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Episode One Hundred Seventy Seven, When The Sun Conceived A Man

I wonder sometimes just how much of a chip off the ol' block of god/star dust/ all that its/ we actually are. How is it that I can sit here picking my nose, struggling with keeping up with the mundane, feeling SO lost most of the time and still claim such a divine standing in reality? It's absurd. There are too few days, in my opinion of being able to jump for joy over being alive and fulfilled.

Sometimes looking within becomes more like rummaging through a junk drawer than tracking some kind of light within. Of course it is just this lack of intimacy with what we need and want that keeps us perpetually set up for catastrophe. There is nothing like a disaster to find us pulling the junk drawer all the way out to spill on the floor allowing us to really take a look at what is IN there. If you are fortunate, you can remember what it was you were looking for in the first place but chances are, the entire adventure has morphed into something completely different post calamity. Now we must touch each thing spilled and ask if it truly brings us joy. Is it any wonder that we all have not dissolved into madness? Seriously. It is not easy being human and even more so being the kind of human that trips over their own stardust /godhead/ omnipotence upon occasion.

In this poem, Hafiz waxes on about the miracle of a life that he experiences. He blesses the very essence of life and asks why such miracles must hide as they do.

We are your yearning brides, why hide it?

We are singed dervish moths.

Our souls know

Of that immaculate fire you keep

That belongs to us!

...but we do know why it is hidden. We are a work in progress and how we unfold and unwrap ourselves into being more present in this life is how we stake our claim to our own divine essence. Still, singing praises for those moments of absolute appreciation and thankfulness for the joy in our lives is a good way to keep the inner lights on while we fumble about for those missing brilliant insights that just might be wedged into the back of that drawer...

Thank you for listening.

Music: This song popped up on Undercurrents Radio the other day. I've have melted many a brain cell in the 60's listening to this song, Cant Find My Way Home by the iconic and astutely named band, Blind Faith. Here, the author of this tune, Steve Winwood, is still thrilling us all singing it - probably looking to the young like he's some old guy by the fire at his cabin in the hills...which he is...but, "Oh, Mona, there is so much more to the story."

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.

My book can be purchased HERE. E-book HERE. The Season Two blogcasts with audio excerpts from my book begin HERE: in Behind The Lines. This reading of the book excerpts in a mixed media format is Season Two of this blog. These recorded excerpts are outside the chronological order in which the book was written. Podcasts with audio only beginning with episode 22 can be found HERE.


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