now is most definitely the time for transformation!xoerin
It erupts of itself.Or do we make it erupt?I feel that it is happening to me, that I am carried along, willingly.
Erin is right. Now is the time. How could it not be so? The fresh fruit produce the soft new seeds, and the dried seeds are scattered, and transform themselves. And so it goes on. A lovely poem about waiting then acting. The wait is as necessary as the action; the secrecy and the darkness as important as the openness and the light. I like 'Do not / forget what is / always.'
Robert, I feel convinced today that all is and will be well. The waiting is difficult, but yes, necessary! And active, not passive, I think.
"a new livingness waits to be broken -- Open" Most definitely, from the intimacy of that which always IS... I feel it too.... Thank you...
GLAD you feel it, Christine.
i hear this in the voice of eve, speaking to adam ... on the verge of stepping from the center of the garden, past the borders of eden, into time, mortality, potentiality ...and, of course, how that same choice transmutes itself into every life :-).
James, I LOVE that you hear it as Eve ... though it did not occur to me. This makes it a better poem.
A "new livingness" is in the air, methinks. That something must break for it to be open is true (you are writing such yogic poems now, Ruth; or so it seems to this reader). "Do not forget what is/always" Yes.Thank you.
DS, I don't know, but I like the sound of "yogic poems." Thank you.
At a yoga workshop I attended this afternoon, the (rather famous) speaker intoned that the Sufis were the yogis of Turkey and Central Asia, and that Rumi (!) was therefore a yogi. Gosh, who might I have thought of in that moment?
It must be his union with the divine, that makes such sense. But why you would think of me (I assume), I can't imagine. Well oh all right, I had a Rumi blog ... mostly for learning myself. :)
Yes,and you were one of those who introduced me to Rumi, and embraced his worldview, so...
I started thinking about seeds, dear Ruth...wondering how much of the first seed remains in the new? That reminded me of the starter for sourdough bread and how it's a gift that keeps on giving....although hidden in the dark cool center.
Never-ending, Boots. I love it.
you answered in the second stanza what i was thinking at the end of the first, that: yes, there is life, hidden somewhere, deep in the receptacles of even the darkest, most barren corners. there is always life.
Amanda, imagine the seeds, still alive with life, in ruins and buried cities!
All responses are welcome.