To know reality, I must feel it
To know depravity, I must drown in it
To know flesh, I must touch it
To know grief, we meet.
To know humility, I must bow to it
To know fear, I must be it
To know sorrow, I must be lost in it
To know violence, we embrace.
To know weakness, I am broken
To know loneliness, I am born
To know futility, I am faithless
To know freedom, I submit.
To know a language, I speak it
To know falsehoods, I lie
To know truth, I am silent
To love, I forgive.
23rd January 2020, Somerset, England.
Conquerers
Our peace in this present life should not depend on absence of adversity but on humble acceptance. Those who accept suffering will enjoy peace. Such a person is a conqueror of the self, a ruler of the world, a friend of Christ and an inheritor of heaven.
Thomas à Kempis, The Imitation of Christ
For the love of robins
Whatever happens (in 2021)
A poem from Rumi to open the new year, with love to all who read these words.
whatever happens to the world around show me your purpose show me your source even if the world is Godless and in chaos show me your anchor show me your love if there is hunger if there is famine show me your harvest show me your resource if life is bitter everywhere snakes everywhere poison show me your garden show me your meadow if the sun and the moon fall if darkness rules the world show me your light show me your flame if I have no mouth or tongue to utter words of your secrets show me your fountain I'll keep silence how can I express your life when mine still is untold. Rumi
For the love of beauty
The Son of Encouragement
I knew him only briefly, but felt his heart to be wrought from finest gold and marked with rare sincerity. His manner kind and gentle, I have no doubt he brought consolation, strength and faith to those he humbly taught. He’d reached a place of steadfast peace and thus his presence flowed from here to his eternal rest, in love’s divine abode. In memoriam P.H. 1934 - 2020
The truth from above – traditional English carol
Unabridged Lyrics: This is the truth sent from above, The truth of God, the God of love: Therefore don't turn me from your door, But hearken all, both rich and poor. The first thing which I do relate Is that God did man create, The next thing which to you I'll tell, Woman was made with man to dwell. Then, after this, 'twas God's own choice To place them both in Paradise, There to remain, from evil free, Except they ate of such a tree. And they did eat, which was a sin, And thus their ruin did begin. Ruined themselves, both you and me, And all of their posterity. Thus we were heirs to endless woes, Till God the Lord did interpose, And so a promise soon did run, That he would redeem us by his Son. And at this season of the year Our blest Redeemer did appear, And here did live, and here did preach, and many thousands he did teach. Thus he in love to us behaved, To show us how we must be saved; And if you want to know the way, Be pleased to hear what he did say: "Go preach the Gospel," now he said, "To all the nations that are made! And he that does believe on me, From all his sins I'll set him free." O seek! O seek of God above That saving faith that works by love! And, if he's pleased to grant thee this, Thou'rt sure to have eternal bliss. God grant to all within this place True saving faith, that special grace Which to his people doth belong: And thus I close my Christmas song.
Ah, God I May Not Hate – Kathleen Raine
Ah, God, I may not hate
Myself, who am your thought, who made
Earthworm and spider, gave
Being to the burying-beetle and the maggot,
Beak and talon and teeth, hunger to all creatures
Made to be your begetters and destroyers.
I who am living you from the numberless dead have raised
From the deathless dust of the grave
Dust of gleaming wings borne on the wind, seed
In the womb of the wind, borne
In cloud and tempest over the world
On tide and current made and unmade,
I am what you will, what you have willed
Life after life, maggot and spider, seed and harvest,
chromosome, flame.
No One Lives His Life – Rilke
Disguised since childhood, haphazardly assembled from voices and fears and little pleasures, we come of age as masks. Our true face never speaks. Somewhere there must be storehouses where all these lives are laid away like suits of armour or old carriages or cloths hanging limply on the walls. Maybe all paths lead here, to the repository of unlived things. Rainer Maria Rilke, The Book of Hours, Book 2
A prayer for the poisoned
Forgive my blindness Forgive my deafness Forgive my lies and pretence. Forgive my ignorance Forgive my coldness Forgive my scorn and disdain. Forgive my deceptions Forgive my incompetence Forgive my turning away. Forgive my ugliness Forgive my vanity Forgive my arrogance and blame. Forgive my depravity Forgive my ingratitude Forgive my weakness and guilt. Forgive my squandering Forgive my impatience Forgive my wounding and shame. Forgive my weariness Forgive my misery Forgive my fear and control. Forgive my faithlessness Forgive my doubting Forgive this poor, futile game.
Being a walking question mark 