heartsteps

"Black Iris" by Georgia O'Keeffe

May we give birth to a new Dream of the People.
A dream that can sustain us in the new millennium.
A dream that remembers that there is no separation between spirit and matter.
A dream that infuses the life of the people with the power of the erotic.
A dream that reminds us of what is holy.

I call on a dream that remembers
the power of life giving moisture
that recognizes the smell of the sea
where it caresses the shore
in the scent of our sweat
in the salt of our tears
in the slippery wetness that pours
from between the soft thighs
of a woman well loved.

I call on a dream that reminds us
to focus on our fingertips,
on the shape and weight of our hand
on blood and bone and a thousand nerve endings
as we raise an apple
to our mouths
and let the tip of our tongues
slide on the round, smooth firmness
of the cool surface
and feel the spray of juice
as our teeth pierce the skin
and enter the softness
inside.

A dream that helps us taste
the weeks of rain and sun
the ripening on the tree
the labour of the farmer
touch of the fruit-picker
journey of the men and women
who bring fruits
from grove to table.
I call on a Dream of the People that remembers
there is no separation
that knows
each act lived fully awake
cannot help but be
both prayer and lovemaking.

Oriah Mountain Dreamer

We light a narrow candle
for every turn around our little sun. make a wish
and try to blow them out with a single breath.
between the near stars and the ones we take on faith
there is no middle distance, no halfway measure
of the years they say light takes to get here.
souls are said to journey from other lives to get to
this one through what we call living here then
on to the next thing we don’t have names for.
there appears to be no reason to hurry.
no need to fear we’re going too fast.
we travel in constant nearness, it is always now.
we are here, then we are here.
the farther we go the more we are home…

Jerry Martien

I awoke to the confusion of a new day.

The scraps of dreams, memories of yesterday, and new cravings creeping into awareness,

The sun spilling its light over all but the shadows and a cacaphony of sound

From outside and in.

What to make order of? What to let go?

And who makes the choice?

I think I will go down to the river and just watch it flow.

It’s been a long time since I have done something really important.

David Sluyter

Mzwakhe Mbuli

Now is the time
To climb up the mountain
And reason against habit.
Now is the time.

Now is the time
To renew the barren soil of nature
Ruined by the winds of tyranny
Now is the time.

Now is the time
To commence the litany of hope
Now is the time.

Now is the time
To give me roses, not to keep them
For my grave to come.
Give them to me while my heart beats,
Give them today
While my heart yearns for jubilee.
Now is the time…

Mzwakhe Mbuli

The Jain flag. The swastica has existed as a symbol in India from 3000 BC and its use by Hitler in later years is not relevant to the Jains.

Friendship toward all beings,
Delight in the qualities of virtuous ones,
Utmost compassion for afflicted beings,
Equanimity toward those who are not well-disposed toward me.

May my soul have such dispositions as these forever.

Peacefulness toward all beings;
self-control and pure aspirations;
abandonment of every thought
that is tainted by desire or aversion;
that, truly, is dwelling in my Self.

I ask for forgiveness of all living creatures,
May all of them forgive me
May I have a friendly relationship with all beings
and unfriendly with none.

Padmanabh S. Jaini

There is a dog I sometimes take for a walk
and turn loose in a field,

when I can’t give her that freedom,
I feel in debt.

I hope God thinks like that and
is keeping track of all
the bliss He
owes
me.

Rabia

Why are you waiting to begin your life?
Do you think the world must care and come soliciting?
Listen to the knocking at the door of your own heart
It is only faint because you have not answered
You have fooled yourself with preparations
Time left laughing while you considered possibilities
Wake up you have slept long enough
Wake up tomorrow may be too late
When you finally dare open the door
your life will begin arriving
Cautiously at first unbelieving that the gate
So long locked against the tide
has finally been opened
Then with swells of neglected dreams
Then with waves of joyful revelation
the sea will follow
You will be swept by the full and magnificent tides
of your own longing
That no one else can give you
That no one else can claim

Judith Gass

Every truth without exception – no matter
who makes it – is from God.

If a bird got accused of singing too early
in the morning,

if a lute began to magically play on its own
in the square
and the enchanting sounds it made drove a pair of young lovers
into a wild, public display of passion,

if this lute and bird then got called before the inquisition
and their lives were literally at stake,

could not God walk up and say before the court,

“All acts of beauty are mine, all happen on behalf of love”?

And while God was there, testifying for our heart’s desires,
hopefully the judge would be astute enough
to brave a question,
that could go,

“Dear God, you say all acts of beauty are yours,
surely we can believe that. But what of all actions
we see in this world,

for is there any force in existence greater than the power
of your omnipresent hand?”

And God might have responded, “I like that question,”
adding, “May I ask you one as well?”

And then God would say,

“Have you ever been in a conversation when children
entered the room, and then you ceased speaking because your
wisdom knew you that they were not old enough
to benefit – to understand?

As exquisite is your world, most everyone in it
is spiritually young.

Spirituality is love, and love never wars with the minute, the day,
one’s self and others. Love would rather die
than maim a limb,
a wing.

Dear, anything that divides man from man,
earth from sky, light and dark, one religion from another…
O, I best keep silent, I see a child
just entered the
room”

Thomas Aquinas