dance of life
MY SWEET, CRUSHED ANGEL
You have
not danced so badly, my dear,
trying to hold hands with the Beautiful One.
You have waltzed with great style, my sweet, crushed angel,
to have ever neared God's heart at all.
Our partner is notoriously difficult to follow, and even His
best musicians are not always easy to hear.
So what if the music has stopped for a while.
So what if the price of admission to the Divine is out of reach tonight.
So what,, my sweetheart, if you lack the ante to gamble for real love.
The mind and the body are famous for holding the heart ransom,
but Hafiz knows the Beloved's habits. Have patience,
for He will not be able to resist your longings
and charms for long.
You have not danced so badly, my dear,
trying to kiss the Magnificent
One.
You have actually waltzed with tremendous style,
my sweet, O my sweet,
crushed
angel.
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
This poem brings tears to my eyes every time I read it.
Of course I so relate on various levels.
I have been attempting that dance for so long... and always getting distracted with flashy, impermanaent dance partners. those that lure you with a coating of glamour, in the sense of the word meaning something not real, something of pretense... the glamour isn't necesarrily money, cars, fancy restaurants... it can be so much simpler than that, and theefore so much more beguiling. The flash isn't good looks, great job, fancy dress... no, it can be many hours of conversation, God talk, dreams and ideas... all the more crushing when it is seen for the lure, the carrot, the trap, the falsity it is/was... and so again, I turn back to the Beloved, vowing to never be distracted again, if I can just have this dance.
It sounds dramatic, and it is, yet I can laugh about it all too... make jokes about my self, my short attention span, my seeming unending ability to attract the man that seems so perfect, the prince that turns into a toad... so I know its me... it can't all be out there... and yet... yet.... yet... I like me ( i think) I like my struggle, my willingness to jump into the fray, to experience life. to have a past that nice firls would turn their backs on, and nice boys would just not take home to mom.
I have rough edges, but I can be a gentle and loving woman with a compassionate soul. I am not a happy person, but I am a joyous one.
I said the other day that iI didn't think happiness was the point of life. Our culture sells us the idea, and we so want to believe that we can aquire happiness like its something that is a "thing" to put on the shelf and won't go away, we can own it. but it is ephemeral, it is something that passes through you, to be breathed in for the moments it is there, and then loosed to drift on, happiness drifts in and out of our being... as does unhappiness.. suffering... and maybe suffering too should be breathed in while it is there, not fought with and rejected like a lousey lover who will not stop hurting us.
Suffeing has its own gifts... there is a fiercenss that is born of suffering, a sinewey spare presence i think... at least I hope that is the case.
I don't want to be a butterfly forever. iwant to be a scrub oak... ( i don't even know wht that is, but i love the sound of it... i imagine a small close to the ground, limbs twisted, yet incredibly strong, and beautiful in its surviving the firce landscape of its life.)
Well, this is a surprise.
I was going to write about dance and some of my experience with dance.
It will be for another post.
You have
not danced so badly, my dear,
trying to hold hands with the Beautiful One.
You have waltzed with great style, my sweet, crushed angel,
to have ever neared God's heart at all.
Our partner is notoriously difficult to follow, and even His
best musicians are not always easy to hear.
So what if the music has stopped for a while.
So what if the price of admission to the Divine is out of reach tonight.
So what,, my sweetheart, if you lack the ante to gamble for real love.
The mind and the body are famous for holding the heart ransom,
but Hafiz knows the Beloved's habits. Have patience,
for He will not be able to resist your longings
and charms for long.
You have not danced so badly, my dear,
trying to kiss the Magnificent
One.
You have actually waltzed with tremendous style,
my sweet, O my sweet,
crushed
angel.
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
This poem brings tears to my eyes every time I read it.
Of course I so relate on various levels.
I have been attempting that dance for so long... and always getting distracted with flashy, impermanaent dance partners. those that lure you with a coating of glamour, in the sense of the word meaning something not real, something of pretense... the glamour isn't necesarrily money, cars, fancy restaurants... it can be so much simpler than that, and theefore so much more beguiling. The flash isn't good looks, great job, fancy dress... no, it can be many hours of conversation, God talk, dreams and ideas... all the more crushing when it is seen for the lure, the carrot, the trap, the falsity it is/was... and so again, I turn back to the Beloved, vowing to never be distracted again, if I can just have this dance.
It sounds dramatic, and it is, yet I can laugh about it all too... make jokes about my self, my short attention span, my seeming unending ability to attract the man that seems so perfect, the prince that turns into a toad... so I know its me... it can't all be out there... and yet... yet.... yet... I like me ( i think) I like my struggle, my willingness to jump into the fray, to experience life. to have a past that nice firls would turn their backs on, and nice boys would just not take home to mom.
I have rough edges, but I can be a gentle and loving woman with a compassionate soul. I am not a happy person, but I am a joyous one.
I said the other day that iI didn't think happiness was the point of life. Our culture sells us the idea, and we so want to believe that we can aquire happiness like its something that is a "thing" to put on the shelf and won't go away, we can own it. but it is ephemeral, it is something that passes through you, to be breathed in for the moments it is there, and then loosed to drift on, happiness drifts in and out of our being... as does unhappiness.. suffering... and maybe suffering too should be breathed in while it is there, not fought with and rejected like a lousey lover who will not stop hurting us.
Suffeing has its own gifts... there is a fiercenss that is born of suffering, a sinewey spare presence i think... at least I hope that is the case.
I don't want to be a butterfly forever. iwant to be a scrub oak... ( i don't even know wht that is, but i love the sound of it... i imagine a small close to the ground, limbs twisted, yet incredibly strong, and beautiful in its surviving the firce landscape of its life.)
Well, this is a surprise.
I was going to write about dance and some of my experience with dance.
It will be for another post.