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.
Old Moon poem: “Heart Sutra Vibe”
I’ve been absent from this blog for too long. My muse has been asleep. Although I write nearly every day there hasn’t been much to stir the creative sap in this old tree. But here we are in old moon energy and somehow that dying moon stimulated something; it feels like an itch. So I scratched it!
The background on this is the Gene Key we find ourselves in with this old moon energy, it’s #52 which Richard Rudd calls “The Sill Point.” This whole system of “Human Design” is based on the I Ching, which you may recall from a number of entries in this blog I refer to for guidance and deeper understanding. The 52nd gate in Human Design, or Gene Key in Richard’s The Gene Keys corresponds to Hexagram 52 in the I Ching; the Gua for 52 is Mountain over Mountain (Gen) which translates to “keeping still.”
So, enjoying this image of stillness, keeping still, the still point, this is the verse that came to me:
Heart Sutra Vibe
Picture a plucked string:
See it vibrate to invisibility,
Moving from something to nothing:
Beyond sound,
Silent stillness.
Picture a still string:
See it stretched to stillness,
Its potential waiting, surrendered:
Beyond sound,
Silent stillness.
There is something in that stillness:
A waiting note not yet heard,
An emptiness filled with hope.
There is nothing in that high vibe:
A note beyond hearing ear,
A form, a new song of hope!
©2022 Richard W. Bredeson. All rights reserved.
A Poem for Saturday, and the times: “What Might Have Been”
I’ve been quiet for a while during our shutdown, shut-in, staying much more within. Maybe my muse has gone inward as well to reflect. And while it might be tempting to begin to emerge from the inner work, to venture into the wide world again, I’m not sure it is time yet. We remain cautious, immune systems strong but not over-taxed. We remain comfortable and well on the inside!
But there are other ways to reach out; my muse is beginning to rise and wonder what it’s all about. Richard shrugs with concern, some frustration, deeply puzzled about the meaning of so much foolishness. Perhaps the muse has a bit of an answer:
What Might Have Been
The passing of a friend, a brother, a lover
Leads deeply to a pondering:
What might have been.
Wars ending in retreat, defeat, chaos
Demand the heart/mind to question:
What might have been?
Sickness, disease, pandemics
Force reflection on community;
What might have been!
Separation, polarization, fear of other
Rend the heart and soul; I wonder
What might have been…
Anger, resentment, frustration with what is
Soften in contemplation:
What might yet be!
©2021 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.
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.
Wednesday’s Poem, second in the trilogy – “Enough”
As I wrote and posted on Monday, I have three poems for this week, kind of a trilogy (at least I think they go together). This one is for my word for 2020: Enough. I have been working with this word, probably my whole life, but wanted to really focus on it this year. It is a very versatile word, applies in many contexts; I’ll let you use your imagination to extend it to your contexts!
Interestingly I’ve chosen to publish this today, July 22, Rosemary’s and my 37th annual celebration of our wedding. But my word does not apply in this context; I can never get enough Rosemary in my life!
I’ll post the third poem, “Next”, on Friday. I’ll let you decide how they fit!
Enough
Breath—so easy, in, out, unconscious,
Sleeping, moving, natural enough.
And when not, gasping, panic
A little death as flow ceases, seizes.
Means—water, food, comfort, semi-conscious
In the flow. Stuff accumulates, enough.
And when not, grasping, panic
A buying frenzy, empty shelves.
Freedom—to breathe, to buy, to be,
To choose what and when is enough.
And when not, gaining higher consciousness,
A steeper climb to see beyond ourselves.
Wisdom—perception is reality, perspective mastery;
The present moment holds it all—enough.
And when not, go deeper, beyond—
Breathe, rest mind, let go, BE.
©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 Saturday poem, a reprise from July 2016: “A Time to Grieve”
I came across a printout of this post from July 8, 2016, as I was clearing out some papers from my office. I read the poem again and thought: wow, here we are in the midst of yet another crisis; maybe the worst one yet! And there will be grief, lots of grief. A new killer is on the loose, not with an automatic weapon designed for war but a tiny COVID-19 virus mutation out to kill as many as it can.
