Contemplative Poetry Series - Rumi

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 are 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 whatever comes because each has been sent as a guide from beyond.

Translated by Coleman Barks

   A special thanks to Lacy Clark Ellman from A Sacred Journey for reminding me of this wonderful  Rumi poem.  I have always thought of my photographs as gifts but now I can imagine them as guests as well; visitors to this human house of mine that must be treated with kindness and respect, whatever thoughts and reflections they bring to me.  They are all sent from a loving universe to guide me, I just have to welcome them in.

   What guest will you invite in today?

Contemplative Poetry Series: Juego de Sombras

Contemplative Poetry Series: Tyler Knott Gregson

 

Contemplative Poetry Series: Langston Hughes

Contemplative Poetry Series - William Wordsworth

  There was a time when

meadow, grove,

And stream,

The earth, and every

common sight,

To me did seem

Apparelled in celestial light,

The glory and the freshness

of a dream.

The Poetry of Place:
Reflections from the Edge of the Pond
28 September 2014

   The pond did, indeed, seem cloaked in celestial light that day.  There was a stillness and softness to the air and I could have sat on the shore forever.  These moments come and go and the value of re-visiting a place again and again is that there is more opportunity to be present when these moments occur.

   As I sat there I wondered, just how long will this heavenly peace last?  When will the buzz of chain saws and the rumble of backhoes start?  How long will this pond remain pristine?  It makes my Poetry of Place project all the more compelling for me.  I want future generations to know that at one time the pond was like this...undefiled and a haven of peace.

Contemplative Poetry Series - Charles Wright

Every true poem is a spark,
and aspires to the condition 

of the original fire
Arising out of the emptiness.
It is that same emptiness it wants to reignite.
It is that same engendering it 

wants to be re-engendered by.

excerpt from Body and Soul II

   Charles Wright was named America's new Poet Laureate in June. NPR called him a contemplative poet and I would have to agree.

 You can read the NPR article about Wright here...

   I think this excerpt from one of his poems could also refer to our attempts, as contemplative photographers, to render the condition of the original spark.  The spark that drew us into the encounter with what we found in the landscape.  That wonderful moment when heard the whisper and responded.

   Our humble attempt to reveal the experience in photographic form is our manner of contemplative poetry...the poetry of place.  It is what I am trying to do in my project at the pond. Somehow I wish to make visual the poetic undercurrents of that singular place...to tell its story in images.

   I am reminded of the Lewis Hinds quote:

If I could tell the story in words 
I wouldn't have to lug around this camera.

   I will leave the words to masters like Charles Wright...

What holds the landscape together, and what holds music together,
Is faith, it appears--faith of the eye, faith of the ear.
Nothing like that in language... 

Contemplative Poetry Series - Lord Byron

Contemplative Poetry Series - Seamus Heaney

St. Kevin and The Blackbird

And then there was St. Kevin and the blackbird.

The saint is kneeling, arms stretched out, inside

His cell, but the cell is narrow, so

One turned-up palm is out the window, stiff

As a cross beam, when a blackbird lands

And lays in it and settles down to rest.

Kevin feels the warm eggs, the small breast, the tucked

Neat head and claws and, finding himself linked

Into the network of eternal life,

Is moved to pity: Now he must hold his hand

Like a branch out in the sun and rain for weeks

Until the young are hatched and fledged and flown.

And since the whole thing’s imagined anyhow,

Imagine being Kevin.  Which is he?

Self-forgetful or in agony all the time

From the neck on out down through his hurting forearms?

Alone and mirrored clear in love’s deep river,

‘To labour and not to seek reward’, he prays,

A prayer his body makes entirely

For he has forgotten self, forgotten bird

And on the river bank forgotten the river’s name.

  The bird could represent the restlessness of the spirit which it is so necessary to calm and hold still, if the mind and heart are to find peace. 

  Seamus Heaney, who passed away recently, is a much loved Irish poet who was inspired by his travels in County Wicklow to write this poem. The sculpture is on the grounds of the Hermitage Center along a walk called St. Kevin's Way.

 This is a black bird I saw on my walk around the upper lake…have you ever seen such a beak?  It is a Rook I learned but a black bird nonetheless.

