Calling Poetry Forth

A Walk On The Beach, Joaquín Sorolla y Bastida (1863-1923)

This day calls for poetry. Poetry soothes our souls. I cannot stand the pessimistic mood I feel all around me. The economic mess is difficult to understand. Many people are suffering. Many more are apprehensive and afraid. My own unemployment has been the source of many frightening thoughts. I call forward the muses of poetry. I believe in the secret language of intimacy that we find in poetry. If treated with reverence poetry can reveal the innermost truth of ourselves. You can call it a kind of oracle if you like. We need our oracles. We need to talk with our ancient ones if only to make sense of this long arduous process called life. Poetry connects you with the sounds and music of our human heritage. If you cannot connect with your neighbors in this so isolated world or if your family and friends are far away, poetry will bring the warmth of their loving kindness. Mom and Dad are gone. They were my poetry because I loved them so much. I find solace in poetry. In poetry we find welcoming arms. A good poem is a sincere poem. Some are simple and other are full of tropes and highly inventive metaphors. That is just style. But the essence of the poem is to reach out to you, that you may never feel detached or lonely. A lifelong dedication to the garden of poetry will bring you the most exquisite flowers. Your life deserves flowers. Your life deserves song. Let's reconnect with the gift of poetry.

One of my most beloved poets is Antonio Machado (1875-1939). His poetry is delicate and deep. His music in verse is the glory of the Spanish language. His poems are the soul of 400 million speakers of the language of Cervantes. I am one of them. He speaks about life, the passing of time, Love and the beautiful landscape of Spain, the motherland. This is one of his most famous verse translated into English. Breathe this poetry. Your tired soul will find a resting place in these verses.

Cantares

All goes, and all remains,
but our task is to go,

to go creating roads,

roads through the sea.

My songs never chased after glory to remain in human memory.

I love the subtle worlds weightless and charming,

worlds like soap-bubbles.

I like to see them, daubed with sunlight and scarlet,

quiver, under a blue sky, suddenly and burst…I never chased glory.

Traveller, the road is only your footprint,

and no more;

traveller, there’s no road, the road is your travelling...'

Going becomes the road and if you look back you will see a path none can tread again.

Traveller, every track leaves its wake on the sea…
Once in this place where bushes now have thorns,

the sound of a poet’s cry was heard-‘Traveller there’s no road, the road is your travelling…’

Step by step, line by line…

The poet died far from home.

Shrouded by dust of a neighbouring land.

At his parting they heard him cry-‘Traveller there’s no road the road is your travelling…’

Step by step,

line by line…

When the goldfinch can’t sing,

when the poet’s a wanderer,

when nothing aids our prayer: ‘Traveller there’s no road the road is your travelling…’
Step by step,

line by line.

Ruminations

When I discovered the poet Rumi (1207-1273) back in my days at the University I felt I had just stumbled upon a kindred soul. My experience of the divine has always had a mystical and sensual undertone to it. To compare the concept of God to the beloved made me feel closer to the embodiment of Spirit. His was a God of mystery and ecstasy. Many times when I am by myself taking a walk in nature, among trees, or beautiful landscapes, I feel the presence of something bigger than me and my world. I can only relate it to the feeling of being madly in Love with someone. I always had my reservations with most dogmatic definitions of God. In fact, I use the term Universe, when addressing the Divine. Rumi was a soul in Love with the Divine. Everything is transformed when you focus on the universality of love. In his poetry life and death are but sublime bursts of divine energy. His poems set to music have been used by the whirling dervishes of Sufism for centuries. These dervishes turn and turn in a seamless motion evoking the fluidity of eternity. I like to recite his poem by candlelight, sotto voce, softly savouring every syllable like a ripe old wine:

Look! This is love-to fly toward the heaven,

To tear a hundred veils in ev'ry wink,

To tear a hundred veils at the beginning,

To travel in the end without a foot,

And to regard this world as something hidden.

Jalaladdin Rumi

A message to my teachers, wherever they might be.

To the Venerable Khenpos Kenchen Palden Rinpoche and Tsewang Dongyal Rinpoche, teachers of love and compassion

Mount Meru Mudra,

Is a castle in the heavens,

It is the commitment of the bodhisatva

is the light of truth,

it is compassion,

I offer my teachers

the first harvest of my love,

and in the festivity of Tsog,

I shall bring your eternal peace.

Dorjes in the sand

Let it be known,
The Great Conqueror set foot in this tropical island long ago,
unseen,
unheard,
unfelt,
He bathed joyously
in the virgin water streams that sprayed
the ancient Caribbean sea rocks,
and blessed all the creatures that were
unseen,
unheard,
unfelt.
He laughed blissfully,
his roaring giggles
sounded like a thunderous mantra
summoning universal harmony,
penetrating with its vibration all minds
unseen,
unheard,
unfelt.
You see,
I have found gilded dorjes buried in the sands.
I have seen endless rainbows when least expected.
I have observed victory banners unfurled in the deep rain forests.
I have heard long lost birds singing Om Ah Hung.
He must have been here, surely, before my people were born.
You see,
He still roams freely through the tropical pathways barefooted,
trident in hand,
radiating indestructible truths,
all pervading kindness,
ever shining wisdom.
In awareness, now seen, now heard… deeply felt.
– Héctor L. Urrutia, Pema Gatob, Puerto Rico

Thank You

In the early morning I go out

to walk the dog

in a wooded area near my home,

the light of the day is fresh

the breeze is crisp and cool,

the sky is so big,

and I wonder who could possibly

had made this amazing world,

the thousand trees,

the soft, dewy grass

the passing birds...

I leave a muddy foot printed trail behind me,

I sit with my dog on the quiet knoll,

silence surrounds me in the woods near my home,

silence, Oh Divine Love, surrounds me near my home.

The Muse

Take my hand that I may help you bring back the holy muse

back into your life,

and at ease she will look

for your lost dreams

and bless your inner fortress

with scents of everloving and firegrass.

There are flowers in your garden you have never seen,

there is an opalescent primrose and a red mango tree,

three thousand petunias riding proud in the eventide wind.

I will light a candle to show her the way,

a pinch of cinnamon and a sliver of amber will do the trick,

We will make wreaths of sage and lavender

to welcome her in.

In the woods,

among the rustling trees,

we will build an altar for her to sit.

Forever sit.