Above is a photo I took during my morning meditation walk. Below is a haiku inspired by the photo. Please share a haiku that comes to you as you view the photo. (A traditional haiku is 3 lines: 5 syllables, 7 syllables and 5 syllables.)
Shadowy imprints
From fallen leaves after their
Brief time in the sun.
This is a photo of our passiflora loefgrenii, also know as the garlic passion fruit, which is known for its otherworldly beauty, lusciously hued petals and fruit with a translucent pulp that is proven to ward off vampires with hints of garlic midst the sweetness. Geeky gardeners like us are quite smitten with this rare perennial vine from Brazil. What are you passionate about? Faced with insurmountable mountains of work that never reach completion, intractable geopolitical crises seemingly beyond our ability to impact, and the exhausting challenges of mere day to day survival, it's easy for our passion to wilt. Yet without that spark, responsibilities become burdens and generosity degrades into resentment. So how do we reclaim our passion?
I recommend a blast from the past. Jalāl ad-Dīn Muhammad Rūmī (or just Rumi to those of us who feel like old friends through his unsurpassed Sufi poetry) injected an unstoppable torrent of vivacity into ordinary script. His urgent plea was for everyone to connect with the divine essence beyond words. Yet even that is a limp description of his charismatic fervor. He urged us to forsake everything that does not drip, saturate and overflow with the Beloved juice that makes the universe run.
What's required to do so? Merely a single-minded dedication to pursue it wholeheartedly, and in the process discover that the heart...and everything else...becomes whole. That dedication says an emphatic "no" to extraneous wastes of energy (fool's gold) and "yes" to all that vibrates with the fierceness of being alive (pure gold). It's not about forsaking responsibilities but rediscovering them from a gut-emanating, all-embracing compassion. It is consciously living from our most root Essence until we are once again swept up in the passion of existence itself.
Whether you find that passion in your partner's smile, busting a dance move, singing off-key with every fiber of your being in the car, or exuberantly cultivating a passion flower, the invitation is always toward more life, more expression, more of the real stuff that makes everything else worthwhile. As Rumi said in a poem translated by the nearly-always-spontaneously-combusting Andrew Harvey:
Passion burns down every branch of exhaustion.
Passion is the supreme alchemical elixir, and renews all things.
No-one can grow exhausted when passion is born,
so don’t sigh heavily, your brows bleak with boredom and cynicism and despair—
look for passion! passion! passion! passion!
Futile solutions deceive the force of passion.
They are banded to extort money through lies.
Marshy and stagnant water is no cure for thirst.
No matter how limpid and delicious it might look,
it will only stop and prevent you from looking for fresh rivers
that could feed and make flourish a hundred gardens,
just as each piece of false gold prevents you
from recognizing real gold and where to find it.
False gold will only cut your feet and bind your wings,
saying “I will remove your difficulties”
when in fact it is only dregs and defeat in the robes of victory.
So run, my friends, run fast and furious from all false solutions.
Let divine passion triumph, and rebirth you in yourself.
P.S. Happy Birthday Rumi! Last week was your 806 birthday, and you never looked so good!
Here is a photo I took of our two cats, Jezebel and Beebee, lazing in the backyard (the savannah) underneath Mexican Bamboo. Below is a haiku inspired by the photo. Please share a haiku that comes to you as you view the photo. (A traditional haiku is 3 lines: 5 syllables, 7 syllables and 5 syllables.)
Savannah kitties...
Zen, docile, they purrrrrrrrrrr with love:
"Come close little bird."
P.S. Would you like six months of free spiritual direction/spiritual guidance? In order to complete the spiritual direction certificate program I'm taking, I need to offer six hour-long sessions at no charge. Please contact me if you or someone you know is interested. For more information, check out my page on spiritual guidance.
Here is a photo I took of our fox terrier, Cowboy, reigning as top pet in the house. Below is a haiku inspired by the photo. Please share a haiku that comes to you as you view the photo. (A traditional haiku is 3 lines: 5 syllables, 7 syllables and 5 syllables.)
I rule this house. Snarl
At dogs; bite cats; it's hard work!
You can pet me now.
P.S. If you or someone you know has lost a pet, please join us for a night to remember and celebrate the lives of our animal companions this Wednesday, April 3 in San Rafael, California. For more details, go to the Classes webpage.
Here is a photo I took recently of our beloved cat Bebe. Below is a haiku inspired by the photo. Please share a haiku that comes to you as you view the photo. (A traditional haiku is 3 lines: 5 syllables, 7 syllables and 5 syllables.)
