Our Hands Imbibe Like Roots … And Swallowing Buddha

Some dreams I have had are still milestones. And a few, my teacher in India (Eruch, whom I have mentioned several times before) like a great psychologist, drew out of me— out of the blue it seemed— while walking with him in the early mornings. And he said some were really significant visions, and I should not call them “dreams.” 

This poem, I published over 20 years ago now, I woke from in a dream-dream I had last night, so sharing it.

I love the physics — or metaphysics (or a very helpful, elite Carl Jung-rooted psychology) that can be in good poetry. I think it is very much a drawing power, and charm, and the great utility in what can be the best of the poetry of say Hafiz and Rumi that I have worked extensively with these last few furlongs (30 plus years) of my life.

And this woman, Fay Adams, at this Mindfulness Association (in Europe I believe it is) I feel does a wonderful job annotating and expounding on this St.Francis poem (rendering) of mine. 

Sit with her for ten minutes if you can, it could enrich hours in your coming days! 

Sometimes sitting with the moon at night 

I can reflect more of the Sun* tomorrow. 

—Hafiz 

*the Sun: God. And...

And help— and warm— another heart. Isn't that what it is all about to the intelligent? That our every sound and movement— and even thought— around others gives us a chance to do! And to ourselves as well! aka...

Aka: And Swallowing Buddha! What else could ever cure our great hunger— and our eons of great longing!

Update:

I just saw that I posted this St. Francis link before, maybe a year or so ago, but have framed it very differently here. And now we got Buddha offering himself (revealing himself right here in this blog) as an appetizer to eternity— incognito in every form. Hard to beat that! So guess we are moving along.