unask

 

what love sees is true

 

St. John tells how, at Cana's wedding feast,
The water-pots poured wine in such amount
That by his sober count
There were a hundred gallons at the least.

It made no earthly sense, unless to show
How whatsoever love elects to bless
Brims to a sweet excess
That can without depletion overflow.

Which is to say that what love sees is true;
That this world's fullness is not made but found.
Life hungers to abound
And pour its plenty out for such as you.

 

Richard Wilbur

 

 

 

your gold

 

Your eyes, your large and all-inquiring eyes.
That look so dubiously into me,
And are not satisfied with what you see,
Tell me the worst and let us have no lies:
Tell me the meaning of your scrutinies.

You say not; but you think, without a doubt;
And you have the whole world to think about,
With very little time for little things.
So let it be; and let it all be fair--
For you, and for the rest who cannot share
Your gold of unrevealed awakenings.

 

Edward Arlington Robinson

 

 

 

swan

the swan will fly at last alone
the world will seem a sideshow then.

when the leaf is taken by the wind
who can say, where it will fall?

when life's short length is ended
no more circumstance, no more attributes.

when Yama, Lord of the Dead, sends his call
the self is helpless, overwhelmed.

and then you will know God.

 

Kabir, 1398-1448. Transl. Tom Davis

 

 

 

scamel

there is a new entry in our scamel blog.

 

 

 

what was said to the rose

 

what was said to the rose
that made it burst into flower
was said to me, too;
it was said to my heart

 

Rumi

 

 

 

 

 

sunset

 

Then new events said to me,
‘Don’t move. A sublime generosity is
coming towards you.’

You are the fountain of the sun’s light.
I am a willow shadow on the ground.
You make my raggedness silky.

The soul at dawn is like darkened water
that slowly begins to say Thank you, thank you.

Then at sunset, again, Venus gradually
Changes into the moon and then the whole nightsky.

This comes of smiling back
at your smile.

 

Rumi

 

 

 

a shout of joy

 

The human seed goes down in the ground
like a bucket into the well.

It will come up filled and over-filled
with unimaginable beauty.

Your mouth closes, here,
and immediately opens
with a shout of joy, there.

 

From Rumi, On the day of my death, Ode 911.

 

 

 

 

these our actors

 

Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits and
Are melted into air, into thin air:
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp’d towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.

 

 

Shakespeare, from The Tempest.