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touched by an angel
We, unaccustomed to courage
exiles from delight
live coiled in shells of loneliness
until love leaves its high holy temple
and comes into our sight
to liberate us into life.
Love arrives
and in its train come ecstasies
old memories of pleasure
ancient histories of pain.
Yet if we are bold,
love strikes away the chains of fear
from our souls.
We are weaned from our timidity
In the flush of love's light
we dare be brave
And suddenly we see
that love costs all we are
and will ever be.
Yet it is only love
which sets us free.
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The Invitation
It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living.
I want to know what you ache for
and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.
It doesn’t interest me how old you are.
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool
for love
for your dream
for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon...
I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow
if you have been opened by life’s betrayals
or have become shrivelled and closed
from fear of further pain.
I want to know if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.
I want to know if you can be with joy
mine or your own
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us to
be careful
be realistic
remember the limitations of being human.
It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me
is true.
I want to know if you can
disappoint another
to be true to yourself.
If you can bear the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless
and therefore trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see Beauty
even when it is not pretty
every day.
And if you can source your own life
from its presence.
I want to know if you can live with failure
yours and mine
and still stand at the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon,
“Yes.”
It doesn’t interest me
to know where you live or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up
after the night of grief and despair
weary and bruised to the bone
and do what needs to be done
to feed the children.
It doesn’t interest me who you know
or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand
in the centre of the fire
with me
and not shrink back.
It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom
you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you
from the inside
when all else falls away.
I want to know if you can be alone
with yourself
and if you truly like the company you keep
in the empty moments.
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Out of the Comfort Zone
Out of the comfort zone,
is the incubator of dreams.
It's that uneasy anxiousness,
butterflies in your gut,
and pounding heart;
that is the alchemy of hope,
the watering of seeds,
and the prelude to the harvesting of fruit.
Leave the comfort of inertia,
and the languid pools of thought
not ripening into action,
and move into turbulence.
A turbulence that rearranges rocks,
and creates a new landscape
chiseled by storm.
It is here that creations emerge
that will delight your spirit,
and move your heart into contentment.
From Wholehearted
© 2003 by Bill E. Goldberg 310-302-1186
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Tomorrow the Nunnery, But Today Let Us Dance
Tomorrow the Nunnery, But Today Let Us Dance
Let us dance to music made by drums and mouths and wind through tall
grasses.
Let us dance when the earth moves us to worship with all that we have,
our bodies being the one thing we can claim as our own.
Let us dance when the grey calm sky closes our throats and fogs our vision
with tears but we cannot cry
we can only dance.
Let us dance because nothing can move us like dancing,
through the skepticism of our tireless brains
through the critic's harassment
through the inhibitions of a lifetime lived for other people.
Let us dance instead of jeering and bickering and laughing at other's
misfortunes.
Let us dance and wear red and pink together and
bang out pot and pan rhythms in kitchens and
cause rumpuses and ruckuses and
walk uphill both ways unable to contain our delight.
Let us dance because to dance is to make love to the solid ground beneath
our feet.
And then, let us dance a revolution, for dancing sends undeniable tremors
through that very solid ground.
Let us dance ourselves into a new understanding of all that our bodies
already know and are just
waiting for us to remember.
Let us dance in honor of green grass and fresh bread and true love and pure
lust and the fact that
the earth has a core. In honor of the mother the mountain the ocean
the cats the garden in late July.
In honor of the father the fire the planets the thunderstorm the long
winding road ahead and the
red clay that bakes there.
Let us dance because we can always dance and there is so little that is
constant.
Let us dance because we may never be able to dance again and there is so
little we appreciate.
Let us dance and let our bodies be ripening fruit, all full up with sweet
pulp and nectar.
Let us dance and let our bodies be vessels, sacred and empty.
Let us dance and let the body be.
Honor complexity with simplicity.
Let us dance because we will anyway,
with roses in our teeth.
--Eve Lubin Bradford
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Love after Love
The day will come
when with elation you will greet yourself
arriving at your own door
in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other's
welcome
Saying...
Sit here, eat, you will love again.
The stranger who was yourself
Give wine, give bread, give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved
you all your life, whom you ignored for
another,
who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the book shelf,
the photographs, the desperated notes. Peel
your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.
Derek Walcott (West Indies Poet)
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Who would tell the mockingbird his song is frivolous,
since it lacks words?
