Although the wind blows terribly here, the moonlight also leaks between the roof planks of this ruined house. by Izumi Shikibu translated by Jane Hirshfield This poem by Izumi Shikibu, who was one of the greatest female poets of the Heian period in Japan, captures what is, I think, one of the biggest…
If death is inevitable, if it is a sure thing that this face, these hands, this body that holds a lifetime of this living, will, someday, no longer be here, if you don’t get to take a single thing with you — then — why spend a moment more refusing, worrying about who might disapprove,…
Down near the bottom of the crossed-out list of things you have to do today, between “green thread” and “broccoli” you find that you have penciled “sunlight.” Resting on the page, the word is as beautiful, it touches you as if you had a friend and sunlight were a present he had sent you from…
I’ve learned to live simply, wisely, To look at the sky and pray to God, And to take long walks before evening To wear out this useless anxiety. When the burdocks rustle in the ravine And the yellow-red clusters of rowan nod, I compose happy verses About mortal life, mortal and beautiful life. I return.…
Have you ever seen anything in your life more wonderful than the way the sun, every evening, relaxed and easy, floats toward the horizon and into the clouds or the hills, or the rumpled sea, and is gone– and how it slides again out of the blackness, every morning, on the other side of the…
I like when the music happens like this: Something in His eye grabs hold of a tambourine in me, then I turn and lift a violin in someone else, and they turn, and this turning continues; it has reached you now. Isn’t that something? by Rumi, interpreted by Daniel Ladinsky What is it for…
What if recognizing diamonds was enough to make them yours and you saw them now everywhere? On the sunlit ocean; in the moonless sky; on winter fields and the tips of branches after the rain; in smiling faces; the brook; the lake; the stream; the kitchen stove; stairs; puddles, ice, clouds; anywhere life glimmers and…
It is a kind of love, is it not? How the cup holds the tea, How the chair stands sturdy and foursquare, How the floor receives the bottoms of shoes Or toes. How soles of feet know Where they’re supposed to be. I’ve been thinking about the patience Of ordinary things, how clothes Wait respectfully…
Geese appear high over us, pass, and the sky closes. Abandon, as in love or sleep, holds them to their way, clear in the ancient faith: what we need is here. And we pray, not for new earth or heaven, but to be quiet in heart, and in eye, clear. What we need is here.…