Showing posts with label Walt Whitman. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Walt Whitman. Show all posts

Thursday, June 1, 2023

The Mystic and the Giving Tree


"You don't choose a life ,dad, you live it" 
- The Way , Movie  ( Emilio Estevez/ Martin Sheen)

"And in the end the love you take is equal to the love you make." - Lennon/McCartney


"I desire mercy , not sacrifice" - Matt 9:13



                                                                    

                                                                      The Giving Tree


                     Click link for video Reading of the Book "The Giving Tree" - S. Silverstein 

                                                           https://youtu.be/HgDWvLOodHw


"A tree gives glory to God by being a tree.For in being what God means it to be it is obeying [God]. It 'consents,'so to speak , to [God's] creative love. It is expressing idea which is in God and which is not distinct from the essence of God, and therefore a tree imitates God by being a tree."

- Thomas Merton New Seeds of Contemplation


The Inspiration :

Sometimes there can be the most simple book , the sweetest song or a

pleasant poignant poem that echo the most profound messages found 

in the great innocence of children's voices fueling that eternal spark

that will never succumb to the darkness in the world. They 

are all the source of sanctifying grace and the inspiration that

 transcends time. Often the message is most obvious for the ears 

who hear and it is seen with eyes closed, even in a child's 

book about trees .

 

The Writing:

The Mystic and the Giving Tree

The aged wrinkled wise ascetic 

Desert monk contemplated without shelter from the storm

Just on the outskirts of Nag Hammadi.

Sitting on the roadside , legs crossed , whispering what passers-by

Considered a soft mantra repeated over and over

And over. No beginning, no ending. 

Pilgrims making their Camino

With no Compostela or scallops pointing the path,

Retreat on their sojourn , sitting ,seeing , listening and waiting in wonder ,

Was this recluse lama mumbling gibberish quietly imparting a convoluted fable

or was it some Joycean emotion of a Homeric epic poem 

About the meaning  and rights of passage?

In-between the solo mystic's faint breaths 

The words flow like a river smoothing the stones

That were once rough edged pebbles cast to the water.

The stone's ripples reach out to kiss the shore and

Disappear into the great sea of mercy.


Transcribing the sounds this pilgrim filled the virgin pages

Of rugged worn journal, what he believed he heard. and observed.


"Loaves and fishes comes to mind.

The pilgrims fed, nourished and nurtured with no concern

About the seekers' depth or lack of faith wisdom , ignorance or conviction.

It was more than words they ate up."


The monk spoke:

"Release control and surrender to the flow of love.

The wounded healer will be healed.

Loving with desire for reward or receiving abundant 

Love in return is not real love.

Ignorance and indifference erode hope

As they fuel avarice and narcissism.

Be like all of Mother Nature... especially the trees,

Be authentic , be true to your be-ing and purpose. 

Be thankful as we have enough trees and stars 

To teach and inspire us."

- JF Sobecki

-------------

The Poems and Such:

"Poetry is a gateway into intuitive consciousness. It knocks on the doors

 of the heart and the heart opens" - Mirabai Starr


" To see the world in a grain of sand and heaven in a wild flower.'

- Wm. Blake


Miracles

Why , who makes such a miracle?

As to me , I know of nothing else but miracles,

Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan

Or dart my sight over there roofs of houses toward the sky.

Or wade with naked fee along the beach just

in the edge of the water,

or stand under trees in the woods,

Or talk by day with anyone I love , or sleep in the 

bed at night with anyone I love.

Or sit at table at dinner with the rest,

Or sit at a table at dinner with the rest,

Or look at strangers opposite me riding in the car,

Or watch honey bees busy around the hive of a

summer forenoon,

Or animals feeding in the fields,

Or birds , or the wonderfulness of insects in the air,

Or the wonderfulness of the sundown or the stars

shining so quiet and bright,

or the exquisite delicate thin curve of the new moon

in spring;

These with the Reston in all , are to me miracles,

The whole referring , yet each distinct and in the place.


To me every hour the light and dark is a miracle.

Every cubic inch space is a miracle.

Every square yard of the surface of the earth is

spread with the same,

Every foot of the interior swarms with the same.


To me the sea is a continual miracle,

The fishes that swim-the rocks- the motion of the 

waves- that ships with the men in them,

What stranger miracles are there?

