Loving Kindness

Loving Kindness
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts

Sunday, May 29, 2011

Gil Scott-Heron, R.I.P., April 1, 1949 – May 27, 2011


"...At one point in [our 2010] interview, Gil says: "If someone comes to you and asks for help, and you can help them, you're supposed to help them. Why wouldn't you? You have been put in the position somehow to be able to help this person." That undeniable truth and his simple expression of the importance of taking care of those around you who need help and ask for help was not some empty statement. Gil lived by this creed and throughout a magnificent musical career, he helped people again and again, with his willingness and ability to articulate deep truths, through his eloquent attacks on injustices and by his enormous compassion for people's pain.

. . . Hundreds of thousands of people saw Gil perform live over the decades, always with remarkable bands, and few came away untouched by his magnetism, humility, biting wit and warmth of spirit. He was the most generous of bandleaders, inspiring great loyalty and love in his fellow musicians, infecting everybody on and off stage with his singularity of vision, his charismatic personality, his moral beauty and his willingness to take his fellow travellers through the full range of emotions."

Excerped from: "My Brave and Brilliant Friend." By Jamie Byng'
Gil Scott-Heron, my brave and brilliant friend
This article appeared on p34 of the Main section section of the Observer on Sunday 29 May 2011. It was published on guardian.co.uk at 00.01 BST on Sunday 29 May 2011.
The entire tribute can be found here. 


Monday, May 9, 2011

I Sing The Body Electric, Third Canto, from "Leaves of Grass" by Walt Whitman



I knew a man, a common farmer, the father of five sons,
And in them the fathers of sons, and in them the fathers of sons.

This man was a wonderful vigor, calmness, beauty of person,
The shape of his head, the pale yellow and white of his hair and
beard, the immeasurable meaning of his black eyes, the richness
and breadth of his manners,
These I used to go and visit him to see, he was wise also,
He was six feet tall, he was over eighty years old, his sons were
massive, clean, bearded, tan-faced, handsome,
They and his daughters loved him, all who saw him loved him,
They did not love him by allowance, they loved him with personal love,
He drank water only, the blood show'd like scarlet through the
clear-brown skin of his face,
He was a frequent gunner and fisher, he sail'd his boat himself, he
had a fine one presented to him by a ship-joiner, he had
fowling-pieces presented to him by men that loved him,
When he went with his five sons and many grand-sons to hunt or fish,
you would pick him out as the most beautiful and vigorous of the gang,
You would wish long and long to be with him, you would wish to sit
by him in the boat that you and he might touch each other.

Saturday, March 12, 2011

Thinking this morning of my beloved Langston...



The Negro Speaks of Rivers
By Langston Hughes

I've known rivers:

I've known rivers ancient as the world and older than the
      flow of human blood in human veins.

My soul has grown deep like the rivers.

I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young.
I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep.
I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it.
I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln
       went down to New Orleans, and I've seen its muddy
       bosom turn all golden in the sunset.

I've known rivers:
Ancient, dusky rivers.

My soul has grown deep like the rivers.

Langston Hughes 1902 - 1967

Photo Credit: Gordon Parks 1912 - 2006

Monday, March 7, 2011

Life and Death As One


You would know the secret of death.
But how shall you find it unless you seek it in the heart of life?
The owl whose night-bound eyes are blind unto the day cannot unveil the mystery of light.
If you would indeed behold the spirit of death, open your heart wide unto the body of life.
For life and death are one, even as the river and the sea are one.


In the depth of your hopes and desires lies your silent knowledge of the beyond;
And like seeds dreaming beneath the snow your heart dreams of spring.
Trust the dreams, for in them is hidden the gate to eternity.
Your fear of death is but the trembling of the shepherd when he stands before the king whose hand is to be laid upon him in honour.
Is the shepherd not joyful beneath his trembling, that he shall wear the mark of the king?
Yet is he not more mindful of his trembling?


For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun?
And what is it to cease breathing, but to free the breath from its restless tides, that it may rise and expand and seek God unencumbered?


Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you indeed sing.
And when you have reached the mountain top, then you shall begin to climb.
And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance.

