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Poems for Healing


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You Don’t Have to Act Crazy

You Don’t Have to Act Crazy Anymore

Hafez

You Don’t Have to Act Crazy Anymore –
We all know you were good at that.

Now retire, my dear,
From all that hard work you do

Of bringing pain to your sweet eyes and heart.

Look in a clear mountain mirror –
See the Beautiful Ancient Warrior
And the Divine elements
You always carry inside

That infused this Universe with sacred Life
So long ago

And join you Eternally
With all Existence – with God!reflection-in-water-1


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Ahhh….let’s slow down and remember how to take care of each other.

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Red Brocade

The Arabs used to say,
When a stranger appears at your door,
feed him for three days
before asking who he is,
where he’s come from,
where he’s headed.
That way, he’ll have strength
enough to answer.
Or, by then you’ll be
such good friends
you don’t care.

Let’s go back to that.
Rice? Pine nuts?
Here, take the red brocade pillow.
My child will serve water
to your horse.

No, I was not busy when you came!
I was not preparing to be busy.
That’s the armor everyone put on
to pretend they had a purpose
in the world.

I refuse to be claimed.
Your plate is waiting.
We will snip fresh mint
into your tea.

~Naomi Shihab Nye

 

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“Dare to be your own illumination” – think about that.

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Trust the energy that

Courses through you Trust,

Then take surrender even deeper. Be the

energy.

Don’t push anything away. Follow each

Sensation back to its source

In vastness and pure presence.

Emerge so new, so fresh that

You don’t know who you are.

Welcome in the season of

Monsoons. Be the bridge

Across the flooded river

And the surging torrent

Underneath. Be unafraid of consummate

wonder.

Be the energy and blaze a

Trail across the clear night

Sky like lightning. Dare to

Be your own illumination.

~Donna Faulds

 

 

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You’ll never think of a vulture in the same way after reading this poem.

turkey_vulture_2

Vulture

I had walked since dawn and lay down to rest on a bare hillside
Above the ocean. I saw through half-shut eyelids a vulture wheeling
high up in heaven,
And presently it passed again, but lower and nearer, its orbit
narrowing,
I understood then
That I was under inspection. I lay death-still and heard the flight-
feathers
Whistle above me and make their circle and come nearer.
I could see the naked red head between the great wings
Bear downward staring. I said, ‘My dear bird, we are wasting time
here.
These old bones will still work; they are not for you.’ But how
beautiful
he looked, gliding down
On those great sails; how beautiful he looked, veering away in the
sea-light
over the precipice. I tell you solemnly
That I was sorry to have disappointed him. To be eaten by that beak
and
become part of him, to share those wings and those eyes–
What a sublime end of one’s body, what an enskyment; what a life
after death.
Robinson Jeffers

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