My Third Threshold...

For Solitude

May you recognize in your life the presence, power and light of your soul.
May you realize that you are never alone, that your soul in its brightness and belonging connects you intimately with the rhythm of the universe.
May you have respect for your individuality and difference.
May you realize that the shape of your soul is unique, that you have a special destiny here, that behind the facade of your life there is something beautiful and eternal happening.
May you learn to see yourself with the same delight, pride and expectation with which God sees you in every moment.

"Blessing" - John O'Donohue

  I have brought along some of my SoulCollage® cards to inspire each stage of my pilgrimage.  This is the one I am using here in Glendalough where I am approaching a more personal and introspective threshold.  Here I will look into myself and try to imagine what I now have to offer those around me and also how I will shape this next phase of my life.

   The poem by John O'Donohue was waiting for me in the little guide book for the hermitage center when I first arrived and it was a wonderful synchronicity I thought.  It seemed the perfect text to accompany my meditation card, which I have set up by my bed along with the wild goose feather from Iona and my prayer beads.

   I think it is a real gift to have this blessing from John presented to me on my arrival.  It will shape my time here as I approach this most personal of thresholds.  As John inspired my pilgrimage in the first place, it seemed fitting to end with a bit of his wisdom as well.  I must say that it is so important for the pilgrim to focus their time on bits of writing. My vade mecum is with me everyday but stumbling upon these special gifts of inspiration are a welcome addition to the journey.

  



  

Contemplative Poetry Series - John O'Donohue

For the Senses

May the touch of your skin

Register the beauty

Of the otherness

That surrounds you.

May your listening be attuned
To the deeper silence

Where sound is honed

To bring distance home.

May the fragrance

                          Of a breathing meadow

                              Refresh your heart

                           And remind you you are...

                                                                                  

    ...a child of the earth.

                     
                        And when you partake

                            Of food and drink,

                        May your taste quicken

                       To the gift and sweetness

                        That flows from the earth.

                            May your inner eye

                        See through the surfaces

                      And glean the real presence

                     Of everything that meets you.

                           May your soul beautify

                          The desire of your eyes

                          That you might glimpse

                            The infinity that hides

                              In the simple sights

                                That seem worn

                              To your usual eyes.

 This poem is from John O'Donohue's book of blessings,

 To Bless the Space Between Us.

The photographs here were made, in 2009, in John's beloved landscape, the Burren, where I am at this very moment.  I thought this was a perfect tribute to the man and the place.  I want to embrace his way of regarding the world on this trip...to be sure to use all my senses to unfold the mystery of the place.  I hope to have some "On location..." images in a day or two so, stay tuned!

Contemplative Poetry Series - Jan L. Richardson

Plenitude

At lunch today

it was the purple

 of the olive pits

against my cobalt plate

that stunned me.

At tea,

the gold of peach

bloodstained by its stone.

I do not know

where the greater part

of the miracle lies;

that I should pause

to notice this,

or that I, 

a woman of

such great hungers,

should be so well satisfied

by such small things.

In the Sanctuary 

of Women

page 89

Contemplative Poetry Series - William Wordsworth

Radiance

 

What though the radiance which was once so bright
Be now for ever taken from my sight,
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower;
We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind;
In the primal sympathy
Which having been must ever be;
In the soothing thoughts that spring
Out of human suffering;
In the faith that looks through death,
In years that bring the philosophic mind. 

 

William Wordsworth

 

 

 p.s Another Susan Fox inspired image! 

 

Contemplative Poetry Series - Sara Teasdale

The Sanctuary

If I could keep my innermost Me
Fearless, aloof and free
Of the least breath of love or hate,
And not disconsolate
At the sick load of sorrow laid on men;
If I could keep a sanctuary there
Free even of prayer,
If I could do this, then,
With quiet candor as I grew more wise
I could look even at God with grave forgiving eyes.

Sara Teasdale


From time to time I hope to offer you a contemplative poem for you to enjoy and think about. There are so many wonderful poems and I often use them to enhance my visual listening exercises in the landscape...this is the first in the series.

 Enjoy!