- Walt Whitman

-------

The Music:

(Musical reflections on the inspiration)

I Release Control - Alexa Sunshine Rose
(Thanks Barry for the inspiration)


I still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For - U2 

Days Like This - Van Morrison
https://youtu.be/3UUWkr4FUlo



Coda: For your listening and viewing pleasure if you desire:
Here are a couple of random bits and pieces - consider them
kindling for the fire.

Not Dead Yet - Lord Huron
Banshees of Inisherin - Movie ( Nice and/or Music, art and poetry- legacy?)
https://youtu.be/a0RBIOxpco8

The Mission - The movie ( 1 Corintians 13)
https://youtu.be/dmUxkdTZY18

Mission: The Movie-  On Earth as it is in Heaven
(This blog's creator was asked to contemplate to this music
while on an eight day in silence. It's serenity and illuminating beauty
lives on )

Silence - The Movie 
( an interesting exchange- watch to the last line)

The Stable Song - Gregory Alan Isakov
(Sometimes we need just a simple smooth sounding song)
https://youtu.be/AqyAmmEkVvI

Yesterday -The Movie (spoiler alert! )
Meeting John Lennon - 
[Happiness = Success/Fight for what you believe in]

 6/16  51 years



amdg


Copyright 2023 All Rights Reserved JF Sobecki LLC
















Happy Birthday Eugene...














Tuesday, January 31, 2023

A California Reunion


"Remembrance is a form of Meeting"

- Kahil Gibran

"We are not Human Beings with a spiritual experience, but 

spiritual beings with a human experience"

- Pierre Teilhard Chardin


The Inspiration :

(Over 100 family members and friends gathered in Northern California's 

wine country to honor, remember and celebrate the life of the pilgrim's

sister's husband who had recently passed to the other side.)


A venerated teacher iterated , it is said that a Buddhist story

explains the probability of our incarnation as a human being on

this earth at this time and place is something like one life

preserver being tossed randomly into the ocean. There is one

turtle in the great expanse of the global ocean swimming somewhere 

underneath the water. The probability that we come into this world 

is the same as this one particular turtle sticking its head out

of the water...and in that specific moment its head peaks through 

the hole in that one random life preserver in just one try. Some social

scientist calculated that the odds of any one being becoming a 

real thing ( real life) is 1 in 400 million.

The patient pilgrim pondered,"If all creation is not a miracle

I don't know what is. This vessel may end its earthly journey but

the essence of the spirit in everything is not finished as a new 

journey begins."


The Writing:

(A personal reflection inspired by this post's theme)


A California Reunion

What is that flame,. that light

That Mystical source that draws searching souls,

Abandoning their daily passage to gather,

Reuniting in compassion and empathy?

How is it that in one fleeting urgent moment

The baggage of their journey

Is left behind with no regrets or hard feelings?

How strong is that desire for healing

The broken hearts of fellow travelers?

The pilgrim and two offspring converged

In the land of Jacks Dharma Bums' ghosts,

California stars, joining

The great pilgrimage to be where

Mindfulness is the practice of

Redemption and gratitude becoming

The "Holy Communion."

Rivers of tears flow like sacramental wine.

The unwavering torrential rains 

Came to a hard stop without notice,

Giving rebirth to a divine virgin blue sky

Making way for the great gleam.

Witness the true Beautiful Day.

The Tower of Song of the mask free sojourners'

Overflowing hearts sang out

As one unified voice of a singular solemn

Angelic choir filling the sanctuary

Serenely settled on the secret banks 

Of the Russian River, one or two puffs

South of the Emerald Triangle

Guarded by the glorious green mountainous grandeur.

Rhythms of the Chicago Blues reverberate

From within this chapel of untethered celebration

With the same DNA heard in the most holy arias.

Higher and Higher, cowboy lamentations,

Palomas and fries nourish 

The thirsty and hungry hearted congregation.

It is on the sacred ground , leaving behind the world,

Where the one sublime transformational moment

Of the authentic consecrating unconditional love

Washes down every aspect of the universe,

Leaving all to kneel in the deepest chamber

Of their hearts with humility to the light.

- JF Sobecki


The Poems:

( Poetry Reflections on the inspiration)


Where Many Rivers Meet

All the water below came from above

All the clouds living in the mountains

gave it to the rivers

who gave it to the sea, which is their dying.


