Topic: Saints and Mystics

[Firestarter]

I am afraid for myself
Ever since your visit or was it a visitation
your light has been lodged in me,
now I drift somnolent, heady and
the light doesn't stop seeping from my eyes,
people are transfixed by this light,
I ask God-What is this madness?
This madness of carrying another person within me,
God replies-How can you know me if you don't know this madness?

Usha Akella
A face that does not bear the footprints of the world

[Firestarter]

Ram Tzu knows this…

      There is a hole
      Inside you that
      You try desperately
      To fill up.

      You pour in
      Various satisfactions
      To make yourself
      Feel alright.

      Sometimes,
      If you can get enough,
      The hole fills to the brim
      And there is a
      Blissful moment of evenness.

      But your hole is open
      At the bottom.
      Its contents always leak through
      Leaving you empty
      Again
      And desperate
      For more.

      Ram Tzu know what must be done…
      
      You must be thrown in the hole.
 
                               - Ram Tzu

      




No Way for the Spiritually "Advanced"
Ram Tzu
Advaita Press, 1990

[Nichi]

Encore!

LANDLOCKED IN FUR

I was meditating with my cat the other day
and all of a sudden she shouted,
"What happened?"

I knew exactly what she meant, but encouraged
her to say more--feeling that if she got it all out on the table
she would sleep better that night.

so I responded, "Tell me more, dear,"
and she soulfully meowed,

"Well, I was mingled with the sky. I was comets
whizzing here and there. I was suns in heat, hell--I was
galaxies. But now look--I am
landlocked in fur."

To this I said, "I know exactly what
you mean."

What to say about conversation
between

mystics?


Tukaram

Love Poems From God: Twelve Sacred Poems From the East and West
Translated by Daniel Ladinsky

[Nichi]

"The Fragile Vial"

I need a mouth as wide as the sky
to say the nature of a True Person, language
as large as longing.

The fragile vial inside me often breaks.
No wonder I go mad and disappear for three days
every month with the moon.

For anyone in love with you,
it's always these invisible days.

I've lost the thread of the story I was telling.
My elephant roams his dream of Hindustan again.
Narrative, poetics, destroyed, my body,
a dissolving, a return.

Friend, I've shrunk to a hair trying to say your story.
Would you tell mine?
I've made up so many love stories.
Now I feel fictional.
Tell me!
The truth is, you are speaking, not me.
I am Sinai, and you are Moses walking there.
This poetry is an echo of what you say.
A piece of land can't speak, or know anything!
Or if it can, only within limits.

The body is a device to calculate
the astronomy of the spirit.
Look through that astrolabe
and become oceanic.

Why this distracted talk?
It's not my fault I rave.
You did this.
Do you approve of my love-madness?

Say yes.
What language will you say it in, Arabic or Persian,
or what? Once again, I must be tied up.
Bring the curly ropes of your hair.
Now I remember the story.
A True Man stares at his old shoes
and sheepskin jacket. Every day he goes up
to his attic to look at his work-shoes and worn-out coat.
This is his wisdom, to remember the original clay
and not get drunk with ego and arrogance.

To visit those shoes and jacket
is praise.

The Absolute works with nothing.
The workshop, the materials
are what does not exist.

Try and be a sheet of paper with nothing on it.
Be a spot of ground where nothing is growing,
where something might be planted,
a seed, possibly, from the Absolute.



-- Mathnawi V; 1884-1920; 1959-64
Poetic version by Coleman Barks
"The Essential Rumi"

[Nichi]

If They Only Knew

By Hallaj (Mansur al-Hallaj)
(9th Century)
English version by Michael A. Sells


What earth is this
so in want of you
they rise up on high
to seek you in heaven?

Look at them staring
at you
right before their eyes,
unseeing, unseeing, blind.
. . .

I was patient,
but can the heart
be patient of
its heart?

My spirit and yours
blend together
whether we are near one another
or far away.

I am you,
you,
my being,
end of my desire.

The most intimate of secret thoughts
enveloped
and fixed along the horizon
in folds of light.

How? The "how" is known
along the outside,
while the interior of beyond
to and for the heart of being.

Creatures perish
in the darkened
blind of quest,
knowing intimations.

Guessing and dreaming
they pursue the real,
faces turned toward the sky
whispering secrets to the heavens.

While the lord remains among them
in every turn of time
abiding in their every condition
every instant.

Never without him, they,
not for the blink of an eye --
if only they knew!
nor he for a moment without them.



