May 27, 2012

Blank blue sky and sun, mockingbirds doing what they do, singing every other bird's song.  Cicadas beginning with the sun to make a rhythm of noise, the trees and the grass alive with it, each one its own sound, blending with or crossing others, until there is just one long background with the occasional solo loud or close enough to be distinguished.  Flipping through the trees wrens come to see if there is water, and leave without thirst.  A pair of cardinals sit on a near branch, their heads touching, leaning into each other, suddenly at some signal they leap into the air and race away.  The cat looks up from his spot of sun and does nothing but look.   There is just enough air moving to make leaves sway and tip as if some invisible creature passed among then and did not stop.

Sunday and the blessing . . .

Out of the Mouths of a Thousand Birds

Listen -
Listen more carefully to what is around you
Right now.

In my world
There are the bells from the clanks
Of the morning milk drums,

And a wagon wheel outside my window
Just hit a bump

Which turned into an ecstatic chorus
Of the Beloved's Name.

There is the Prayer Call
Rising up like the sun
Out of the mouths of a thousand birds.

There is an astonishing vastness
Of movement and Life

Emanating sound and light
From my folded hands

And my even quieter simple being and heart.

My dear,
Is it true that your mind
Is sometimes like a battering
Ram

Running all through the city,
Shouting so madly inside and out

About the ten thousand things
That do not matter?

Hafiz, too,
For many years beat his head in youth

And thought himself at a great distance,
Far from an armistice
With God.

But that is why this scarred old pilgrim
Has now become such a sweet rare vintage
Who weeps and sings for you.

O listen -
Listen more carefully
To what is inside of you right now.

In my world
All that remains is the wondrous call to
Dance and prayer

Rising up like a thousand suns
Out of the mouth of a
Single bird.

Hafiz

I'm not sure what I prefer, a sun rising from the throats of a thousand birds, or a thousand suns from a single bird.  At the moment, this moment, it's a thousands suns from a thousand cicadas, with the birds making their own shining songs.   Some days I feel like Hafiz, a long way from an armistice with God, but more often now, nearly old, I have come to that place where we don't fight, where we agree, God and I, not to try to figure out everything, to define everything, to ask questions that will never be answered in this life, but are willing to, like the pair of cardinals, lean into each other, and fly from there.  Today, this Sunday, I am going to make food for a family meal, enjoy their company, say my prayers, let my heart dance among those sunlit leaves.  I'm going to listen to the thousand suns from a thousand birds or cicadas or from just one, from my own heart, I'm going to listen and smile and make my own sun rising up through this lovely day.