And so I float on the cloud become water

central sea surrounded by white mountains,

the water salt, once fresh

cloud fall and steam , tree root and tide bank

leading to the river' mouths

and the mouth of the rivers sing to the sea,

the stories buried in the mountains

give out to the sea

and the sea remembers

and sings back 

from the depths

where nothing is forgotten.

- David Whyte


The Holy Longing - Goethe ( From the Favorite Poem Project)

https://youtu.be/8YWoOj5mJMo

Song of Myself - W. Whitman ( From the Favorite Poem Project)
https://youtu.be/hPLHVQpm1JA

For The Children - Gary Snyder



The Music:
(Musical reflections on the inspiration)

Transcendental Reunion - Mary Chapin Carpenter
https://youtu.be/1GUFJquA6bc

Heavenly Father - Bon Iver
https://youtu.be/vAoADCSpD-8

Live Forever - Drew Holcombe
https://youtu.be/ntbNQk2Tk7Q

Wash Me Down - Jim Cuddy
https://youtu.be/V6KxemuVYMU

Windfall - Son Volt
https://youtu.be/f1XrTzVzbJY

California Stars - Wilco


Tower of Song - Leonard Cohen (w U2)
https://youtu.be/OpLBtWG3JR4

No Hard Feelings - The Avett Brothers
https://youtu.be/aaU2HvRhCPw

Seasons of Love - Rent
https://youtu.be/UvyHuse6buY


Coda:

A Time to Say Goodbye - Andrea Bocelli & Sarah Brightman
https://youtu.be/4L_yCwFD6Jo


Remembering:

R.I.P. and Music,Skip !
                                                             















Marybeth Lifting or Spirits Higher

https://youtu.be/k9aDOGoPvW8

Tbird and a Redhead - Jimmy Smith Band ( Skip on Harp)

https://youtu.be/LY2BP6IoRwg



admit

Copyright 2023 All Rights Reserved JF Sobecki LLC



A California Reunion


















"We are not human beings having a spiritual experience

but spiritual beings having a human experience."

- Pierre Teilhard Chardin

The Inspiration _______________

(Over 100 family members and friends gathered  in Northern California's 

wine country to honor and celebrate the life of the pilgrim's sister 's 

free spirited husband who had recently passed on to the other side.)


A venerated teacher proclaimed ,

 "It is is said that a Buddhist story that sites

 the probability of our incarnation as a human being on 

this earth at this time is something like one life preserver

 being thrown randomly into the ocean. There is this one 

turtle in all the oceans on earth swimming underneath the

 water somewhere .The probability that we come about in 

this world is the same as this one particular turtle sticking 

its head out of the water —-and at that specific moment its

 head peaks through the hole in that one random life preserver

 in just one try. Some social scientist promulgated that 

the odds of one becoming a real thing ( a life) is about 

1 in 400 million." 

The pilgrim responded "If all of creation is not a miracle

 I don’t know what is.

The vessel may end the earthly journey but the essence 

of the spirit is not finished as a new journey begins."

The Writing _____________________

( A personal reflection inspired by the post's theme)

A California Reunion

What is that flame , that light -

That mystically draws searching souls,

Abandoning their daily passage to gather,

Reuniting in compassion and empathy ?

How is it that in one fleeting urgent moment

The baggage of their journey

Is left behind with no regrets or hard feelings?

How strong is that desire for healing

The broken heart of a fellow traveler?

The pilgrim and two offspring converged

In the land of the ghosts of Jack's Dharma Bums ,

The California Stars , with

The great pilgrimage.

To be to where

Mindfulness is the living practice of

The redemption and gratitude ,, 

Is "the holy communion ."

This is where rivers of tears can

Flow like sacramental wine.

The days of the unwavering torrential rain

Came to a hard stop without notice,

Giving rebirth to divine virgin blue heavens 

Making room for the great gleam.

The Tower of Song of the mask-less sojourners

And companion hearts sang out

As one unified voice of a singular solemn 

Choral family filling the sanctuary 

On the secret sacred banks of the Russian River 

One puss south of the Golden Triangle

Guarded by the glorious green mountainous grandeur.

Sounds of the Chicago blues echoed 

From the celebratory chapel of love,

The same source heard in the most holy of arias.

Higher and higher, cowboy laments , 

Palomas and fries added to the nourishing

Of the hungry hearted congregation. 