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Dreams
Dreams don’t have time/space constriction. Of course in a way Adam naming the things of this world was narrowing his horizons.
Perhaps dreaming is meditating, before language existed. Animals certainly dream.
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MUSINGS OF ISADORA
The dancer of the moment is one whose body and soul have grown so harmoniously together that the natural language of her soul has become the movement of her body.She dances in the form of woman in her greatest and purest expression. She realizes the mission of woman’s body and the holiness of all its parts. From all parts of her body shines radiant intelligience, bringing to world the message of the thoughts and aspirations of all women. She dances the freedom
of woman.
True dance comes from within and has no need for exterior decorations. It has only the beauty that rises out of the soul with the coming of inspiration, and out of the body which is its symbol.
To dance is to live.
It is possible to dance in two ways:
one can throw oneself into the spirit of the dance, and dance the thing itself:Dionysus.
or one can contemplate the spirit of the dance, and dance as one who relates a story: Apollo
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Birdsong
Birdsong brings relief
to my longing.
I am just as ecstatic as they are,
but with nothing to say!
Please, universal soul, practice
some song or something through me!
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COMING HOME
And the world cannot be discovered by a journey of miles, no matter how long, but only by a spiritual journey, a journey of one inch, very arduous and humbling and joyful, by which we arrive at the ground at our feet, and learn to be at home.
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When Death Comes
When death comes
Like the hungry bear in autumn,
When death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse
To buy me, and snaps the purse shut
When deat hcomes
Like the measle pox,
When death comes
Like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,
I want to step through that door full of curiosity, wondering
What is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?
And therefore I look upon everything
As a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
And I look upon time as no more than an idea
And I consider eternity as another possibility,
And I think of each life as a flower, as common
As a field daisy and as singular,
And each name as a comfortable music in the mouth,
Tending as all music does, toward silence,
And each body a lion of courage, and something
Precious to the earth.
When it’s over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement,
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.
When it’s over I don’t want to wonder
If I have made of my life something particular ,and real
I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened,
R full of argument.
I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.
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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 depair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear peebles of the rain
are moving across the landscape
over the prairies and deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clear blue air,
are heading home again.
Who ever 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.
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Gabriel Garcia Marquez* has retired from public life due to
health reasons: cancer of the lymph nodes. This is possibly,
sadly, one of the last gifts to humanity from a true master.
This short text, written by one of the most brilliant Latin
Americans in recent times, is truly moving.
_______________
If for an instant God were to forget that I am a rag doll and gifted
me with a piece of life, possibly I wouldn't say all that I think,
but rather I would think of all that I say. I would value things, not
for their worth but for what they mean. I would sleep little, dream
more, understanding that for each minute we close our eyes we lose
sixty seconds of light.
I would walk when others hold back, I would wake when others
sleep. I would listen when others talk, and how I would enjoy a
good chocolate ice cream! If God were to give me a piece of life,
I would dress simply, throw myself face first into the sun, baring
not only my body but also my soul. My God, if I had a heart, I
would write my hate on ice, and wait for the sun to show. Over
the stars I would paint with a Van Gogh dream a Benedetti poem,
and a Serrat song would be the serenade I'd offer to the moon.
With my tears I would water roses, to feel the pain of their thorns,
and the red kiss of their petals...
My god, if I had a piece of life... I wouldn't let a single day pass
without telling the people I love that I love them. I would convince
each woman and each man that they are my favorites, and I would
live in love with love. I would show men how very wrong they are
to think that they cease to be in love when they grow old, not
knowing that they grow old when they cease to be in love! To a
child I shall give wings, but I shall let him learn to fly on his
own.
I would teach the old that death does not come with old age, but
with forgetting. So much have I learned from you, oh men...
I have learned that everyone wants to live on the peak of the
mountain, without knowing that real happiness is in how it is
scaled. I have learned that when a newborn child squeezes for the
first time with his tiny fist his father's finger, he has him trapped
forever. I have learned that a man has the right to look down on
another only when he has to help the other get to his feet. From
you I have learned so many things, but in truth they won't be of
much use, for when I keep them within this suitcase, unhappily
shall I be dying.
