27 September 2010


When birds sing and the sunshine rings our thoughts with merriment, like a swallow reading its secret map on impossible wings.

I started cooking again after way too much take away. Perfect then, that I found my knife collection -misplaced when moving- and put my whetstone to use.

Rambling, resistance training, riding and soon running. I had not been riding for at least a year and I was never a mad keen two-wheeler. The result was a most tender fundament. My companions assured me that repeated applications of effort would produce most hardy cheeks, so I got right back on the saddle the next day.

By the way, if you like fantasy fiction then The Name Of The Wind by Patrick Rothfuss is a perfect book. It is a most polished story and the link goes to an extract. I know a lot of people, including me, are hanging out for the sequel. Highly recommended.

Reading Rumi

The world eats men and women; we become
ground, and yet Got sends us here to eat

the whole universe.

from As Fish Drink the Ocean


A road might end at a single house,
but it's not love's road.

Love is a river.
Drink from it.


Word Fog

Words, even if they come from
the soul, hide the soul, as fog

rising off the sea covers the sea,
the coast, the fish, the pearls.

It's noble work to build coherent
philosophical discourses, but

they block out the sun of truth.
See God's qualities as an ocean,

this world as foam on the purity
of that. Brush away and look

through the alaphabet to essence,
as you do the hair covering your

beloved's eyes. Here's the mystery:
this intricate, astonishing world

is proof of God's presence even as
it covers the beauty. One flake

from the wall of a gold mine does
not give much idea what it's like

when the sun shines in and turns
the air and the workers gold.


Thanks to Coleman Barks for translations.

09 September 2010


Days when the
Laughter of life
Needs no reason.

Discipline is the
Season of joy.


Who knew? Who knew that there was still some poetry left in my soul? It seems I knew and take these words new. I am teasing of course. I knew the shadow would pass. Unless, unless of course it did not. Well, if you really want to be a poet, then my only advice is to read aloud from Tagore's Gitanjali every day. To be taken with meditation.


In my meditation,
I am atop a wave gigantic,
Indomitable, beyond obstruction.


"Thou hast made me known to friends whom I knew not. Thou hast given me seats in homes not my own. Thou hast brought the distant near and made a brother of the stranger."
Verse 63 of Gitanjali.