It is in this sacred retreat of , leaving the world behind,

The one sublime transformational moment of the authentic

Consecration of unconditional love washing down every 

Aspect of the universe , 

All kneeling in the deepest chamber of their hearts

In humility to the light.

         - JF Sobecki 

The Poems ______________________

( Poetry reflections on the inspiration)

Where Many Rivers Meet -

All the water below me came from above
All the clouds living in the mountains
gave it to the rivers
who gave it to the sea, which is their dying.

And so I float on cloud become water,
central sea surrounded by white mountains,
the water salt, once fresh,
cloud fall and steam , tree root and tide bank
leading to the river' mouths
and the mouths of the rivers sing into the sea,
the stories buried in the mountains
give out to the sea
and the sea remembers
and sings back
from the depths
where nothing is forgotten.

 - David Whyte

The Holy Longing - Goethe ( From the Favorite Poem Project)

https://youtu.be/8YWoOj5mJMo


Song of Myself - Walt Whitman ( From The Favorite Poem Project)

https://youtu.be/hPLHVQpm1JA

For The Children - Gary Snyder

https://youtu.be/UXY5NTaL_48


The Music _____________________

(Reflections on the inspiration)            

Transcendental Reunion - Mary Chapin Carpenter

Heavenly Father - Bon Iver

Live Forever - Drew Holcombe

Windfall - Son Volt
https://youtu.be/f1XrTzVzbJY

California Stars - Wilco

Tower of Song - U2 with Leonard Cohen
https://youtu.be/OpLBtWG3JR4

No Hard Feelings - The Avett Brothers
https://youtu.be/aaU2HvRhCPw
Jim Cuddy,
Wash Me Down - Jim Buddy
https://youtu.be/V6KxemuVYMU

Setons of Love - Rent
https://youtu.be/UvyHuse6buYAndre Bocelli, Hopland, California

Coda_____________________________

A Time to Say Goodbye - Andrea Bocelli/Sarah Brightman


Remembering__________________
R.I. P. Skip

























Higher and Higher - Marybeth at Skip's Memorial Celebratio

https://youtu.be/yF_Ap_vOSuM

Tbird and The RedHead - Jimmy Smith Band ( Featuring Skip on harp)
https://youtu.be/LY2BP6IoRwg


amdg















Copyright 2023 All Rights Reserved JF Sobecki LLC

Saturday, April 2, 2016

The Martian Perspective and Poetry

Don’t use the phone. People are never ready to answer it. Use poetry.             
                                 
                                               - Jack Kerouac


“If you do follow your bliss you put yourself on a kind of track that has been there all the while, waiting for you, and the life that you ought to be living is the one you are living. Follow your bliss and don’t be afraid, and doors will open where you didn’t know they were going to be.”
                
                                        -  Joseph Campbell





He once wrote,

              Martians used to preach
              Of days they would reach the earth
              Now they’ve given up
              Finding what it is worth.

He was wrong, there had never been a serious consideration for Martians to explore the earth as it looked like a dying planet. “How did they get such an impression?” , he wondered. And so the journey began for him to comprehend how this perception could evolve.

Out came the yellow high-liter with the history and sociology books as well as the laptop googling thousands of trends and facts about the evolution of earth’s inhabitants their attitudes, institutions, political structures, beliefs, culture and changing. Charts, graphs, narratives and all types of analytics were created to visually illustrate the doors of perception. Then a wave washed him up onto the shore of enlightenment.

“Poetry! They have never read or heard our poetry! Poetry is the language of our hearts and souls, the living proof of the existence of the sacred within sentient beings. ”

He also thought of music as the voice of the divine but continued to wonder what the Martians might think of earth and her inhabitants if they read and heard our poetry, as it was the root of what would become songs. “Poetry is evidence of: our compassion and passion; our love and desire for peace and concern for the common welfare; our devotion to and appreciation for the beauty and wonder of all that mother nature provides; our humility and hopefulness; our resilience; our ability for our own spirits to transcend our vessels of clay; and, our enlightenment of and faith in a great magnificence who is the reason for every aspect of the universe.”

