Suresh offers a nice reminder today:
Are you living? Is there a dance in your life? Are you moving, growing, risking, taking the challenges of dangerous paths? In the acceptance of the danger, in the acceptance that anything can happen any moment, life comes to its best, to its fullest.
His irreverent spirituality reminds me of Hafiz . As the wheels of E-Commerce are spinning around me, I am spinning inwardly in a dance before my Creator like a whirling dervish.
A word for the day from one of my favorite poets:
“To find my home in one sentence, concise, as if hammered in metal. Not to enchant anybody. Not to earn a lasting name in posterity. An unnamed need for order, for rhythm, for form, which three words are opposed to chaos and nothingness.”
Czeslaw Milosz
Before you get totally immersed in technobabble world today, why not pause and listen to the thoughts of a 14th century Sufi mystic.
I hold the Lion’s Paw
Whenever I dance.
I know the ecstasy of the falcon’s wings
When they make love against the sky,
And the sun and the moon
Sometimes argue over
Who will tuck me in at night.
If you think I am having more fun
Than anyone on this planet
You are absolutely correct.
But Hafiz
Is willing to share all his secrets
About how to befriend God.
Indeed dear ones,
Hafiz is so very willing
To share all his secrets
About how to know the
Beautiful
One.
I hold the Lion’s Paw whenever I dance.
Hafiz
This week we are meditating on the sudden, hopeful return of Christ. I’ve chosen a short poem that captures this sense of suddenness. This poem is written by Rowan Williams, the Archbishop of Canterbury. Let us remember to pray for him and all our brothers and sisters in Anglican Communion.
Advent Calendar
He will come like last leaf’s fall.
One night when the November wind
has flayed trees to bone, and earth
wakes choking on the mould,
the soft shroud’s folding.
He will come like the frost.
One morning when the shrinking earth
opens on mist, to find itself
arrested in the net
of alien, sword-set beauty.
He will come like dark.
One evening when the bursting red
December sun draws up the sheet
and penny-masks its eye to yield
the star-snowed fields of sky.
He will come, will come,
will come like crying in the night,
like blood, like breaking,
as the earth writhes to toss him free.
He will come like child.
Rowan Williams
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