Thursday, October 21, 2010
How hard it is to let go, to leave the comfort of the womb, but unless we give ourselves to it completely without any thoughts as to the outcome, we surely die. If the caterpillar resists burying itself within its self made sarcophagus, it will shrivel up, whither, and die. Even as it finishes its own tomb, wraps itself in its shroud, it begins to come apart, dissolve into its own imaginal or primordial soup. These cells know what to do, and in its connection back to Source, to its Divine Essence, a reformation and rebirth takes place bringing forth one of nature's most beautiful and most fragile creatures, the butterfly.
Why then do we resist so when Spirit calls to us? Why do we fear so this natural way of it?
I allow myself to die.
I give in to Divine urge,
To be birthed anew.
I trust the Joy of knowing,
There is more to know.
More to be.
And in my Eternal Soul,
I am That, I am.
Monday, October 11, 2010
that opened and consumed me so quickly?
Come back, my friend. The form of our love is not a created form.
Nothing can help me, but that beauty.
There was a dawn I remember
when my soul heard something from your soul.
I drank water from your spring
and felt the current take me.
Translation by Coleman Barks
This Rumi poem recently brought up some strong feelings within me reaching
out to many areas of my life, but none so profound as my relationship with
Spirit, just as this relates to Rumi's relationship with "Shams of Tabriz."