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  • Writer's pictureCile

Episode One Hundred Fifty One, Dropping Keys

Not everyone is given to wonderment of the mystery of life. I'm not even sure if these fascinations are an honest pastime. It doesn't really matter to me because I enjoy thinking about unthinkable things. I like having unanswered questions. I'm wired for wonder and I receive a deep sense of pleasure in pondering life's mysteries. This is especially true regarding finding a treasure amid the rubble of everyday life - flotsam jetsam that I know that I would not have found without my being given to distraction, whimsy and a keen eye for patterning occurring around me. Whether it is a key to a lock or a key in a scale of musical notes, there is the power of creating a portal.

So I'm primed for finding keys - or informational clues - as to the nature of things. Sometimes that unlocking of an epiphany is huge but most times it is just a small revelation or a comforting validation of the presence of soul consciousness. As I age, I am learning the nature of dropping keys that Hafiz speaks of. A key to a lock can be handed over for a song but it is much more valuable if it is recognized by finding as it is then received at the exact right time.

Thank you for listening.

Music: Some of the best songs of my life in listening to popular music arrive seemingly like a comet that hurls through the spiral of space and time defying all known laws of earthly symmetry. That, for me is where all the juicy bits are in a song. When a songwriter and/or composer is asked how they wrote a song and they say, "I don't know, really, I just sat down and wrote it. It flowed out of me." I think' "Yessss that is a song that I want to hear!" Not always but often there is something of value seeking an audience in such works. By the end of these kinds of songs, one can hear padlocks falling, doors swinging wide open and hearts wandering outside the confines of their normally judicious wonder. Like this song, Dreams by Fleetwood Mac

Thunder only happens when it's raining

Players only love you when they're playing

Say... Women... they will come and they will go

When the rain washes you clean... you'll know, you'll know

The original post in this series of poems by Hafiz (including an addendum regarding the authenticity of these poems) can be found here. Also, my thoughts on this series a year into these poems, HERE.

The Gift: Poems by Hafiz and translated by Daniel Ladinsky can be purchased here.


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