back. I did pretty well going INTO the theatre, but after sitting for two hours in those seats, I notoriously am barely able to hobble out of the theatre at movie's end, on the best of days.

And Lori happened to sprain her ankle this afternoon, and was hobbling even worse than I was. So when she started hobbling up the aisle, with me hobbling earnestly along right behind her, I started cackling at how funny we looked, and couldnt stop. People were looking at us, wondering what the hell, and given I couldnt stop laughing, may have thought we were making fun of people with disabilities - but we actually WERE people with disabilities.........it sort of made me think of shopping day for the disabled, when you see people in wheelchairs being taken shopping in groups. I was totally Gone, and it got worse when I heard Lori explaining to the lineup outside: "She walks like that all the time, but I just sprained my ankle today." Yeah, make fun of the demented, cackling old woman, why dont you?

I havent laughed so much or so hard in a long time - two hours plus of hilarity.

I highly recommend the movie. But choose your companion carefully:) Hee hee!

Prophet of Peace

Mattie Stepanek, prophet, poet, creator of Heartsongs, messenger of peace,  succumbed to a rare form of muscular dystrophy at thirteen, but he made every day of his life count by writing and speaking his message of hope.

Mattie sang his heartsongs

of love and joy.

He sang

for all of us.

Every day,

he lived his message,

which was:

Peace is Possible.

"When I die,"

he said,

"I want to be

a child in Heaven.....

a hero.......

I want to make

a difference there,

just like

I did

on earth."

Mattie was

the embodiment

of love.

He brought

his knowing

from the great beyond,

to which he has returned.

Millions were

touched

by his journey

of love.

Mattie's last sentence

in this world,

a world where

he needed an

oxygen tank

to survive, was:
"Choose to inhale.

Do not breathe

simply to exist."

The last word

he ever said was:

"Yes."

He had died many times,

he had seen Heaven,

and came back

because

he still had

work to do.

As he was dying,

his one question was:

"Did I do

enough?"

Through his books,

and television clips,

he still

can make us cry.

Yet also smile,

because Mattie,

pint-sized prophet

with a mighty heart,

when it came

to living,

Mattie

 showed us how.

My Sister, the Wrangler

When my sister

was little,

all she

dreamed of

was horses.

I'd look out

the window

and see her

galloping around

and around the field,

long hair flying out behind.

In her mind,

she was

riding.

She grew up

to be

a banker,

and she does

that job well.

But, in her heart,

in the parallel reality

of her wildest dreams,

she is

a rancher's wife

in the Interior,

on a spread

with five hundred head,

rolling hills

and miles of fields

for all-day rides

and, after a flapjack breakfast,

she and her cowboy husband

ride

the whole day long.

My sister

should have been

a Rodeo Queen.

She "robs the train"

on Saturdays

to thrill the tourists.

She spends Sundays

cattle sorting

and barrel racing.

On her face,

in her horse world,

she can't

stop grinning.

Our mom

always wanted

a photo

of her galloping,

her hair streaming

out behind.

I have that photo

in my mind,

that ten year old girl,

galloping

around and around

 the back meadow,

hair flying out behind,

a thousand dreams

and a reality

away

from her

perfect life.

First Nations Shaman

[image from crystalinks.com]

I once knew a shaman

who didnt call

himself

a shaman.

He didnt talk about

spirituality, ever.

He simply, humbly

was spiritual.

He said in his culture

things of spirit

were not talked

about publicly,

for they were sacred.

His path

had been long,

and he had evolved

through pain

towards wisdom,

the journey

the most fortunate

among us

are privileged to make.

Around his quiet

strength,

I felt our

non-native

(non)-"culture"

talked far too much,

and too loudly.

I,I,I,

me,me,me,

as if we

needed chatter

to know

we were

still alive.

Every morning,

winter and summer,

he plunged 

into the ice-cold river

to purify himself.

He didnt talk

a great deal,

but when people

wanted wisdom,

they sought him out.

He was

such a

good listener.

Just being

in his presence

always helped.

He never spoke

a harsh word

about anybody.

Even when someone

was behaving terribly,

being offensively officious,

he gave them

his respectful manner,

as a fellow human,

smilingly acknowledging that

"every leader wants to sail

his own boat".

He was quiet.

He watched, and he

saw it all.

He watched it

all happen.

They were

trying times.

A struggle

between

Head People

and Heart People

was going on.

My heart

was wounded

by the wrongs I saw

being done

to the place I

believed in,

to the people

that I loved.

One day the three

Nuu chah nulth leaders

were asked to give

a "mission statement".

