Tuesday, March 16, 2010

Silence

These are some of the guidelines regarding talking on the mat that I use in my own training:

If I'm talking, I'm not training.

If it's more than three words, it's a conversation.

Is what I'm about to say more important than maintaining the silence?

Rumi says:

There is a way
between voice and presence
where information flows.
In disciplined silence it opens.
With wandering talk it closes.

Pema Chodron says:

It's a transformative experience to simply pause instead of immediately filling up the space. By waiting, we begin to connect with fundamental restlessness as well as fundamental spaciousness.


Saturday, January 16, 2010

Kangeiko Poetry, Friday 1/15/2010

Prescription for the Disillusioned


Come new to this day.

Remove the rigid overcoat of experience,

the notion of knowing,

the beliefs that cloud your vision.


Leave behind the stories of your life.

Spit out the sour taste of unmet expectations.

Let the old,

almost forgotten scent of what-if

drift back into the swamp

of your useless fears.


Arrive curious,

without the armor of certainty,

without the planned results for the life

you’ve imagined.


Live the life that chooses you,

new with every breath,

new with every blink of

your astonished eyes.


— Rebecca del Rio




The Journey


One day you finally knew what you had to do.

And began.

Though the voices around you

kept shouting their bad advice.


Though the whole house began to tremble

and you felt the old tug at your ankles.

“Mend my life,” each voice cried.


But you didn’t stop.

You knew what you had to do.


Though the wind pried

with its fingers

at the very foundations.

Though their melancholy was terrible.


It was already late enough.

And a wild night.

And a road full of fallen branches

and stones.


But little by little

as you left their voices behind,

the stars began to burn

through the sheets of clouds.


And there was a new voice

that you slowly recognized as you own

which kept you company

as you strolled deeper and deeper into the world.


Determined to do the only thing you could do.

Determined to save the only life you could save.


— Mary Oliver

Thursday, January 14, 2010

Kangeiko Poetry, Thursday 1/14/2010

The mystery cannot be answered

By repeating the question

Nor can it be bought

By going to amazing places.


Not until the eye and desires

Have been stilled for many years,

Not until then,

Can I cross over from confusion.


— Rumi



Wild Geese


You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves.


Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile the world goes on.


Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain

are moving across the landscapes,

over the prairies and the deep trees,

the mountains and the rivers.


Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,

are heading home again.


Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,

the world offers itself to your imagination,

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting—

over and over announcing your place

in the family of things.


— Mary Oliver

Wednesday, January 13, 2010

Kangeiko Poetry, Wednesday 1/13/2010

Self-Portrait


It doesn’t interest me if there is one God or many gods.


I want to know if you belong or feel abandoned.


If you know despair or can see it in others.


I want to know if you are prepared to live in this world with its harsh need to change you.


If you can look back with firm eyes saying this is where I stand.


I want to know if you know how to melt into that fierce heat of living falling toward

the center of your longing.


I want to know if you are willing to live, day by day, with the consequence of love

and the bitter unwanted passion of your sure defeat.


I have heard, in that fierce embrace, even the gods speak of God.



— David Whyte

Kangeiko Poetry, Monday 1/11/2010

Wanderer, there is no road

Wanderer, your footsteps are
the road, and nothing more;
wanderer, there is no road,
the road is made by walking.
By walking one makes the road,
and upon glancing behind
one sees the path
that never will be trod again.
Wanderer, there is no road -
Only wakes upon the sea.

— Antonio Machado

The original Spanish:

Caminante, son tus huellas

el camino, y nada más;

caminante, no hay camino,

se hace camino al andar.

Al andar se hace camino,

y al volver la vista atrás

se ve la senda que nunca

se ha de volver a pisar.

Caminante, no hay camino,

sino estelas en la mar.


And another English translation:


Wayfarer, the only way is your footsteps,

there is no other.

Wayfarer, there is no way,

you make the way as you go.

As you go you make the way

and stopping to look behind,

you see the path that your feet will never travel again.

Wayfarer, there is no way -

only foam trails in the sea.