The Prophet 
Kahlil Gibran
1883 - 1931 


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Sunday, February 20, 2011

I Am Still Thinking of that Raven

 
I am Still Thinking of That Raven
      by Amhad Shamlu
  Photo By: Buffy Martin Tarbox

I am
still thinking of that raven
in the valley of Yush:
with the double rustle of its pair of black scissors
it cut a slanting curve
from the paper sky
and through the dry croaking of its throat
it said something
to the nearby peak
which the weary mountains
bewildered
under the full sun
repeated for long
in their rocky skulls.
Sometimes I ask myself
what a raven
with its decisive final presence
and its mournful persistent color
may have to say to the aged mountains
when at high noon
it glides over the baked ocher of a wheat-field
to soar atop a few aspens
which these tired sleepy hermits
repeat for long
together
at summer noontides.

Saturday, January 1, 2011

Re-post of some of my favorite blog posts from 2010. "My Song of Freedom." First posted on 9.30.10

 I

One day my heart and eyes just opened up and I woke up and realized a few things. I realized I am a 50 y.o. Black gay man in America. I realized a generation of my gay male brothers succumbed to AIDS in the 80's and 90's. I realized a generation of my Black brothers were incarcerated in the 80's and 90's. I realized I am very wise and very intelligent and... very lucky and that many people cannot deal with that. And I realized, I don't care anymore. Hallelujah!

II

One, just one way I can look at my life is through this lens: A good deal of my adult life has been comprised of people, mostly men but not exclusively so, having significant issues with "things about me," letting me know it and then trying to run a big ole trip on me because of it. And for a long time it worked.

III

Some Black, straight people have tried to run a trip on me about being gay and smart. Both of those are somehow seen as "trying to be White." Oh Lord have Mercy don't let me go there. Some White straight people have tried to run a trip on me for being Black and smart. Many Asian Americans have just tripped and didn't know what to think about me. But since I was smart I got some respect. But most of them still wouldn't want me to date their son or daughter, sister or brother. Some White gay people have tried to run a trip on me for being black and smart and for not believing my gay identity is the most amazing and wonderful thing about me. Christians have tried to run a trip on me for not being "one of them" and for being gay. Alternative spirituality people have tried to run a trip on me for being Black and smart and wise and learned and confident and happy and not needing their guru nor teacher nor their teachings to reach the awarenesses I have reached.

IV

A different neo-Advaita person or student of Ramana Maharshi defriends me on facebook almost every week for God only knows what reason(s) because they never say why. At some point I had to just look at all of that; laugh, cry, then laugh some more and then cry some more and finally just realize-- you know what, this isn't really about me. This is their stuff. And you know what else, I'm not going to carry it anymore. I have enough of my own stuff to carry.

And for those moments I liberate myself from all the knowledge of everyone being one and everything being good and nothing existing and nothing being real and I simply celebrate my Black, Gay, Smart, Wise, Lucky Self. That's right-- mySelf, Myself, I, I, I, I... I love me, just the way I AM... Me , MySelf and I, baby. Now, you go deal with that! (big gay black, finger snap in a circle!)

V

This is my Song of Freedom... And I have realized that too many people have died so that I may be free. And Free I am. And Free I shall remain... Now, I'm not talking about no political freedom nor freedom from social constraints nor freedom from an enslavement created in and enforced by the minds of men. I'm talkin' 'bout freedom with a Capital "F" y'all. That's what I'm talkin' about. And when I got me a taste of that Freedom. Well, whew, there may be valleys and there may be peaks; there may be good days and there may be not so good days. But this is not a Freedom that can ever be threatened by the pull of the moon nor the threat of war or not even by death. This is a Freedom that can only be known about from the inside out. And once it is known, there ain't really no talkin' to be done anymore. This Freedom is beyond all that; its beyond words and concepts.

But you know what? I'm gonna talk about it whenever I can, because I can. And when a whole bunch of us are talkin' about it, then a song will be raised to the heavens. And like Bob Marley says, who I share a birthday with...Hallelujah...when that happens--- it will be a Redemption Song. It will truly be a song of Freedom...

