Archive
Remembrance: a poem about surrender
I’ve been in a soft place lately pondering my resistance to a chant that Deva Premal and Miten offer frequently during their Gayatri Sangha gatherings on Saturdays. The chant is one Miten wrote: “Into your hands I lay my spirit, Into your hands I lay my life…” When Miten wrote this years ago he did not realize these were basically the final words attributed to Jesus as he was dying on the cross.
So, my resistance is partly a result of my Christian background and my own negative reactions to the conditioning I am working through and beyond. And a piece (peace) of the “beyond” is to soften if not release the resistance.
As I contemplated this yesterday the Sufi chant, the Zikr (Remembrance) came to mind; I learned this during my seminary days and have often embraced it as a comforting prayer: “La Ilaha Illa Allah.” And then it finally hit me: if there is no reality but God, then anything I chant or recite is part of that godliness!
Here’s a poem to explore this:
Remembrance
I feel a distance that is not there,
separating, carving an empty gulf
that’s not real, only imagined in a
foolish mind.
As the distance narrows, disappears,
I sense resistance pressing hard to
release the powerful pull of a
longing heart.
As the resistance softens, collapses,
remembrance grabs my wandering
soul. The Sufi Zikr lights the way
showing all I need to know.
Mergence is that simple way, no distance,
no resistance, only remembering:
There’s no reality but God;
There is only God.
©2023 Richard W. Bredeson. All rights reserved.
New Year poem: “New Year”
I received two great books for Christmas: “Cosmogenesis, An Unveiling of the Expanding Universe” by Brian Swimme, and “The Dao De Jing, A Qigong Interpretation” by Dr. Yang, Jwing Ming. They are both excellent and have my mind swirling around the center-point of “being/not-being.” What is this life, this consciousness, this reflection of the material, manifest creation back on itself, all about?
So here’s my reflection on time as it slips through our consciousness at an ever, seemingly, faster pace. Happy 2023 to you all!
New Year
They say it all began with a bang.
Somehow the ISST blew up:
What Hawkings named, inelegantly,
The Initial Singularity of Space-Time.
Out of nothing, Sunyata, Wuji, Dao,
Came something, Rupa, De.
All manifest reality—boom!
And we were there.
One outward pulse pushed the Universe
Through the black hole of emptiness.
Echoes of that birth reverberate
In every birth, breath, beat, death.
Every twitch, tick, ebb, flow, cycle
Marks a memory of that first pulse.
Every calendar change by sun or moon,
Reminds us it is always a New Year.
©2022 Richard W. Bredeson. All rights reserved.
A Winter Solstice Poem: My Life as a Poem (revised)
Revision: As I reviewed this post sorting through my word docs and rereading the poem (reviewing my life!) I realized I had left off the last verse (a cut and paste error)! So I have added that verse back in. How could I forget “love”? The poem (my life) is now complete.
In October I wrote “My Prayer” in the form of a poem. These words have stuck with me; they pop into my mind frequently during the day as I practice life. So I’m not surprised at this reprisal, an echo of that prayer as I wrote this poem on the Solstice and Conjunction.
My Life as a Poem
Waking to my day, a new page,
The threads of a dream drift away
On the winds of another life,
A poem gone now, glimpsed, forgotten.
Today a new dream begins, a new
Story of my own creating,
Speaking to the future, trusting in
The worthiness of these words.
Practice, it all begins and ends there.
Story is practice, a moving toward
Perfection, evolving with a rhythm;
Sometimes involving a rhyme.
With repetition the story evolves
Into a poem: my life as a poem.
For slips and slights I practice
Forgiveness – changing my perception.
Sometimes the words don’t come,
Resisting the page refusing to flow.
For the hesitance, the lurches I practice
Patience – waiting on the muse.
Regretting all that I have lost, resenting
What has been taken or misplaced;
For the destruction and death I practice
Praise – remembering life is ecstatic!
The suffering millions weigh heavily on my heart;
Stafford got it right when he said:
“The darkness around us is deep.” I practice
Compassion – wanting to save with my words.
These words may not be worthy as those of
The Bard of Stratford-upon-Avon. Yet, I read
And weep and rejoice and sing. And I practice
Wisdom – moving toward the light.
For all the grace, the wisdom, the compassion
I reach for words to reflect the deep.
I look up at the moon and practice
Gratitude – knowing they’ll appear complete.
At the end of the day, practice done
I realize I have one more line to
Write, one from my heart; and I practice
Love – the Love Poem of My Life.
©2020 Richard W. Bredeson. All rights reserved.