Luxurious fur
Clothes supernova halo
That is Life Itself.
P.S. If you or someone you know has lost a pet, please join us for a night to remember and celebrate the lives of our animal companions on Wednesday, April 3 in San Rafael, California. For more details, go to the Classes webpage.
Here is a photo I took of a labyrinth in Fairfax, California with a view of Mount Tamalpais ("The Sleeping Lady") in the distance. Below is a haiku inspired by the photo. Please share a haiku that comes to you as you view the photo. (A traditional haiku is 3 lines: 5 syllables, 7 syllables and 5 syllables.)
Mountain calls: "Higher!"
"More!" But I come full circle
And find heights within.
`Twas the night before Christmas, when all through God’s houseNot a creature was stirring, not a wife, not her spouse;
The children were restless, all crammed in their pews, The thought of their presents they could not refuse;
The stockings were waiting, hung at home with great care, In hopes that some people soon would be there.
The pastor in vestments for obvious reason, Had just settled her brain after a long Advent Season.
When out from the lectern there arose the old story, Of a Child in a manger, born in such glory.
Yet none sprang from his seat, nor gasped in great wonder. All had heard the story, both hither and yonder
Of how God came to earth, in form of a boy, To bring peace to earth, and life and joy.
The pastor she spoke, in voice strong and bold, The story of Christmas, that she retold.
Had it all become trite now; did it still matter? For life’s full of problems, much sorrow, and clatter.
The bills, they were mounting; the jobs, full of stress, And all folks were dealing with demands and duress.
And sickness, no stranger to God's people on earth, Suff’ring and death had robbed many of mirth.
Problems and mem'ries which live in the mind, Guilt, fear and vices, the heart they do bind.
When all of these troubles fine people do ponder, Their minds fill with dread; they start then to wonder:
"How could a Baby born years ago past, Bring balm for our sorrows, hope that will last?
How can that story heard so many a time Bring any more help than an old children's rhyme?"
So knowing what fear and worry can do, The pastor spoke thusly on Luke chapter two:
"I read you this evening of peace come to earth, So familiar the story, this one of Christ's birth.
Born to a maiden, in a stable so bare, Some shepherds, they came, to worship Him there.
Then angels appeared in garments so hoary, ‘Peace to all men, and to God be the glory’.
This baby grew up, like you and like me, He even would work by carving a tree.
He taught for three years in old Israel land, And proclaimed a deep peace that could never be banned.
But much more than teaching and preaching did he, He became love incarnate, exuding pure chi.
For this baby was born for one purpose only, A purpose so noble, yet painful and lonely.
To become fully human, divine light reveal Till the darkest of hearts would with hope learn to squeal.
And the outcasts he greeted with a grace not conceited. Till meekest among us rejoiced undefeated.
For his goal was no less than to free up the world From the fear, greed and meanness in which it had whirled.
Not surprisingly big wigs began to decry How he mirrored divine love with twinkling eye
Infusing great faith in the powerless masses Till they trusted their own Light, both lads and lasses.
With trees He did work, and on a tree He did die, Then buried by some friends in a grave site nearby.
An innocent man had died for a reason; Liberation from hate that was so in season.
Then inside the tomb there arose such a clatter, Guards rose from their slumber to see what was the matter.
An angel appeared, tossed aside that great rock, The guards all stood frozen, amazed and in shock.
`Fear not', the beginning of all angel message, `Life has returned to remove every vestige
Of small hearts, separation and all fear of hell, Till you see God in each face, wherever you dwell.'
That God is in us is a truth elementary, That reaches down into this twenty-first century.
So on this night before Christmas, to all in God's house, Bless you, all creatures, even if you're a louse.
For a Child has been born for me and for you, To rekindle Inner Light and give us a clue
Of a joy all around us, a hope and a cheer That connects ev'ry person throughout the new year.
Whatever your problem with me now take heart, Divine Life is within us, let’s make a fresh start."
Then the pastor concluded with an unusual plea, She called out their names, and did so with glee.
"Now, Scottie! Now, Herbie! Now, Miss Jane and Val'rie! On Omar! On Sarah! On Anya and Mall'ry!
A Child was born that first Christmas night, Let hope be reborn, no matter your plight.
Out to the world, we go with the story, Of a Cosmos that loves us and gives us such glory."
