Whatever we do, we should never think it is irrelevant;
whatever we do, we should not conclude it
is so important either. Between those two
poles find your balance; between those two
regions your talents will bloom.
~ Hafiz, January 23 in ‘A Year with Hafiz’
I’ve been gold panning for years.
Years and years, night and day, often last thing at night, first thing in the morning.
Yes, the first thought on waking:
Perhaps I’ll find it.
Perhaps this morning.
Hafiz caught me out the other day.
All day long you do this, and then even in your sleep… pan for gold. We are looking to find something to celebrate with great enthusiasm, wanting all our battles and toil and our life to make sense… All day long we do this with our movements and our thoughts… pan for gold.
He has a knack of doing this; it’s one of the reasons I love to read his words.
He made me laugh, reminding me how we do this, have been doing it for centuries, gold panning night and day.
Morning after morning, the day breaks, and the sky cracks open, scattering gold.
I’m in the first week of an on-line class with the Abbey of the Arts, and the first week is associated with the wind.
One of the things I’ve liked about the first week is the invitation to pay a bit more attention to the morning, taking me outside first thing when the dew is still thick on the grass, and the flowers have not yet opened.
By mid morning, they’re sun-bathing (it’s a beautiful day here today). Continue reading “The Wind of the Morning”
Dreams are eluding me.
Not the night time sort, wild fragments of story-telling from my beautiful sub-conscious mind.
No, I mean the daytime sort of dreams, those that come clearly defined and neatly delineated, the things others talk of dreaming about, dreaming of, planning for, working to make happen.
I go to that place in my mind, in my heart, where I think the dreams might be, and there is nothing. Silence. A blank screen.
I write, to myself, and some others whom I trust, that I feel lost without dreams, disconnected from the world of dreamers, puzzled by their dreaming, disconcerted by the absence of my own. Continue reading “The Nature of Dreaming”
If I were in charge of the world, banners would fly in the sky, telling folk how beautiful they were, not just on birthdays but on everyday ordinary days.
If I were in charge of the world, dragons would roam through the streets at night, lighting touchpapers of desire. Unicorns would drift by the sides of the rivers, breaking open hearts with the whiteness of their dreaming.
If I were in charge of the world, the doors of the offices would be flung wide open, and work would be done outside. Continue reading “If I Were in Charge of the World”