Poems and Inspiring Words

[Wind Song]

Silence is the fan that cools the exhaustive heat of modern times.

Lama Drimed

[Wind Song]

Are you looking for me?

Are you looking for me? I am in the next seat.
My shoulder is against yours.
you will not find me in the stupas, not in Indian shrine
rooms, nor in synagogues, nor in cathedrals:
not in masses, nor kirtans, not in legs winding
around your own neck, nor in eating nothing but
vegetables.

When you really look for me, you will see me
instantly --
you will find me in the tiniest house of time.

Kabir says: Student, tell me, what is God?
He is the breath inside the breath.

- Kabir
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[Wind Song]

It Felt Love


How

Did the rose

Ever open its heart


And give to this world

All its

Beauty?


It felt the encouragement of light

Against its

Being,


Otherwise,

We all remain


Too


Frightened.



Hafiz

[Wind Song]

Only Breath



Not Christian or Jew or Muslim, not Hindu

Buddhist, sufi, or zen. Not any religion



or cultural system. I am not from the East

or the West, not out of the ocean or up



from the ground, not natural or ethereal, not

composed of elements at all. I do not exist,



am not an entity in this world or in the next,

did not descend from Adam and Eve or any



origin story. My place is placeless, a trace

of the traceless. Neither body or soul.



I belong to the beloved, have seen the two

worlds as one and that one call to and know,



first, last, outer, inner, only that

breath breathing human being.



Rumi

[Wind Song]

Mysteries, Yes

Truly, we live with mysteries too marvelous
to be understood.

How grass can be nourishing in the
mouths of the lambs.
How rivers and stones are forever
in allegiance with gravity
while we ourselves dream of rising.
How two hands touch and the bonds will
never be broken.
How people come, from delight or the
scars of damage,
to the comfort of a poem.

Let me keep my distance, always, from those
who think they have the answers.

Let me keep company always with those who say
"Look!" and laugh in astonishment,
and bow their heads.



Mary Oliver

[Wind Song]

Becoming Human


Once a man came to me and spoke for hours about

"His great visions of God" he felt he was having.


He asked me for confirmation, saying,

"Are these wondrous dreams true?"


I replied, "How many goats do you have?"


He looked surprised and said,

"I am speaking of sublime visions

And you ask

About goats!"


And I spoke again saying,

"Yes, brother - how many do you have?"


"Well, Hafiz, I have sixty-two."


"And how many wives?"

Again he looked surprised, then said,

"Four."


"How many rose bushes in your garden,

How many children,

Are your parents still alive,

Do you feed the birds in winter?"


And to all he answered.


Then I said,

"You asked me if I thought your visions were true,

I would say that they were if they make you become

More human,


More kind to every creature and plant

That you know."



Hafiz
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[Wind Song]

The InvitationOriah Mountain DreamerIt 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.

[Wind Song]

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.



from Dream Work by Mary Oliver

[DragonStryk72]

Are You Strong Enough to Handle Critics?
by: Theodore Roosevelt

It is not the critic who counts, not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles or where the doer of deeds could have done them better.

The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly, who errs and comes short again and again because there is no effort without error and shortcomings, who knows the great devotion, who spends himself in a worthy cause, who at his best knows in the end the high achievement of triumph and who at worst, if he fails while daring greatly, knows his place shall never be with those timid and cold souls who know neither victory nor defeat.