the melancholy of falling
signs of a self passing away
and the tenderness of departures
from what no longer is
and never shall be
the faint whispers of eternal risings
of lives to come
the melancholy of falling
when I say I love you I mean that
being near you something opens in me.
and I become a shore and not a bottle.
when I say I am lost, I mean that
the few maps I ve found or made up
have brought me to the edge of the unknown.
when I say I need you , I mean that in the way
that plants need sun or earth.
when I say that I am alone, I mean this
in the way that a hawk is alone in the sky
when I can t speak at all, I don t mean anything.
It is just that I have unstitched the words
and have slipped into the silence they contain
I find you.
~ Mark Nepo
I know the truth – forget all other truths!
No need for anyone on earth to struggle.
Look – it is evening, look, it is nearly night:
what will you say, poets, lovers, generals?
The wind is level now, the earth is wet with dew,
the storm of stars in the sky will turn to quiet.
And soon all of us will sleep beneath the earth, we
who never let each other sleep above it.
“I know the truth” Tsvetaeva (1915).
in the secret of my heart
i sit on the grass
and gaze upon the sky
and dream of
the sudden splendor
of thy coming
thou hast promised
The Opening of Eyes
That day I saw beneath dark clouds
the passing light over the water
and I heard the voice of the world speak out,
I knew then, as I had before
life is no passing memory of what has been
nor the remaining pages in a great book
waiting to be read.
It is the opening of eyes long closed.
It is the vision of far off things
seen for the silence they hold.
It is the heart after years
of secret conversing
speaking out loud in the clear air.
It is Moses in the desert
fallen to his knees before the lit bush.
It is the man throwing away his shoes
as if to enter heaven
and finding himself astonished,
opened at last,
fallen in love with solid ground.
— David Whyte
if you stand in the fire
and don’t move an inch
until it burns away everything
that is untrue
all that is left is this
beautiful radiating full heart
Love is longing and longing, the pain of being parted;
No illness is rich enough for the distress of the heart,
A lover’s lament surpasses all other cries of pain.
Love is the royal threshold to God’s mystery.
The carnival of small affections and polite attachments
Which litter and consume our passing time
Is no match to Love which pulses behind this play.
It’s easy to talk endlessly about Love,
To live Love is to be seized by joy and bewilderment;
Love is not clear-minded, busy with images and argument.
Language is too precocious, too impudent, too sane
To stop the molten lava of Love which churns the blood,
This practicing energy burns the tongue to silence;
The knowing pen is disabled, servile paper
Shrivels in the fire of Love. Bald reason too is an ass
Explaining Love, deceived by spoilt lucidity.
Love is dangerous offering no consolation,
Only those who are ravaged by Love know Love,
The sun alone unveils the sun to those who have
The sense to receive the senseless and not turn away.
Cavernous shadows need the light to play but light
And light alone can lead you to the light alone.
Material shadows weigh down your vision with dross,
But the rising sun splits the ashen moon in empty half.
The outer sun is our daily miracle in timely
Birth and death, the inner sun
Dazzles the inner eye in a timeless space.
Our daily sun is but a working star in a galaxy of stars,
Our inner sun is One, the dancing nuance of eternal light.
You must be set alight by the inner sun,
You have to live your Love or else
You’ll only end in words.
To be human
is to become visible
while carrying what is hidden
as a gift to others.
To remember the other world
in this world
is to live in your
“Wake up to the potential that’s within you … Work your own edge, work your own creative edge. Find what’s really true and burning within you, and go there!” ~ Anakha Coman
I am in.
Tenderly in the unknown.
Burning in the fire of God.
Becoming nothing and something.
Lost and found.
Home and wandering.
Belonging and alone.
I am unknown, unrecognizable.
What was my face
before I was born?
To this ground of being
In this ground of being
I know my name
as the unspeakable
the unbroken silence.
It matters not
who I am
what I do
only that I disappear