But with this awareness he also became depressed, as he knew that many in this world had lost their sense of poetry and most poets had been minimalized or trivialized. Many contemporary poets had lost their voices or desire to have their inner voice heard. Some "would be poets" had been led to join that carousel where reaching for a brass ring became the objective rather than being an authentic channel of passion. Furthermore many had become silent out of fear of being ostracized for being a voice from the wilderness. There were some champions who would fight the good fight but they seemed to die young.

“Maybe if I just continue to encourage others to allow their authentic selves and voices to flourish through poetry, that may be enough . No need to worry about the Martian perspective now as we all have a greater challenge at hand…to save ourselves.”



                         Understanding Poetry – Dead Poets Society
                   Immediately NOW watch the next click…don’t wait!

                   Why do we Read and Write Poetry – Dead Poets Society



Now Some things for pilgrims and Martians to consider


                      Song Of Myself – From Favorite Poem Project

                                              https://youtu.be/hPLHVQpm1JA


               We Real Cool – From Favorite Poem Project

                                              https://youtu.be/_t_kkjAhDNw



                            The Favorite Poem Project
                            http://www.favoritepoem.org




"Poetry is an act of peace." – Pablo Neruda


"To be a poet is a condition, not a profession." – Robert Frost



Introduction to Poetry



I ask them to take a poem   
and hold it up to the light   
like a color slide

or press an ear against its hive.

I say drop a mouse into a poem   
and watch him probe his way out,

or walk inside the poem’s room   
and feel the walls for a light switch.

I want them to waterski   
across the surface of a poem
waving at the author’s name on the shore.

But all they want to do
is tie the poem to a chair with rope   
and torture a confession out of it.

They begin beating it with a hose   
to find out what it really means.




Soneto de la Noche

By Pablo Neruda

Cuando yo muero quiero tus manos en mis ojos:
When I die, I want your hands upon my eyes:
quiero la luz y el trigo de tus manos amadas
I want the light and the wheat of your beloved hands
pasar una vez más sobre mí su frescura:
to pass their freshness over me one more time
sentir la suavidad que cambió mi destino.
I want to feel the gentleness that changed my destiny.
Quiero que vivas mientras yo, dormido, te espero,
I want you to live while I wait for you, asleep,
quiero que tus oídos sigan oyendo el viento,
I want your ears to stiil hear the wind,
que huelas el aroma del mar que amamos juntos
I want you to smell the scent of the sea we both loved,
y que sigas pisando la arena que pisamos.
and to continue walking on the sand we walked on.
Quiero que lo que amo siga vivo
I want all that I love to keep on living,
y a ti te amé y canté sobre todas las cosas,
and you whom I loved and sang above all things
por eso sigue tú floreciendo, florida,
To keep flowering into full bloom.
para que alcances todo lo que mi amor te ordena,
so that you can touch all that my love provides you,
para que se pasee mi sombra por tu pelo,
so that my shadow may pass over your hair,
para que así conozcan la razón de mi canto.
so that all may know the reason for my song.
- Pablo Neruda, trans. Nicholas Lauridsen

Choral representation of the above poem

https://youtu.be/GVZJVgX5jN4



Ulysses

  
It little profits that an idle king,
By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race,
That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.
I cannot rest from travel: I will drink
Life to the lees: All times I have enjoy'd
Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those
That loved me, and alone, on shore, and when
Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
Vext the dim sea: I am become a name;
For always roaming with a hungry heart
Much have I seen and known; cities of men
And manners, climates, councils, governments,
Myself not least, but honour'd of them all;
And drunk delight of battle with my peers,
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.
I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethro'
Gleams that untravell'd world whose margin fades
For ever and forever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use!
As tho' to breathe were life! Life piled on life
Were all too little, and of one to me
Little remains: but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more,
A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
And this gray spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.

         This is my son, mine own Telemachus,
To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle,—
Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfil
This labour, by slow prudence to make mild
A rugged people, and thro' soft degrees
Subdue them to the useful and the good.
Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere
Of common duties, decent not to fail
In offices of tenderness, and pay
Meet adoration to my household gods,
When I am gone. He works his work, I mine.

         There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail:
There gloom the dark, broad seas. My mariners,
Souls that have toil'd, and wrought, and thought with me—
That ever with a frolic welcome took
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
Free hearts, free foreheads—you and I are old;
Old age hath yet his honour and his toil;
Death closes all: but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:
The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,
'T is not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.






















Amdg



Copyright 2016 All Rights Reserved JF Sobecki LLC