Ivan Granger:
Mansur al-Hallaj is one of the more controversial figures of Sufism. Considered by many to be a great poet-saint, he was executed for blasphemy and sorcery.

The name al-Hallaj means "wool carder," probably a reference to his family's
traditional occupation. Al-Hallaj was born in the province of Fars, Persia
(Iran). He later moved to what is now Iraq, where he took up religious studies, particularly the Sufi way.

Orthodox religious authorities took offense at his poetry and teachings,
particularly the line in one of his great poems "Ana 'l-Haqq," which translates as "I am the Real," but can also be translated as "I am the Truth" or "I am God" -- acknowledging the mystical realization of unity with the Eternal. He was condemned by a council of theologians, imprisoned for nine years, and eventually put to death. He is revered today as a martyr for truth by many Sufis and mystics.

[Nichi]

You Leave Your Greatness Behind You


Jani has had enough of samsara,
but how will I repay my debt?

You leave your greatness behind you
to grind and pound with me.

O Lord you become a woman
washing me and my soiled clothes,

proudly you carry the water
and gather dung with your own two hands.

O Lord, I want
a place at your feet,
says Jani, Namdev's dasi.


~Janabai
13th Century India



Ivan Granger:
Janabai was born in the Maharashtra region of India to a low-caste family. It was not uncommon for poor families to hire their children out as domestic servants, and this is what happened to Janabai at age 7. But the household she was sent to was unusual, for it belonged to the much-revered poet Namdev. It was in this household that Janabai spent the rest of her life.

Janabai's poetry suggests a life of difficult labor in the household, but one that was constantly revived and supported by her intimacy with the Divine.

--

Janabai starts off this poem by proclaiming that she "has had enough of samsara," the world of suffering and illusion. But how can she purify herself of karma -- "but how will I repay my debt?" She begins with a daunting image of God and karma, God as a sort of king who mercilessly collects karmic debts.

But then the vision shifts to something more intimate. God leaves his "greatness" behind and, like Janabai herself, takes on the humble role of a servant "to grind and pound" and wash. These are traditionally a woman's duties so God has "become a woman," a loving mother rather than a stern father.

But what is being washed here is Janabai herself and her "soiled clothes," her awareness. She implies that God's grinding and pounding is being done with her, but also upon her -- the purifying work of karma finally being paid. In the divine process of spiritual purification, God takes on the humble role of washerwoman, content to "carry the water" of divine energy that purifies, and not above gathering the dung of the material world which is burned for purifying fires.

This is not a vision of God in might and majesty, not a God kept hidden in temples and obscure rituals, and not an aloof debt-collector. Janabai's God is, like herself, a servant-woman, a God who works side-by-side with her in the daily chores, a God who serves even the lowest servant. Janabai identifies herself as Namdev's dasi or servant, and she is made holy by worshipping a servant God. By recognizing the Divine as being similar to herself, she also recognizes that she, even in her humble state, is similar to the Divine.

http://www.poetry-chaikhana.com/J/Janabai/index.htm

[Nichi]

In Qazwin, they have a custom of tattooing themselves
for good luck, with a blue ink, on the back
of the hand, the shoulder, wherever.

A certain man goes to his barber
and asks to be given a powerful, heroic, blue lion
on his shoulder blade. "And do it with flair!
I've got Leo ascending. I want plenty of blue!"

But as soon as the needle starts pricking,
he howls,
"What are you doing?"
"The lion."
"Which limb did you start with?"
"I began with the tail."
"Well, leave out the tail. That lion's rump
is in a bad place for me. It cuts off my wind."

The barber continues, and immediately
the man yells out,
"Ooooooooo! Which part now?"
"The ear."
"Doc, let's do a lion with no ears this time."

The barber shakes his head, and once more the needle,
and once more the wailing,
"Where are you now?"
"The belly."
"I like a lion without a belly."

The master lion-maker
stands for a long time with his fingers in his teeth.
Finally he throws the needle down.
"No one has ever
been asked to do such a thing! To create a lion
without a tail or a head or a stomach.
God himself could not do it!"

Brother, stand the pain.
Escape the poison of your impulses.
The sky will bow to your beauty, if you do.
Learn to light the candle. Rise with the sun.
Turn away from the cave of your sleeping.
That way a thorn expands to a rose.
A particular glows with the universal.

What is it to praise?
Make yourself particles.

What is it to know something of God?
Burn inside that presence. Burn up.