A Friday Poem: My Prayer
A few weeks ago I enjoyed several offerings by the Shift Network during their Global Summit. One of the most profound talks was by Andrew Harvey, a “modern mystic” for our times. His talk was an impassioned call to address the five crises humanity faces, and the five responses that are required to bring about a new paradigm for our survival on the planet.
I’ve been working on my responses. One of them is a prayer to bring about the new paradigm, the new way for humans to evolve and thrive on Mother Earth, a New Vision for Humanity. Here is my prayer:
My Prayer
Sitting in the midst of chaos,
Anger bubbling beneath the waves,
I practice: Forgiveness!
Wondering at the edge of time,
Anxiety rising to the surface,
I practice: Patience!
Feeling the loss of all that’s dear,
Grief hanging heavy all around,
I practice: Praise!
Witnessing the suffering everywhere,
Greed holding power in the world,
I practice: Compassion!
Knowing humanity is evolving now, with
Ignorance still shading the light,
I practice: Wisdom!
Realizing there is a greater good at work,
Trust breaking through to ignite souls,
I practice: Gratitude!
Awakening to a New World together,
Love shattering these old patterns,
I practice: Love!
©2020 Richard W. Bredeson. All rights reserved.
Friday’s poem, third in the trilogy this week: “Next”
I’m sitting here, all in white with my mantra and mala beads, fresh from the first day of “retreat” with Deva Premal & Miten and Manose. I’m feeling very mellow, connected, in a deep state of peace. And, yes, almost like this is “Next.” Rosemary and I are in retreat within the Gayatri Sangha for seven days, every day at 1:00 pm EDT. The energy that Miten is invoking for us each of these days is that of “Compassion, Forgiveness and Gratitude.” These are deep blessings for all of us to bring peace and joy into our lives! May it be so for you. May this be the next step for humanity!
Next
When I stop long enough to dream, to
Consider what comes next—there hovers
At the edge of my perception a
Disturbance in the air, a blur, a rush—
It’s like the invisible whir of Hummingbird
Wings; little tornadoes just beyond—
A flicker at the corner of eyesight,
A glint of movement too fine to be.
I wonder what higher consciousness looks like.
Is it a monk sitting silently on a cushion in a corner?
Is it even a human form available to five senses?
Perhaps it is that disturbance at the edge, beyond.
I cannot linger here for long in a conscious state,
Exploring this edge of what remains real.
I drift into a different dream and shift in shock
To wonder: Is this fluttering vibration a next me?
©2020 Richard W. Bredeson. All rights reserved.
A Monday poem: “Raw”
Happy New Moon! It “fell into the Sun” at 1:33 pm EDT. I am ready for new, something fresh, a new beginning!
I began to think about this poem as I was grieving the loss of a dear friend a few weeks ago. My feelings were raw and I wanted to express them. But they had to simmer, to cook for a bit before I could write this down. And then other titles kept coming up. My thoughts turned into a trilogy; I’ll be publishing them this week, today, Wednesday and Friday. The first is:
Raw
Dough—cookie, bread, Mom’s baking;
Snitch, pinch, tasting, testing;
So delicious—raw. Then add the
Heat, alchemy in the oven. Baked.
Meat—beef, pork, lamb, I’m roasting, grilling;
Blood dripping—raw. Then fire, wood smoking,
Fat sizzling. Aromas arouse olfactory senses:
Gustatory delights cooked, offered.
Feelings—grief, anger, fear—these are raw.
Old age, sickness and death never ending;
Samsara cooks us, yet leaves us undone,
Half-baked, simmering, salty, sour, bitter.
Power—force, control, seizing freedoms,
Unleashing aggression, anger, instilling fear;
Raw emotions open hostility in the Human
Heart—half-baked understanding selves.
Wisdom—presence, open mind dawning,
Leading to a deepening understanding,
Transmuting the raw to a fully baked
Human to rise from the fire into Light.
©2020 Richard W. Bredeson. All rights reserved.
A midi-week poem to celebrate the book launch: “Heavy Lift”
Yesterday (July 7, 2020) I was feeling really wiped out; very low energy, tired, weighed down. Maybe it was the weekend full moon and eclipse; maybe it’s the heat and heavy weather, heavy energy; maybe it’s the ongoing pandemic and the disaster that seems unabated here in the US; maybe it is the collapse of everything we thought to be true and dear as we struggle under the weight of not knowing…
I feel better today. And it feels good to have launched the collaborative book I’m a part of (see yesterday’s post). Maybe that’s one weight lifted from my shoulders. And to celebrate this I did return to my poetry journal to ask some questions about this weighty time:
Heavy Lift
Does the Sun feel the Moon’s weight
As He lifts Her above the horizon
To better see Himself in Her mirror?
Is it a heavy lift?
Does God feel Man’s weight
As She lifts Him out of darkness
To better reflect Her image?
