Bedtime Poetry: Even after all this time... (Hafiz)

Even
After
All this time
The Sun never says to the Earth,

"You owe me."

Look
What happens

With a love like that,

It lights the whole sky.

~ Hafiz ~

Bedtime Poetry: Live your way into the answer... (Rilke)

 

I beg you, to have patience with

everything unresolved in your heart

and to try to love the questions themselves,

as if they were locked rooms

or books written in a very foreign language.

Don't search for the answers,

which could not be given to you now,

because you would not be able to live them.

And the point is, to live everything.

Live the questions now.

Perhaps then, someday far in the future,

you will gradually,

without even noticing it,

live your way into the answer.

~ Rainer Maria Rilke ~

Bedtime Poetry: Busy as this day may be . . .

 

Busy as this day may be, there is a still-point within it.

As time runs by like a river racing to the sea,

the Spirit creates quiet pools, small islands,

spaces to break the single-minded movement.

Find one of these today

before you white water over rocks.

Even a small silence can calm your soul.

Sit in peace.

Close your eyes.

 

Breathe.

See how the water wears sunlight like diamonds,

shadows like a shawl.

 ~ Steven Charleston ~

From Hope As Old As Fire  

Good, Bad, Who Knows?

Good, Bad, Who Knows?

There is a Chinese story of a farmer who used an old horse to till his fields. One day, the horse escaped into the hills and when the farmer's neighbors sympathized with the old man over his bad luck, the farmer replied, "Good, Bad, who knows?" 

A week later, the horse returned with a herd of horses from the hills and this time the neighbors congratulated the farmer on his good luck. His reply was, "Good, Bad, who knows?"

Then, when the farmer's son was attempting to tame one of the wild horses, he fell off its back and broke his leg. Everyone thought this very bad luck. Not the farmer, whose only reaction was, "Good, Bad, who knows?"

Some weeks later, the army marched into the village and conscripted every able-bodied youth they found there. When they saw the farmer's son with his broken leg, they let him off. 

Now was that good luck or bad luck?

Who knows?

Everything that seems on the surface to be an evil may be a good in disguise. And everything that seems good on the surface may really be an evil.

                                     Author Unknown

So Happy To Be A Volunteer: "Love All. Serve All."

 

At the end of the day, I like to quiet my mind during our drive home from work.  I usually find that my mind and heart are processing my experiences with the nice people that I visited.   Even though I don't actually do anything special or say any nice words to the nice people, my Mom says I still make the nice people feel happy. She says that Maya Angelou once wrote: 

“. . . people will forget what you said,

people will forget what you did,

but people will never forget how you made them feel.”

When I think about how I make the nice people feel, and how the nice people make me feel, the answer is always:  Loved.  That’s everything, isn’t it?

My Mom says I am called a Volunteer—a Volunteer is someone whose only motivation and whose only reward are that:  Love. And she says that there are so many wonderful Volunteers of all kinds in this Beautiful  world-- so many animals and humans who seek and find and do all sorts of acts of kindness and service for other living Beings and for all of the Earth.

One of our mottos can be: "Love all. Serve all."

I love people and animals and the earth, and I love Volunteers.  

And I love getting to be a Volunteer.

I am so lucky. I get the chance to try to

love all and serve all.

~~~~~~~~

"I don't know what your destiny will be,

but one thing I know:

the only ones among you

who will be really happy are those

who have sought

and found a way to serve."

~  Albert Schweitzer  ~

Bedtime Poetry: To Be of Use

The people I love the best
jump into work head first
without dallying in the shallows
and swim off with sure strokes almost out of sight.
They seem to become natives of that element,
the black sleek heads of seals
bouncing like half-submerged balls.

I love people who harness themselves, an ox to a heavy cart,
who pull like water buffalo, with massive patience,
who strain in the mud and the muck to move things forward,
who do what has to be done, again and again.

I want to be with people who submerge
in the task, who go into the fields to harvest
and work in a row and pass the bags along,
who are not parlor generals and field deserters
but move in a common rhythm
when the food must come in or the fire be put out.

The work of the world is common as mud.
Botched, it smears the hands, crumbles to dust.
But the thing worth doing well done
has a shape that satisfies, clean and evident.
Greek amphoras for wine or oil,
Hopi vases that held corn, are put in museums
but you know they were made to be used.
The pitcher cries for water to carry
and a person for work that is real.

~ Marge Piercy ~                    (Shamzi's edit: ....and a dog, too! :)