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by zoss in poésieUntitled
by Kabir, translated by Robert Bly.
I talk to my inner lover, and I say, why such rush?
We know that there is some sort of spirit that loves birds
and the animals and the ants–
perhaps the same one who gave a radiance to you
in your mother’s womb.
Is it logical you would be walking around
entirely orphaned now?
The truth is you turned away yourself,
and decided to go into the dark alone.
And now you are tangled up in others,
and have forgotten what you once knew,
and that’s why everything you do
has some weird failure in it.
Comment by reformed cynic — 3/3/2006 @ 15:37
Fitra. I believe in it. One of the few things I can make that unequivocal statement about.
This post reminded me of two things. The first is an extract another blogger had quoted from a book by someone called Bo Lozoff: http://esperanza.blogspot.com
I would’ve dismissed this as more of the same pop spirituality bullshit, if not for that last point about establishing a routine of daily spiritual practice. I was talking to Chi and she said how when she keeps a daily journal and she writes something in it repeatedly that she’s deceiving herself about - ‘Feb 12: love my new job! Feb 13: my new job is so cool. Feb 14: new job - really liking it..’ - the falsity of her own voice is eventually exposed to her. That, to me, is the importance of writing - it’s that quiet time to ourselves, when our ‘weird failures’ rise to the surface.
The second thing it reminded me of is a beautiful, simple poem by Margaret Atwood, one of my favourites, called ‘You Begin’: http://poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/16789
You can also listen to Atwood reading it here http://poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/19033 - but I warn you, her voice is so flat she sounds like something out of an 80’s alien flick.