Is it a heavy lift?
Evolution is hard work for the gods
Raising Consciousness up a rung
To better realize creation’s Light.
It is a heavy lift!
Ascension is a steep and lonely climb;
It is an inside job for the strong of heart;
Energy runs high in this rarified Love.
It is a heavy lift!
©2020 Richard W. Bredeson. All rights reserved.
A Friday poem during this time of pausing in the mystery: The Good Things
As I was writing my “morning pages” this morning I reflected on our situation with this COVID 19 pandemic affecting the entire human population. I’m looking at it as a “pause” – a time we need to stop and reflect on our choices, our values, our behavior. And we now have the time to do this! From this musing I thought about all the good things that are happening and can happen in the middle of this pause.
What do you think “the good things” are?
The Good Things
A message from Omen Crow:
You are in the dark; this is a shadow-time;
The mystery is yet to be revealed. But
There is no need for fear; fear is a choice!
Human activity is reduced and already
Pollution is clearing. Is there any doubt about
The connection? Humans will live differently
On and with the Planet.
And this is a good thing!
Humans will question more: about your lives,
What life is, why you are here. You will question
Your values; you will do more inner work.
And this is a good thing!
Humans will get more rest, eat better, breathe
Cleaner air, drink more water; you will feel better.
And this is a good thing!
Families will bond. Communities will form on
Technology platforms. Shared values will bond
And blend you in new villages where you will
Support one another through love.
And this is a good thing!
Ultimately you will form a Global Herd. Herd
Immunity will develop to create your protection.
And this is a good thing!
Humans are “all in this together.” Many of you
Are echoing this refrain. It will bring you to the
Place of Oneness.
And this is a good thing!
©2020, Richard W. Bredeson, all rights reserved.
A Presidents Day Poem: Currency for the Debt
On Presidents’ Day my thoughts often turn to Washington and Lincoln and their birthday month. When I was a kid we celebrated both days, the 12th for Lincoln and the 22nd for Washington. Now, I guess for the sake of commerce and profit we can only take one day to observe both, or even all of the Presidents that have served us.
And yes, debt is on my mind as we careen toward a trillion dollar deficit! But there is so much more we owe than dollars! One of my most esteemed teachers, Martín Prechtel, often spoke of the Mayan philosophy that we are all born into debt and can never really get out of debt. This is my theme for the day.
Currency for the Debt
We are born into debt; we die in debt.
We stand on the bones of the ancestors
Gazing outward and we wonder:
What is the currency to pay this debt?
Our freedom is bought by the lives of those who defend us.
Our land is bought with the blood of those who have gone before.
Our blessings are bought with the hard labor of slaves.
What is the currency for our security?
The metal we have is leached from our ancestors’ bones.
The blood we have was shed by the soldiers and slaves we lost.
The freedom we have was saved by those who sacrificed all.
And security: Do we pay this debt with our freedom?
Democracy is demanding our attention to this debt.
Presidents have paid dearly to pave this costly way.
And yet, we wonder: would we throw it all over
For the surety of one more breath, one more bite?
©2020, Richard W. Bredeson, all rights reserved.
A Friday Poem for the US, with Love: “Get Out the Vote”
Happy Valentine’s Day! Love is in the air. And you may wonder where the love is when you read my poem today.
One of my heroes is Robert Bly. I’ve had the privilege of studying “at his feet” – yes, literally. And I read and reread his poems often. One of my favorite refrains he has written is “It’s already too late!” This is from his second collection of ghazals: “My Sentence was a Thousand Years of Joy” and the poem titled “Listening to Shahram Nazeri.” So, the other day as I was listening to the news, a commentator said something like: “how far is too far?” And my immediate thought was “it’s already too far!” So, with apologies to Robert I am echoing his refrain in the following:
Get Out the Vote
Russia, if you are listening; Lock her up:
Call and response, chant the chant,
Lies and deceit, cover up: it’s already too far.
Get out the vote, trolls take note, purge the rolls,
Establish the doubt, break the booth;
Lies and deceit: it’s already too far!
Electoral College completes the lie; three million votes,
worthless; Michigan’s few thousand swing the tide.
We begin the slide; it’s already too far!
State is in shambles, FBI firings, DOJ meddlings, DOD
next? Fourth Estate attacked day and night;
Can’t hide the slide: it’s already too far!
Babies in cages, walls blowing down, Native lands sullied,
Rivers muddied, bridges collapsed, brown water sickens:
American carnage, yes: it’s already too far.
Laws don’t matter, impeachment’s ignored,
Power unbounded in the name of us all!
Where is the check? Or, is it already too far?
©2020, Richard W. Bredeson, all rights reserved.
Please enjoy!
Men and The Goddess 