They sprang to their cars, to their friends they gave greeting, And away they all flew, for time, it was fleeting.
But I heard them exclaim, ere they drove out of sight, "Happy Christmas to all. And to all a good night."
Here is a photo I took last week of a starfish washed up on Tennessee Beach just after high tide here in Marin County, California. After spending a few moments admiring its shape, solidity, color, and texture, I tossed it back into the ocean, wishing life and renewal for us both. Below is a haiku inspired by the photo. Please feel free to share any haiku that comes to you as you sit with the photo. (A traditional haiku is 3 lines: 5 syllables, 7 syllables and 5 syllables.)
Fallen from the sea,
A starfish rhumbas across
sand, yearning for home.
P.S. Join us on Saturday, December 1 for a day retreat in which we will focus on the following question: “What is the divine to me now, how has that changed and how is this meaningful to my life today?” For more information and to register, visit the Classes page.
The Chasm Between Us by Scott Quinn
Each night
My partner and I plop into bed,
Pre-dreaming,
Ready for comfort in each other’s arms.
Such a blissful notion,
And a naïve one,
For we are not alone.
There arises between us
A chasm
A breach
An interloping space
That cannot be broached,
At least not with any lasting effect.
It begins with a bounce,
Then a poke,
Then a demanding look
As the Fox Terrier
Reclaims his daytime territory
From misguided humans
Who mistakenly believe it to be their sleeping nest.
Inserting himself horizontally in the bed
So that minimal space remains for
Either human,
He then allows them,
With both insistence and feigned apathy,
The right to stroke his fur
As payment for squatting down for the night.
Soon he is joined by his nemesis,
The mistress of the night,
Whose wide whiskers
And pitch black fur
Portend of dark omens.
With her inboard motor
At full throttle
She treads with deliberate pace
Across each human,
Kneading all soft tissue with
Her Siamese technique.
The Fox Terrier begrudgingly
Allows her admittance
While forbidding the Airedale,
Three times his size
Yet with only one-third the temper,
From entering the entering room.
With teeth bared from a narrow snout,
His alien grimace and growl
(The likes of which have not been seen
Since Sigourney Weaver saved humanity in space)
Cause all critters to flee except for the black cat,
Whose path he dare not cross.
And so,
They lay between us.
Twenty-five pounds of snoring dog,
Miraculously claiming over half the bed,
Until, with no assistance from His Majesty,
Who lies rigid like a wheelbarrow full of bricks,
He is turned vertically for the night.
And two feet away,
Our masseur also settles in for the night.
Two balls of fur
Set aside their enmity for a few hours
To share the bed
Nuzzled up against their human companions.
And thus,
A chasm
Between my partner and me,
A space known as “Pet Alley”.
There
Each night,
A miracle of Biblical proportions occurs
As the fox and the feline lay down together.
In memory of Jimmy (pictured with me), who was a sweet dog if ever there was one, I offer this poem that Mary Oliver wrote about her dog Percy. Jimmy left this world two weeks ago, but those of us who knew him carry his gentle sweetness in our hearts. Jimmy, you looked at each of us like we were your perfect moon, when, in truth, you were ours.
The Sweetness of Dogs
What do you say Percy? I am thinking
of sitting out on the sand to watch
the moon rise. Full moon.
So we go
And the moon rises, so beautiful it
makes me shudder, makes me think about
time and space, makes me take
measure of myself; one iota
pondering heaven. Thus we sit,
I thinking how grateful I am for the moon’s
perfect beauty and also, oh! how rich
it is to love the world. Percy, meanwhile,
leans against me and gazes up into
my face, as though I were
his perfect moon.
- by Mary Oliver in Evidence -
Waves tumble over
Each other creating foam
That laughs on the sand
Salivating sky
Caresses yearning earth
With tears of ecstasy.
The Sweetness of Dogs by Mary Oliver in Evidence
What do you say Percy? I am thinking of sitting out on the sand to watch the moon rise. Full moon. So we go
And the moon rises, so beautiful it makes me shudder, makes me think about time and space, makes me take measure of myself; one iota pondering heaven. Thus we sit,
I thinking how grateful I am for the moon’s perfect beauty and also, oh! how rich it is to love the world. Percy, meanwhile, leans against me and gazes up into my face, as though I were his perfect moon.
I could not lie anymore so I started to call my dog "God."
First he looked confused,
then he started smiling, then he even danced.
I kept at it: now he doesn't even bite.
I am wondering if this might work on people?
- Tukaram -