Poems come to my life
I have recently watched "What the Bleep Do We Know" and "The Secret". There are many elements of truth, I think, reading within the graphics. Also, a book which fell into my hands, Chopra's How To Know God. Brilliant. And here is more of spirit, one from Herman Hesse, and one from my late aunt, found in her papers. Both speak, I think, to my poetic preoccupations: spiritual growth and how it connects with our unity. Pictured, my cousins (two of Hope's children) and an extended member of the family.Stages
by Hermann Hesse
As every flower fades and as all youth
Departs, so life at every stage,
So every virtue, so our grasp of truth,
Blooms in its day and may not last forever.
Since life may summon us at every age
Be ready, heart, for parting, new endeavor,
Be ready bravely and without remorse
To find new light that old ties cannot give.
In all beginnings dwells a magic force
For guarding us and helping us to live.
Serenely let us move to distant places
And let no sentiments of home detain us.
The Cosmic Spirit seeks not to restrain us
But lifts us stage by stage to wider spaces.
If we accept a home of our own making,
Familiar habit makes for indolence.
We must prepare for parting and leave-taking
Or else remain the slaves of permanence.
Even the hour of our death may send Us
speeding on to fresh and newer spaces,
And life may summon us to newer races. S
o be it, heart: bid farewell without end.
The Blanket
By Hope (Babe) Halsted Hubbert
November 21, 1974
The Blanket of love, so warm and clean
Wipes away the past – which never should have been
Taking with it - the bitter hurts
Cleaning up - that pile of dirt
Brightening the future, so beautifully bare
By telling the past – it was never there
Shortening the memory, from day to day
So the Blanket of love, can have her way.
The Blanket of love, can have no pride
Not even one corner of self, to hide
It opens itself to everyone
Where the truth of tomorrow, has just begun.
The demon of self, lays, covered with dust
The Blanket of love, cleans off all that rust
Forgiving – what was yesterday
So the Blanket of love, can have her way.
Taking the hurts – yet to be born
Covering them up, so cosy and warm
It cannot remember – it always forgets
And kills the memory, of all our regrets.
This sin covering Blanket, has a wonderful art
It can put life together, or take it apart
Exquisitely sketching a pattern sublime
From out of the realm, of spaceless time
Like painting a picture, with an artful brush
And tossing the clouds, into a sunset’s blush
Inking the clouds, and deepening the night
Molding the future, by putting things right
Removing the pieces, that should have been better
And fading them out, forever and ever.
Such a warm lilting Blanket, giving new birth
Kissing with love, like nothing on earth
Humming a song, that is wholesomely plain
And chanting our thoughts, toward heaven again.
This Blanket of love, is holding the key
To smother the monster of self, within me
Wooing it gently, as never before
Disarming the heart, and unlocking the door
Soaring the spirit, as high as a kite
Capturing with love, and giving new sight
Like bursting the “Milkweed” that is ready to bloom
Tearing it open, to give it more room
Removing the miserable self, from the Pod
And leaving the heart full, of nothing but God.
Rest in peace, lovely Aunt.
posted by Heather Cardin @ 12:52 PM
1 comments