He and the other two rose,

without having

even needed

to confer,

crossed their arms,

spoke in their

own language,

together,

the same words

with a power

that nearly

blew the roof off,

and a steely

determination

in their eyes.

We didn't need

any translation.

For once,

we were

silenced.

They hadnt needed

to show

this strength,

but they could,

when they deemed it

necessary.

Mumakli's

(white people)

are not big on

subtlety.

We seem to need

a piano to

fall on our heads

to get

the message.

They closed me,

one day,

in a darkened building.

I was the only mumakli,

invited to

this secret ceremony,

because

they loved me. 

They saw

how my heart

was wounded.

They saw

my love for

their people.

They trusted me,

and it was

an honor.

We were covered in

cedar branches,

from head to toe.

A fire burned in

the center of the room.

What was done

in that room

is not to

be spoken of,

for it is sacred.

But they were trying

to heal me

of the hurts

they had watched

me receive,

to support

my spirit,

that was faltering

under the pain of

what should not be

happening.

Today,

I feel wounded

in spirit

once again,

for life

can be

wounding.

I have been missing

these beautiful

people,

who knew so much pain,

yet loved to laugh so much.

I am needing

to see

my wise shaman again,

not to talk,

just to listen.

I send him

a thought

on the back

of a raven.

I have no doubt

that, soon,

he will

appear.

The Wild Woman on Peace

Every time

the Wild Woman

pulls into

the driveway,

her peace rock

greets her:

Peace.

It bespeaks

peace

in her home,

in her yard,

in her heart,

in her being,

in this life

she has made.

It reminds her

of decades

when she sought

only peace,

and was

surrounded by

people of

discord,

violence,

addiction,

and upheaval.

When she finally

grew tired

of the clamor,

and stripped away

everything

that was not peaceful,

she was left alone,

with a beautiful

big black dog.

In solitude,

she found

the peace

she had
always been

seeking.

This peace rock

called to her

on the shore

of a nearby lake.

She planted it

under the rose bush
in the last house,

and watered it well.

It moved with her,

and found its  spot

at the base of the fence,

by the driveway,

a statement:

peace to all

who enter here.

Her haven

at times

has been a shelter

for others,

who needed

her quiet and her peace,

especially

children,

tumbled about

as she herself

had been.

She knew
just what they

most needed.

This rock will move

with her,

soon,
again,

across the road,

along with

 the clematis vine,

now getting ready to bloom

its purple flowers.

They will

each find

their new and

perfect spot
beside the stairs.

For this
is a small

           tale of Peace..........

   to be continued.

Wickanninish Beach

Hey, kids, I made a fast run to the beach today, after checking in with my doctor in Ucluelet.

I had been keening for it all winter, and I felt my entire spirit lift up joyously as I hit the junction.

The smell of the air, all salt and cedar! Four eagles windsurfing the air currents above the main intersection.

And, when I got to the beach, that sound: the melodic, heartbeat-paced resonance of the waves coming in, going out, in endless refrain. The home of my spirit, where I most belong on this planet. Too bad it's too expensive for poor people to live there any more. But I made a hopeful and pro-active proclamation to the universe, and purchased a one year parking pass,  since I am determined to get there oftener this coming year.

I bought myself a very special treat: a soft fleecey with wolves all over it, so all next winter I can be wrapped cosily in wolf energy. It's like wrapping Pup's arms around me, when I put it on.

It was a lot of driving, an hour and a half each way, so by the time I was finished at the doctor's, I was too tired to walk on the beach. I LOOKED at it, though, reassured that it is still there, and took some photos for you. The waves were mild and calm today.

I had planned to go to South Beach, a short walk from Wickanninish. The rocks and cliffs there are amazing, great for photos, and the waves thunder marvellously into the small curved bay (a great place to storm watch in winter!) But the area was closed off.

Since I first moved there in 1989, every  spring a mama bear beds down in some bushes along the trail, and has her babies there. In earlier years, when there werent so many tourists and things were a lot more laid back, I sometimes tiptoed past. Once she had twin babies alongside the trail, and let it be known she did not appreciate visitors walking by - we ran back to the beach and waited till she had moved on, before returning to our cars.

The park people must be more cautious now. They closed the area completely. The trail likely wont open till fall, after berry season, when Mama and baby move deeper into the woods to find their winter shelter.

I then tried Florencia Bay, where the clipper Florencia shipwrecked many years ago in a winter storm,

all souls lost.

But the canopy has grown so high since I last was there that you can no longer look down the beach from the lookout, and I was too tired to walk all the way down the trail.

I took a couple of shots of trees for you instead:)

A good but tiring day. Early to bed tonight for this old gray-headed, wobbly-legged creature!