GABRIEL GARCIA MARQUEZ
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they started
by holding
me
when
i walked
in the door.
long
gentle
hugs.
not grasping,
not gripping,
not pressing
down, or in.
a meeting
of bodies,
pressure
matched.
sighing,
breathing.
i was
barely
comfortable
with that.
but it began
to feed
a yearning
i had not
known existed.
i felt ashamed
because
i was not so free.
because they
had more to
give than
i did.
and they
touched
me more.
and i began
to open.
they rubbed
my shoulders,
caressed my
face.
shamefully
i accepted
this love
i thought was
too corny,
too vulnerable.
but it was love
that i secretly,
desperately
craved.
touch that
i was starved
for.
i let myself
be held.
i stood
speechless,
mortified,
in complete
gratitude
as they
held my face
and told me
i was precious,
beautiful,
loved.
my shame
drops
away
and my heart
is opening
to my
wild and
ravenous
desire
for the comfort
of human
contact.
i am freed
by the
truth
of this
simple longing.
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I want to find the part of me:
That is NOT AFRAID
that IS the rhythm
that knows where to put my feet
that knows how to sing as raunchy as I can
that knows how to feel it when it's right
that knows how to be ANGRY
that knows what to do with my tears
that remembers who I am
that knows how to hear
that stops just to be
that is not afraid to live in the splendor of my full power
that knows how to spread my wings and fly on the currents
that is not afraid
that is NOT afraid
that is not AFRAID
that knows how to soothe my pain
that remembers HOW to feel my warrior and WHEN
that knows how to calm my screaming insides
that knows how to lay my weapons down
that knows how to remain open to adventure
that whispers in sacred space
sacred space
that sees the awe
that forgets about time
that knows how to love all things
that bows before the altar of myself
that knows the way home
that is in tune with the music
that can connect with the infinity in every particle
that knows how to breathe
that keeps creating space for myself
that keeps surrendering to love
to love, to love
that feels truly full when I am truly empty
that begins again with every breath
every breath
that feels the silence between the notes
that knows when to walk and when to run and when to just stand still
that knows when to let it come to me and when to go get it
that is inviting and gracious
that excludes no one
that knows when to commune with just myself and when to open to another
that knows when to wait and when to go right ahead
that knows how to disagree and when
that knows how to let go completely
I want to find the part of me that is:
stardancer
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The Peace of Wild Things
When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children‚s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron
feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
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Keeping Quiet
Now we will count to twelve
and we will all keep still
for once on the face of the
earth,
let's not speak in any language;
let's stop for a second,
and not move our arms so much.
It would be an exotic moment
without rush, without engines;
we would all be together
in a sudden strangeness.
Fisherman in the cold sea
would not harm whales
and the man gathering salt
would not look at his hurt hands.
Those who prepare green wars,
wars with gas, wars with fire,
victories with no survivors,
would put on clean clothes
and walk about with their brothers
in the shade, doing nothing.
What I want should not be confused
with total inactivity.
Life is what it is about;...
If we were not so single-minded
about keeping our lives moving,
and for once could do nothing,
perhaps a huge silence
might interrupt this sadness
of never understanding ourselves
and of threatening ourselves with
death.
Perhaps the earth can teach us
as when everything seems to be dead in winter
and later proves to be alive.
Now I'll count up to twelve
and you keep quiet and I will go.
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The ultimate weakness of violence is that it is a descending spiral, begetting the very thing it seeks to destroy. Instead of diminishing evil, it multiplies it.
Through violence you may murder the liar, but you cannot murder the lie,
nor establish the truth. Through violence you may murder the hater, but
you do not murder hate. In fact, violence merely increases hate. So it goes.
Returning violence for violence multiplies violence, adding deeper
darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness:
only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that.
- Martin Luther King
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RECOMMENDATION
Promise me,
promise me this day,
promise me now,
while the sun is overhead
exactly at the zenith,
promise me:
Even as they
strike you down
with a mountain of hatred and violence;
even as they step on you and crush you
like a worm,
even as they dismember and disembowel you,
remember, brother,
remember:
man is not our enemy.
The only thing worthy of you is compassion—
invincible, limitless, unconditional.
Hatred will never let you face
the beast in man.
One day, when you face this beast alone,
with your courage intact, your eyes kind,
untroubled
(even as no one sees them),
out of your smile
will bloom a flower.
And those who love you
will behold you
across ten thousand worlds of birth and dying.
Alone again,
I will go on with bent head,
knowing that love has become eternal.
On the long, rough road,
the sun and the moon
will continue to shine.
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