Nobel Prize winning Poet, Wislawa Szymborska, died today at the age of 88. Her poetry is shockingly beautiful and moving. This is my favorite of her works.
A Few Words On The Soul
We have a soul at times.
No one’s got it non-stop,
for keeps.
Day after day,
year after year
may pass without it.
Sometimes
it will settle for awhile
only in childhood’s fears and raptures.
Sometimes only in astonishment
that we are old.
“In the universe,
there are things that are known,
and things that are unknown, and in between,
there are doors.”
This from Arthur Rimbaud:
I say that one must be a seer, make oneself a seer. The poet makes himself a seer by a long, prodigious, and rational disordering of all the senses. Every form of love, of suffering, of madness; he searches himself, he consumes all the poisons in him, and keeps only their quintessences. This is an unspeakable torture during which he needs all his faith and superhuman strength, and during which he becomes the great patient, the great criminal, the great accursed – and the great learned one! – among men. – For he arrives at the unknown! Because he has cultivated his own soul – which was rich to begin with – more than any other man! He reaches the unknown; and even if, crazed, he ends up by losing the understanding of his visions, at least he has seen them! Let him die charging through those unutterable, unnameable things: other horrible workers will come; they will begin from the horizons where he has succumbed!
Not many today would sacrifice so much for their art!
Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing there is a field. I'll meet you there.
If the doors of perception were cleansed, everything would appear as it is - infinite.
- William Blake, from The Marriage of Heaven and Hell.
I find this passage from Song of Myself by Walt Whitman to be so very connected to the beautiful non-dualty of the great Zen mystics. Dōgen wrote at length about the intimacy that arises when the separation between the self and other fall away.
Whitman wrote this:
Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of
all poems,
You shall possess the good of the earth and sun, (there are millions
of suns left,)
You shall no longer take things at second or third hand, nor look through
the eyes of the dead, nor feed on the spectres in books,
You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me,
You shall listen to all sides and filter them from your self.
Likewise, Dōgen wrote that: ”To hear sound with the whole body and mind, to see form with the whole body and mind, one understands them intimately.” This is the essence of Zen. It’s also as ordinary as taking a breath, walking, eating. It is this very life, this very moment.
Simple. Beautiful.
Who says my poems are poems? My poems are not poems. When you know that my poems are not poems, Then we can speak of poetry.
- Ryōkan
I’ve been searching for a new meditation cushion. Of course, in the midst of my search, I’d stumble upon this beautiful poem. And thus, Carl Jung smiles.
A single meditation cushion, and one is completely protected
Earth may crumble, heaven collapse–but here one is at peace.
—Xinggang,
in Daughers of Emptiness:
Poems of Chinese Buddhist Nuns.
(via Buddha at the Apocaplypse: Awakening from a Culture of Destruction by Kurt Spellmeyer)
This is a beautiful quote by Walt Whitman, one of my favorite mystical poets.
This is what you shall do: Love the earth and sun and the animals, despise riches, give alms to every one that asks, stand up for the stupid and crazy, devote your income and labor to others, hate tyrants, argue not concerning God, have patience and indulgence toward toward the people…re-examine all you have been told at school or church or in any book, dismiss what insults your very soul, and your very flesh shall become a great poem.
Whitman’s writing is timeless and profound. If you haven’t read any of this writings, start with Song of Myself from his collection Leaves of Grass. The entire collection is brilliant, earthy, spiritual, visual, sensual and very moving.
