Poems and Phantasms

Posts tagged ‘beauty’

Beauty

I got beauty in me

that needs to come out, songs

you never heard, stories

in my bones and fire

in my eyes, too bright

to keep secret

 

yes, the sadness went deep

down to the source, pain

and joy, all soaking up

into spirit and

there it goes

pouring out like water

shining out like light

and singing

 

look at me

look at this new day

this life

this world

gifts, all

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“The Invitation” ~Oriah Mountain Dreamer

“Path to the summit of Mangere Mountain in Manukau City, New Zealand” Ingolfson, 2008. (Public Domain)

The Invitation by Oriah
It doesn’t interest me
what you do for a living.
I want to know
what you ache for
and if you dare to dream
of meeting your heart’s longing.

It doesn’t interest me
how old you are.
I want to know
if you will risk
looking like a fool
for love
for your dream
for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn’t interest me
what planets are
squaring your moon…
I want to know
if you have touched
the centre of your own sorrow
if you have been opened
by life’s betrayals
or have become shrivelled and closed
from fear of further pain.

I want to know
if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.

I want to know
if you can be with joy
mine or your own
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you
to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us
to be careful
to be realistic
to remember the limitations
of being human.

It doesn’t interest me
if the story you are telling me
is true.
I want to know if you can
disappoint another
to be true to yourself.
If you can bear
the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless
and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see Beauty
even when it is not pretty
every day.
And if you can source your own life
from its presence.

I want to know
if you can live with failure
yours and mine
and still stand at the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon,
“Yes.”

It doesn’t interest me
to know where you live
or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up
after the night of grief and despair
weary and bruised to the bone
and do what needs to be done
to feed the children.

It doesn’t interest me
who you know
or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand
in the centre of the fire
with me
and not shrink back.

It doesn’t interest me
where or what or with whom
you have studied.
I want to know
what sustains you
from the inside
when all else falls away.

I want to know
if you can be alone
with yourself
and if you truly like
the company you keep
in the empty moments.

By Oriah © Mountain Dreaming,
from the book The Invitation
published by HarperONE, San Francisco,
1999 All rights reserved

Quote

“The world is not respectable…” ~ Santayana

“The world is not respectable; it is mortal, tormented, confused, deluded forever; but it is shot through with beauty, with love, with glints of courage and laughter; and in these, the spirit blooms timidly, and struggles to the light amid the thorns.” ~George Santayana

“Deepening the Wonder” ~ Hafiz

Deepening The Wonder
-A poem by Hafiz, translated by Daniel Ladinsky

Death is a favor to us,
But our scales have lost their balance.

The impermanence of the body
Should give us great clarity,
Deepening the wonder in our senses and eyes

Of this mysterious existence we share
And are surely just traveling through.

If I were in the Tavern tonight,
Hafiz would call for drinks

And as the Master poured, I would be reminded
That all I know of life and myself is that

We are just a midair flight of golden wine
Between His Pitcher and His Cup.

If I were in the Tavern tonight,
I would buy freely for everyone in this world

Because our marriage with the Cruel Beauty
Of time and space cannot endure very long.

Death is a favor to us,
But our minds have lost their balance.

The miraculous existence and impermanence of
Form
Always makes the illumined ones
Laugh and sing.

If You’re Looking

Public Domain. Zygmunt Gloger, circa 1900-1903.

 

most of my tattoos are on the inside

engravings of childhood stories, deep as a well

etchings of songs that crackle with each echo

impressions of memories, prettier as they fade

and of course

the scars

 

I used to decorate myself

with notions and intentions, superstitions and pretentions

then truth came, burning

 

I look rather plain now

all the beauty got buried

it’s not skin-deep anymore, you know?

 

but the marks that tell my story are still here

you can see them

if you’re looking in the right place

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