the world is open sky and also dustbin

be free from concerns

This world

is an open sky and also a dustbin,

giving life to some and death to others;

the outcomes are not controlled

by this world.

Press

your finger into the world

and put it to your nose. You may smell

sweetness, or you may smell dung.

Discernment is possible in

these matters.

True hearts

stay awake if love is possible. The

others have no need for beauty, nor hope of

it. If you are holding gold in your hand,

don’t imagine ways to turn it

into mud.

Bahauddin, father of Rumi

the drowned book

☯️

The Old Fool wears

second-hand clothes and fills his belly

with tasteless food, mends holes to make a

cover against the cold, and thus the myriad affairs

of life, according to what comes, are done. Scolded, the

Old Fool merely says, “Fine.” Struck, the Old Fool falls

down to sleep. “Spit on my face, I just let it dry;

I save strength and energy and give you no

affliction.” Paramita is his style; he

gains the jewel within.

Platform Sutra of the Sixth Patriarch

🪷

Forget the body.

Let go of sensations

and obsessions and objects.

Do non-doing to the point that thoughts

cease to arise. Releasing mental constructs and

emotional entanglements, you’ll begin

to flow as a sage. Then let go

of that notion on top

of everything

else.

Wei wu Wei Ching, Chapter 15

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iBooks

within us there is another beauty

The things that

change are not our real life.

Within us there is another body,

another beauty. It belongs to that ray of light

which never changes. We must discover how to mingle

with it and become one with that unchanging thing.

We must realize and understand this treasure

of truth. That is why we have

come to the world.

Bawa Muhaiyaddeen

eventually we have to taste to know

grow a pistachio tree

Bahauddin’s notebook,

and Rumi’s poetry, are reminders of experience,

larger and deeper ways we readers and listeners might live.

The words describe a taste of grandeur and love, and as they keep

telling us, you cannot do that: it’s impossible to describe such

wonders. The great winetasters may come as close as one

can get. But try to tell me, really, about a pistachio,

or something you have never tasted. Say what

you want, eventually we have

to taste to know.

Coleman Barks

commentary on The Drowned Book

I am a sky where spirits live

ocean ramsey

If anyone asks you
how the perfect satisfaction
of all our sexual wanting
will look, lift your face
and say,

Like this.

When someone mentions the gracefulness
of the nightsky, climb up on the roof
and dance and say,

Like this.

If anyone wants to know what “spirit” is,
or what “God’s fragrance” means,
lean your head toward him or her.
Keep your face there close.

Like this.

When someone quotes the old poetic image
about clouds gradually uncovering the moon,
slowly loosen knot by knot the strings
of your robe.

Like this.

If anyone wonders how Jesus raised the dead,
don’t try to explain the miracle.
Kiss me on the lips.

Like this. Like this.

When someone asks what it means
to “die for love,” point
here.

If someone asks how tall I am, frown
and measure with your fingers the space
between the creases on your forehead.

This tall.

The soul sometimes leaves the body, the returns.
When someone doesn’t believe that,
walk back into my house.

Like this.

When lovers moan,
they’re telling our story.

Like this.

I am a sky where spirits live.
Stare into this deepening blue,
while the breeze says a secret.

Like this.