In the nearly four years since I wrote and published this poem the first time, we’ve experienced a lot of loss! I don’t think I need to go through a list; you all know what I’m referring to. But there is still hope; there is still light; there is still love! As we go through the changes brought on by the virus and the mixed responses to it, there will be more loss. There will be more love! We need a lot more love!
So here is what I wrote about the time then, and here is the poem about grief:
From July 8, 2016:
You know there are no coincidences. Everything is in flow, in divine order. The other day I wrote briefly about reading “The Smell of Rain on Dust”, the latest book by my most esteemed teacher, Martín Prechtel. This lovely little book is all about “Grief and Praise” – its subtitle. As I said the other day I’ll write a complete review of it when I have finished savoring every word. But in the meantime I am struck that I have chosen the perfect time to be reading it. It is time to remember how to grieve!
It is with humility and the deepest respect that I offer this riff on Martín’s work. These are his thoughts that I heard from his lips as I sat learning at his feet and I read in his marvelous book. And I offer it to you as a way to cope with a world that seems off the rails. It is only love that can right the wreckage.
A Time to Grieve
We seem to drift, as a nation,
Ever more deeply into violence and divide;
More killings; cops killing “innocents” –
“Innocents” killing cops.
There is an emerging frenzy to this senseless,
Escalating violence. It is so much, so intense.
It is maddening.
And it is not clear where it will end; or when or how.
Martín knows how.
He has spoken and written about it over and over.
We as a nation – as a so called culture –
Have lost the ability to grieve.
In fact this ability has been taught out of us!
Go shopping instead!
This is always the remedy. Consume more.
Eat up the world to mask the grief.
Hide our losses and sorrow
And desperate need of relief through grief
In our purchases.
Salve the wounds over with stuff.
Feel better with that latest broach –
Pin it on over your heart as a shield to hide behind.
Pin together the tatters in your broken heart.
Pretend it is whole; mend the tears
And choke back the tears.
For Heaven’s sake don’t embarrass yourself
With any display that would reveal your vulnerable soul.
That will not do!
There is no comfort there; only in more stuff.
How else do we keep the wheels on this economy
That promises protection, plenty, prosperity for all
And that pursuit, so elusive, of a happy life?
Grief is equally elusive as happiness!
We are not allowed to grieve.
Three days off for our dearest family members.
Take your own time for friends. Then back to work;
Produce so you can consume more.
No, we are not eating the world! There is always more.
Oh, and there will always be poor. Jesus said so;
And he was right about everything.
And they killed him too!
Never mind the poor; they are not worth dying for.
They are not worthy of our life style.
It will end in one of two ways:
We may kill one another as the violence escalates
To a new world war – a Global War on Terror
Brought to you by terror. Fight terror with terror –
It is the American Way. Our violence begets more violence.
It matters not how it began – it only has a violent end.
Or, we may remember how to grieve.
We can go to the sea and cry a river to fill it.
Weep for the deaths.
Weep for the brutality.
Weep for a society gone so wrong.
Weep for the wars.
Weep for the enemies “following orders.”
Weep for the loved ones whose bones we stand upon.
Weep for us, victims and perpetrators alike.
We are all in this together;
And we will never get out alive!
And when we have wept that river
Flowing to the sea, it might then be time to
Remember something else:
Remember the love that brought us into existence.
Remember the beauty of the world.
Remember the generosity of the Universe
Offering enough and more!
Remember to offer in return our praise and gratitude.
There is a cycle to the loss and gain,
The constant flow of less and more.
Know wherever we are in this cycle
It will continue.
There must always be time for grieving
Because there will always be loss.
Life is loss.
There must always be time for praising
Because there is always gain.
Life is love.
Live life to the fullest in grief and praise!
©2016 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.
Please enjoy!
Men and The Goddess 