stand and stare


What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.

No time to stand beneath the boughs,
And stare as long as sheep and cows:

No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass:

No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night:

No time to turn at Beauty's glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance:

No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began?

A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.

Leisure - W.H. Davies

the immense bravery of a seed being forced into the ground


"At lunch the other day, a new friend and I were discussing changes in our lives and how everything feels very new and different.

I remembered the most beautiful description Mark Nepo wrote in The Book of Awakening. Mark is a poet, and he sees the world through such a lovely light. His work opens my heart to images I've never thought about that are so compelling.

I can see the way Mark describes the process of change in my own life. He compares change to the immense bravery of a seed being forced into the ground. He describes the painful experience he imagines the seed must endure, as it splits apart and becomes something entirely different.

Still deeply under the earth, the seedling struggles to find light, water, and nutrients for life. And one day, it emerges, not recognizable to those who only knew it as a seed. Yet it remembers the journey-the journey to something larger, but unknown.

I, like the seed, have felt the darkness of the unknown, the claustrophobia of being in a space I did not understand, the anxiety of being in a place I did not feel I had chosen.

Without a job, without my identity in the world of business, I felt I might disappear, like the seed deep in the soil of my life. I struggled to trust my eventual transformation, feeling alone and yet filled with expectations for the future.

Then came the experience of cracking open-figuring out what my heart wanted next. It felt painful at first. What if no one understood? Even worse, what if no one listened?

As my heart cracked apart, it also contained a seedling-a vision of who I might become. At first I wanted to protect it. It felt too fresh, too new, and too vulnerable. I needed to guard and nourish it.

I become acquainted with this very new self quietly; I wrote in my journal about what I was feeling, what I desired. As I sat in traffic or in meditation, I gently explored my new loves. I found books from others who had already traveled this path.

As I learned more about myself and honored the path that called to me, the seedling became stronger. As I spoke up and stated my truth-at first somewhat timidly and then more clearly-my seedling began to grow into something larger and more identifiable.

I came to see who I was becoming.

I stepped out into the light. I offered my gift to the world. I let go of trying to control the result and honored the moment. As I became more authentic, my life began to take shape.

I met other people on similar paths. Some found me while seeking their own answers. A new circle began to emerge, one based on this new growth-my sturdy little seedling.

And like the seed, I remember the journey. I do not discount the dark days spent waiting for the emergence of my self. Those days have given me valuable information that I can share with other people on this path.

As I remember my seedling self, carefully coming into being in my own time, my own season, I know this is what others are experiencing. Perhaps I can help to provide nourishment for their seedling.

I'm excited as I feel this beginning taking hold and surfacing. I'm embracing change and trusting that the process of cracking the old shell is so worth the sweet tenderness of the new sprout.
Mark says, "As a seed buried in the earth cannot imagine itself as an orchid or hyacinth, neither can a heart packed with hurt imagine itself loved or at peace. The courage of the seed is that once cracking, it cracks all the way."

This metaphor calls to my heart. When I look at nature, I see our lives reflected. We truly are one. I feel all the process, the splitting away of the old and the beginning of a new life that is so unfamiliar and yet so strong, bravely traveling into a new world.

I invite you to join me in the courage of the seed, surrendering to a process we cannot see; knowing that what will ultimately appear is beyond all imagination."

A note by Karen Mead, an alchemist, an explorer and a fellow traveler on this journey of life.
Visit her blog, The Peaceful Journey , or check out her website, A Peaceful Path.

(taken from http://omfreely.com)

it's a bed-in folks! · stay in bed and grow your hair · together, we could get it together, that's all!




she couldn't rock n' roll with me and I couldn't avant-garde with her


"... Then, I met Yoko. And she was making it as an avant-garde artist. And we both tried to find something that we had in common, a goal in life. Because she couldn't rock n' roll with me and I couldn't avant-garde with her. I mean, we can, but that's what we thought at that time. So we decided: the thing we had in common was Love. And from Love came Peace. So we decided to work for world peace."

John Lennon, from an interview made to John & Yoko

you may have the dollar on your side but, oppression, from the gospel truth you cannot hide and, oppression, I won't let you near me...




