aunt agatha-migration

You're right.

Written at the Dwelling of a Recluse

Even though you have a brushwood door,

it hasn't been shut for a long time;

a few clouds, a few trees

have been your only companions.

Still, I suspect if you stay longer,

people will learn of this spot;

we'll see you moving

higher on the mountain.

--Chia Tao (779-843)

You have lived a long time

at Pa-hsing Temple;

retired, you're preparing

only now to leave.

On the verge of parting, we look

out upon bright autumn water;

you're not returning to your hometown,

nor to the country around it.

You will hang your Buddhist staff in a tree

where the sky reaches to a watery horizon;

where the door-leaf of your hut

opens on great mountains.

Below, you will see dawn

a thousand li away:

a miniature sun

born of a cold white sea.

Chia Tao (779-843)

i see much hesitancy in destroying the temple.

it does not matter. is she not with us always?

blessed be the goddess. and blessed be her son.

we will end tonight.

one last drink my friends. let us drink the nectar

that has been offered to us.

from The song of Songs

song 1: 5-6

I am dark, daughters of Jerusalem,

And I am beautiful!

Dark as the tents of Kedar, lavish

As Solomon's tapestries.

Do not see me only as dark. The sun

Has stared at me.

My brothers were angry with me.

They made me guard the vineyards.

I have not guarded my own.

The Shulammite (ca. 3rd c. B.C.E.)

everyone is welcome.

Leave Crete,

Aphrodite,

and cone to this

sacred place

encircled by apple trees,

fragrant with offered smoke.

Here, cold springs

sing softly

amid the branches;

the ground is shady with roses;

from trembling young leaves,

a deep drowsiness pours.

In the meadow,

horses are cropping

the wildflowers of spring,

scented fennel

blows on the breeze.

In this place,

lady of Cyprus, pour

the nectar that honors you

into our cups,

gold, and raised up for drinking.

-Sappho (7th c. B.C.E.)

I searched for my Self

until I grew weary,

but no one, I know now,

reaches the hidden knowledge

by means of effort.

Then, absorbed in "Thou art This,"

I found the place of wine.

there all the jars are filled,

but no one is left to drink.

Lal Ded (14th c.?)

the gods and goddesses do not judge us. there are jugs of wine. open the corks. and let the goddess come among us.

the night is young my friend. come over to the party.

Coursing in emptiness,

I, Lalla,

dropped off body and mind,

and stepped into the Secret Self.

Look: Lalla the sedgeflower

blossomed a lotus.

Lal Ded (14th c.?)

drink up my friends. this night is fresh.

i'm a little drunk.

let me quote bruce in more acceptable english.

"Thanks, remember in the end, nobody wins unless everyone wins.

-bruce springsteen

Thanks, remember in the end, nobody wins unless everyone wins.

Bruce Springsteen.

join with me in bowing before her.

As a symbol

of sacred mysteries,

I, Sabina,

daughter of Lampadius

and so of an honorable person,

here erected

to Attis and Rhea

an altar forever.

Deo's orgies

and the terrifying

Hekate nights

I experienced.

Sabina lampadius (fl. ca. 377)

my friends, do not fear the temple. the gods and goddesses will stand with us.

From the mind

of a single, long vine,

one hundred opening lives.

Chiyo;-ni (1703-1775)

those who have torches, light them.

it sounds like we are getting ready.

Taoist Master In Mountains

You've brushed your hair

a thousand strokes;

but your gaunt face shows

you've been eating grain.

You raise crane chicks

to full maturity;

plant seeds

to grow tall pines.

A Taoist concoction simmers

through the night;

a cold stream pounds

through the day.

Never far from this

secluded place,

what people of the world

could ever find you?

Chia Tao (779-843)

O my Lord,

if I worship you

from fear of hell, burn me in hell.

If I worship you

from hope of Paradise, bar me from its gates.

But if I worship you

for yourself alone, grant me then the beauty of your Face.

rabi'a (717-801)

moderators, please join us.

i'm being censored. i posted a beautiful and loving poem. it has been pulled.

Cast off all shame,

and sell yourself

in the marketplace;

then alone

can you hope

to reach the lord.

Cymbals in hand,

a veena upon my shoulder,

I go about; who dares to stop me?

The pallav of my sari

falls away (A scandal!);

yet will I enter

the crowded marketplace

without a thought.

Mani says, My Lord,

I have become a slut

to reach your home

Vilas Sarang