The Divine Light of the Soul

We see the world piece by piece, as the sun, the moon, the animal, the tree; but the whole, of which these are the shining parts, is the soul. From within or from behind a light shines through us upon things, and makes us aware that we are nothing, but the light is all.

                                                                      -- Ralph Waldo Emerson

    From here on this will be the theme of my blog--the soul, and the Divine Light which shines out from that secret Source deep within us and within all Creation. Nothing is more important now than our reawakening to this Mystery, which has been at the core of ancient spiritual wisdom throughout the ages.

    Our world is in a shambles. We've lost our bearings and we're heading for disaster. The causes seem infinitely complex and dauntingly intractable. But the roots of all the reasons lead back down to one essential truth--our secular, materialistic, uber-competitive, ultra-comsuming, hyper-individualistic, technology-obsessed, drastically atomized society has lost its soul. The oneness, community, compassion, cooperation, dialogue, understanding and commitment which only a communion of souls can create, increasingly are shunted aside by the division, selfishness, indifference, alienation, conflict, ignorance and irresponsibility which inevitably result when that soul connection is destroyed.

       But I don't want to harp on the negative. Unless you're sleepwalking through each day, you need no further reminders. What we all need desperately to be reminded of however, is the alternative--that Divine Light of the Soul which suffers such chronic eclipse because virtually all the energies and influences to which we're exposed every hour drag us away from our own spiritual center and addict us instead to smoke and mirrors, fears and illusions, desires and possessions. To counteract such deadly hypnosis, this blog now offers an oasis of light, a beacon of soul. 

       At least once a week, usually on Tuesday, I'll be posting an inspiring quotation; a prose commentary based on it; one or two of my own spiritual poems; maybe a poem I admire by someone else, and occasionally an artwork as well. With all the creative power I have, I want to stand up and speak out for the Universal Soul, the Divine Light, the Holy Source of all I am, all you are, all that is.

              HOLY COMMUNION

all at once I was there      the Presence

a  torrent of ecstasy seamlessly pitched

beyond our range of hearing    a Light

too blindingly pure--unseeable by eyes

I don't know why it descended on me

abruptly   out of nowhere   everywhere

splitting me open like a milkweed pod

piercing straight to my defenseless soul

snowy seeds of awe and pain    rapture

and longing   spilled into the drastic air

they're numberless   the names of God

who can say one's right   one's wrong?

each is born from ravished awakening!

the name that now    unerringly struck

transfixing me, was this: Infinity Holy

I felt this loved this died this knew this

This is what I am   you are   everything

no matter how outrageously we forget

I wept at human folly     the difference

between how we live and what we are

                         ***

Lo, "I am with you always,"

means when you look for God,

God is in the look of your eyes,

in the thought of looking,

nearer to you than yourself,

or things that have happened to you.

There is no need to go outside.

Be melting snow.

Wash yourself with yourself.

                               -- Rumi 

Taking A Break

     I've decided to step away from this blog for a while and take a rest--at least until I'm once more motivated by writing and/or art I feel compelled to share. Thanks for your interest, and responses. I'll let you know when I start posting again.
-- Bob

Ancient Wisdom

     Here's a third set of poem/drawing companion pieces from The Sacred Well: Songs From The Waters Of Life:


                        OLD STONES

When we walk near old stones--say in a wall
that once bounded or divided things, but now
lies weathered, crumbling, mostly overgrown
with creepers and vines--sometimes they speak,
chanting spells from the subterranean world,
muttering in a tongue we can almost hear.

Listen. What are they saying? Can you tell?
I sense myself becoming heavier, dissolving,
my soul groping down through layers of soil,
jostled by stumps, fossils, artifacts, bones.
It is good to come to rest there, deep below,
where all the beginnings and endings are one.

Far inside me a primeval being is achored
by great, gnarled roots to a time before time,
to stark landscapes where no footfall echoes,
no voices cry. And what it knows, it knows
as death knows life; as the stone's shadow
knows what burns in the heart of the stone.

                               *

No more words.

In the name of this place

we drink in with our breathing,

stay quiet like a flower

so the nightbirds will start singing.

-- Rumi --

Roots And Stars

Here's another poem/drawing combo from my book The Sacred Well: Songs From The Waters Of Life.

             THE UNKNOWABLE WORD

We don't know a word to say certain things.
They're too far inside. Silence attends them.
Every effort at speech fritters out and away.
This is how it is when you capsize my soul.
Our talk confounds us. For behind the voices
there's a Being who does not speak at all.

We don't know a word to say certain things.
The true name for that One is Namelessness,
our glances seeking an inconceivable Face.
I have felt the eyes and sensed the smile.
The clean light of each morning reveals it.
When night gropes up from roots, it shines.

We don't know a word to say certain things.
But because we stammer, there's hope for us.
As long as Mystery survives, and Magnitude,
I'll encounter you with growing awe, amazed
at what forever eludes me; yet grateful, too,
that beauty has a Source beyond this world.

                               *

And I, infinitesimal being,

drunk with the great starry

void,

likeness, image of

mystery,

felt myself a pure part

of the abyss;

I wheeled with the stars,

my heart broke loose on the wind.

-- Pablo Neruda --

Ending And Beginning

  
   Last week's posting marked the final entry of a 35-week series, during which I wrote prose meditations that were each inspired by a line from a poem I'd previously written--either in 2009 or early 2010. It was challenging but rewarding to explore, in a more philosophical spirit, some of the wider implications of the poems' allusive utterances, and then to combine both with related original artwork and selected quotations. I had fun and learned a lot. I hope you did too.

      I've created many other poems and drawings however--some very recently, others across the years. So I'm going to make selections from among these and post them each week, as the Spirit moves, adding any comments which may seem relevant and helpful. Along those lines, here's a poem I wrote in May about spiritual balance:


                       TRUE LINE

landing at the perfect angle of approach
       you can hold onto your sanity without
          exploding in a spectacular fireball

impeccable balance is everything
one fear to the left    one rage to the right
                      you're cooked

finding the true line       a pure trajectory
that's the ticket!
        what can derange you then?

I spent many lifetimes figuring this out
crashing     burning     crashing     burning
                over and over

but now I've got it
    heart light       mind clear
          hands barely touching the controls

                            *


     The following drawing and poem are companion pieces, both part of a book I wrote in 1996-97 titled The Sacred Well: Songs From The Waters Of Life. Although usually a poem is inspired by an artwork (a literary practice called "ekphrasis"), in this instance the reverse is true--the poem came first, then the artistic vision inspired by it.

THE LABYRINTH

Amazing, isn't it? To be a woman, a man.

What does it mean? I'm born to love

what dies; born to die myself; born

all hunched up like a question mark.

But who inside me keeps asking? Who

cannot rest? Don't you sense it? Beyond

this dying animal, a deeper life begins!

Listen, I'm blundering around, same as you.

Every day I start off into the Labyrinth,

always a novice, groping this way and that,

straining to grasp the riddle of my soul.

And each night, wearily, I crawl into bed,

slanting downward through the Great Dark,

small as a raindrop, immense as a storm.

 *