VI

Yes, the guards were all imagined, the prison gates are no longer locked and all our attorney fees have been paid in full. Come join me in Rumi's field that is beyond right and wrong and where we will look into each others eyes forever and know that there is nothing more beautiful than either the other who is looking back nor the reflection we see, nor the field itself...

Won't you help to sing... this songs of freedom... 'cause all I ever have: Redemption songs... Redemption songs.

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Friday, November 19, 2010

Today's Wisdom from Mark Twain

A lie can travel halfway around the world while the truth is putting on its shoes.” ~Mark Twain
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Wednesday, September 1, 2010

Senses

I searched in silence for the feel of your beauty.
I blessed the sands for proof of your truth.
I tasted the wind for the sound of you listening.
I touched the earth for a peace anew.
I found them all. In Life. In dying.
I found them all.
And so have you.

sage mahosadha
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Saturday, August 21, 2010

Underneath the Noise

Underneath the seemingly nonstop chatter of our minds and our stories and the intrusion of other people's stories and the stories about stories is the silence which is truly nonstop. I will meet you there. I will have a flower for you. And a smile.

Raven Mahosadha
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Monday, July 26, 2010

Forever

Underneath all this noise is...the quiet. Let's meet there and look at the flowers. Then let's look at each other...forever...

sage mahosadha
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Monday, March 22, 2010

Today's Wisdom From Pablo Neruda

"I love you without knowing how or when or from where. I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride. So I love you because I know no other way than this..."

Pablo Neruda
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Wednesday, March 3, 2010

The Sword That Cuts Through Illusion

A mirror
A blind eye
A sword

Who do we view as the other? The poor? The wealthy elite? The homeless? Republicans? Democrats? Convicted sex offenders? Illegal immigrants? Transgender people? Atheists? Crack addicts? Serial killers?

Who do we see as our enemy? The person who gave us HIV? The ex who dumped us and who we still love... deeply? The person beside us who reeks of piss? The co-worker who stole our research? The parent who never loved us?

Who would we deny? The child within who still cries and laughs and recovers? The goddess inside longing to be free? The state of independence resisting all efforts to be colonized, the siege of mediocrity, the calls for resignation, the slavery of the heart, and dark night of the soul... The sword that cuts through illusion
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Thursday, November 5, 2009

Peace Prayer of St. Francis of Assisi (revised by James Twyman and the World Community of Saint Francis)


Lord, I AM an instrument of Thy peace.
Where there is Hatred,
I AM Love
Where there is Injury,
I AM Healing
Where there is Doubt,
I AM Faithful
Where there is Darkness,
I AM Light

Creator, through Unconditional Love,
I choose to be Compassionate,
I choose to be Understanding,
I choose Love,
I choose to See You in all Others and Myself,
I choose to Give, Trusting in my Replenishment,
I choose to Allow, Knowing that all is in Divine Order,
And I choose to Surrender,
Knowing that this truly is the path of Freedom.
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Tuesday, November 3, 2009

I Have Come Into This World...

I have come into this world to see this:
the sword drop from men's hands even at the height
of their arc of anger because we have finally realized there is just one flesh to wound and it is His - the Christ's, our
Beloved's.

I have come into this world to see this: all creatures hold hands as
we pass through this miraculous existence we share on the way
to even a greater being of soul, a being of just ecstatic light, forever entwined and at play with Him.

I have come into this world to hear this:
every song the earth has sung since it was conceived in
the Divine's womb and began spinning from
His wish,

every song by wing and fin and hoof,
every song by hill and field and tree and woman and child,
every song of stream and rock,

every song of tool and lyre and flute,
every song of gold and emerald
and fire,

every song the heart should cry with magnificent dignity
to know itself as God:for all other knowledge will leave us again in want and aching-
only imbibing the glorious Sun will complete us.

I have come into this world to experience this:
men so true to love
they would rather die before speaking
an unkind word, men so true their lives are His covenant -
the promise of hope.

I have come into this world to see this:
the sword drop from men's hands
even at the height of their arc of rage
because we have finally realized
there is just one flesh we can wound.


Hafiz
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