Oppression
you pray on us when we sleep
oppression
you chase after the tired, the poor and the weak
oppression
you know you mean only harm
oppression
you reach out with your long arm

but oppression
I won't let you near me
oppression
you shall learn to fear me

oppression
you seek population control
oppression
to divide and to conquer is your goal
oppression
I swear that hatred is your home
oppression
you just won't leave bad enough alone

but oppression
I won't let you near me
oppression
you shall learn to fear me

oppression
I don't see how you sleep
oppression
for your bleeding conscience I weep
oppression
you may have the dollar on your side
but oppression
from the [jah] gospel truth you cannot hide
and
oppression
I won't let you near me
oppression
you shall learn to fear me
oppression
I won't let you near me
oppression
you shall fear me

· Oppression · Ben Harper


Pues yo estaré inmerso en esta voluptuosidad de evocar la Primavera con mi voluntad


Je veux, pour composer chastement mes églogues,
Coucher auprès du ciel, comme les astrologues,
Et, voisin des clochers, écouter en rêvant
Leurs hymnes solennels emportés par le vent.
Les deux mains au menton, du haut de ma mansarde,
Je verrai l'atelier qui chante et qui bavarde;
Les tuyaux, les clochers, ces mâts de la cité,
Et les grands ciels qui font rêver d'éternité.

Il est doux, à travers les brumes, de voir naître
L'étoile dans l'azur, la lampe à la fenêtre
Les fleuves de charbon monter au firmament
Et la lune verser son pâle enchantement.
Je verrai les printemps, les étés, les automnes;
Et quand viendra l'hiver aux neiges monotones,
Je fermerai partout portières et volets
Pour bâtir dans la nuit mes féeriques palais.
Alors je rêverai des horizons bleuâtres,
Des jardins, des jets d'eau pleurant dans les albâtres,
Des baisers, des oiseaux chantant soir et matin,
Et tout ce que l'Idylle a de plus enfantin.
L'Emeute, tempêtant vainement à ma vitre,
Ne fera pas lever mon front de mon pupitre;
Car je serai plongé dans cette volupté
D'évoquer le Printemps avec ma volonté,
De tirer un soleil de mon coeur, et de faire
De mes pensers brûlants une tiède atmosphère.

Paysage - Charles Baudelaire
Sacado de Les Fleurs du mal

••

(traducción al español)

Yo quiero, para componer cástamente mis églogas,
acostarme cerca del cielo, como los astrólogos,
y, vecino de campanarios, escuchar mientras sueño
los himnos solemnes llevados por el viento.
Las dos manos al mentón, desde lo alto de mi buhardilla,
veré el taller que canta y que charla;
las chimeneas, los campanarios, esos mástiles de la ciudad,
y los grandes cielos que hacen soñar con lo eterno.

Es dulce, a través de las brumas, ver nacer
la estrella en el azur, la lámpara en la ventana,
los ríos de carbón subir al firmamento
y la luna verter su pálido encantamiento.
Veré las primaveras, los estíos, los otoños;
y cuando venga el invierno de nieves monótonas,
cerraré en todas partes puertas y postigos
para edificar en la noche mis feéricos palacios.
Entonces soñaré horizontes azulados,
jardines, chorros de agua llorando en los alabastros,
besos, aves cantando tarde y mañana,
y todo aquello que el Idilio tiene de más infantil.
El Motín, tronando vanamente tras mi cristal,
no hará levantar mi frente de mi pupitre.
Pues yo estaré inmerso en esta voluptuosidad
de evocar la Primavera con mi voluntad,
de sacar un sol de mi corazón, y de hacer
de mis pensamientos ardientes una tibia atmósfera.

Quien amó una ciudad solamente en la tierra [...] sabe cómo engañan de pronto sus colinas...


A Jesús Sanoja Hernández

Adora a tu ciudad, pero no mucho tiempo,
olvida el tacto de sus piedras,
sé gentil a tu paso y prosigue de largo,
no proyectes quedarte entre sus muros,
hasta fundirte en el paisaje.
Una ciudad no es fiel a un río ni a un árbol,
mucho menos a un hombre.

Quien amó una ciudad solamente en la tierra,
casa por casa, bajo soles o lluvias
y fue por años tatuándola en sus ojos,
sabe cómo engañan de pronto sus colinas,
cómo se tornan crueles esas tardes doradas
que tanto nos seducen.

Las ciudades se prometen al que llega
pero no aman a nadie.
Cuando se ven por la ventana de un avión
todas atraen
con sus cumbres azules
y largos bulevares rumorosos,
pero al tiempo son sombras amargas.
Sus edificios nos vuelven solitarios,
sus cementerios están llenos de suicidas
que no dejan ni una carta.
Por eso el río pasa y no vuelve,
por eso el árbol que crece a sus orillas
elige siempre la madera más leve
y termina de barco.

Mural escrito por el viento - Eugenio Montejo
Sacado de Trópico absoluto, 1982