Copper melts in the healing elixir.
So melt yourself in the mixture
that sustains existence.

You tighten your two hands together,
determined not to give up saying "I" and "we."
This tightening blocks you.



Rumi
-- Mathnawi I: 2981-3021
Poetic version by Coleman Barks
(Derived from Nicholson's translation)
"The Essential Rumi"
HarperSanFrancisco, 1995

[Nichi]

What I want is to see your face
in a tree, in the sun coming out, in the air.

What I want is to hear the falcon-drum,
and light again on your forearm.

You say, "Tell him I'm not here." The
sound of that brusque dismissal becomes
what I want.

To see in every palm your elegant silver coin-shavings,
to turn with the wheel of the rain,
to fall with the falling bread of every experience,

to swim like a huge fish in ocean water,
to be Jacob recognizing Joseph.
To be a desert mountain instead of a city.

I'm tired of cowards.
I want to live with lions.
With Moses.

Not whining, teary people.
I want the ranting of drunkards.
I want to sing like birds sing, not worrying
who hears, or what they think.

Last night, a great teacher went
from door to door with a lamp.
"He who is not to be found is the one
I'm looking for."

Beyond wanting, beyond place, inside form,
That One. A flute says, I have no hope
for finding that.

But Love plays and is the music played.
Let that musician finish this poem.

Shams, I am a waterbird flying into the sun.


Rumi

[Nichi]

You Don't Have to Act Crazy Anymore


You Don't Have to Act Crazy Anymore -
We all know you were good at that.

Now retire, my dear,
From all that hard work you do

Of bringing pain to your sweet eyes and heart.

Look in a clear mountain mirror -
See the Beautiful Ancient Warrior
And the Divine elements
You always carry inside

That infused this Universe with sacred Life
So long ago

And join you Eternally
With all Existence - with God!



From: 'I heard God Laughing -
Renderings of Hafiz' by Daniel Ladinsky

[Nichi]

I sipped some of love's sweet wine,
and now I am ill.
My body aches,
my fever is high.
They called in the doctor and he said,
drink this tea!
Ok, time to drink this tea.
He said,
Take these pills!
Ok, time to take these pills.
The doctor said,
And get rid of the sweet wine of love's lips!
Ok, time to get rid of the doctor.


Rumi
Tr. Shahram Shiva

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Shahram-Shiva/74312308688?ref=nf

[Nichi]

A Holy Tabernacle in the Heart (from Life of the Future World)

However,
      the breath
which is
      from the second one
is a
      holy
      tabernacle
in the heart.
One ascends
      with the Unique Name
      to the sky
      to depict with Unifications
      the relationship
between everything that
      is difficult
      in this
      science of pronunciation.
It alone is
      life in the Name.
It is remembered and sealed
      in the Book of Life
to make the individual live
      with passion
      which enlightens
constantly, when
      every thought,
      every soul
is concentrated on it.



Rabbi Abraham Abulafia
13th Century Spain
English version by Jewish Theological Seminary


www.poetrychaikhana.com

[Nichi]

For a moment I saw a beautiful moving river.
Then a vast water with no means of crossing it.

For a moment, I saw a bush full of opening buds.
Then no roses, no thorns, nothing.

For a moment I saw a busy cooking fire.
Then no hearth, no smoke, no flame.

I saw the great mother of kings, Kunti.
Then, the next moment, sitting here, is
the helpless old aunt of the potter's wife.

- Lalla
14th Century North Indian mystic

 

From "Naked Song"
Versions by Coleman Barks
Maypop 1992

[Nichi]

STAY CLOSE TO THOSE SOUNDS
 
The sun turns a key in a lock each day
As soon as it crawls out of bed.
 
Light swings open a door
And the many kinds of love rush out
Onto the infinite green field.
 
Your soul sometimes plays a note
Against the Sky's ear that excites
The birds and planets.
 
Stay close to any sounds
That make you glad you are alive.
 
Everything in this world is
Helplessly reeling.
 
An invisible wake was created
When God said to His beautiful dead lover,
"Be."
 
Hafiz, who will understand you
If you do not explain that last line?
Well then,
 
I will sing it this way,
 
When God said to illusion,
"Be."
 
 
 

("The Gift" -- versions of Hafiz by Daniel Ladinsky)

[Nichi]

The Guest House

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

 
~ Rumi ~
 
 
(The Essential Rumi, versions by Coleman Barks)

[Firestarter]

This is one of my favorites by him.