by KateVogt | Jan 28, 2021 | Nature, Spiritual - Inspiration, World Poetry
I am filled with you.
Skin, blood, bone, brain, and soul.
There’s no room for lack of trust, or trust.
Nothing in this existence but that existence.
Rumi
Translated by John Moyne and Coleman Barks
A few days ago the ground crumbled and crunched under footfall. The leaves and pine needles in the wooded areas swirled in the dry winds. Now, with the gift of rain, the soil has become spongy and receptive to the pressure of my boots. Emerald green carpets are everywhere – covering fields, hillsides and lawns with precious blades of grass and ferns. Dandelions sprouts have popped up within the sidewalk cracks, and ferns have filled every open space between stones.
The moisture brings a welcomed relief to what seems like an endless drought. As the earth seems to be silently but visibly rejoicing, I feel my inner compass turn to join in this promise of renewal. The few short showers remind me of the stalwart trust that my father had in the elements. As a farmer in an area of the Great Plains that has very little annual moisture, he would say “it will rain – it always has.” Like most of humanity prior to him, he had a humble and ongoing understanding of humans’ symbiotic connection with the elements and rhythms of nature.
The rain reminds me of the necessity of tears to sustain our souls. They can be those that come with laughter and joy, or sorrow and grief. We need the rivulets and deluges to allow our deepest selves to speak and express far more than everyday words can ever say. Without tears, we begin to forget the first language of the heart that knows compassion, caring, and companionship. Yet, it is just those kind and gentle qualities that allow us to offer to one another a trusting haven, so that the rains can come again, offering revitalization and hope.
Wise words from sages, prophets, and saints inspire me to see anew. While pointing to the eternal essence, Rumi also helps me remember that the heart is woven into the broader ecology of the universe, where there is equitable kinship between humans, the elements, the soil, and all species. He prompts my awareness that the ecology of the heart takes loving care and nourishment. Otherwise, it feels dry and unsated, isolated and longing within its own desert.
As humans, most of us have never been in full harmony within our earthly embodiment. But, I feel the rain and the timeless wisdom of the ancients are invitations to embrace wholeness and the shared nature of the parts of the whole, whether within our body, community, nation, planet, or universe. I feel they are invitations to see the whole of life within one heart. And, in doing so, to have the courage to grieve and begin to repair the parts that have been forgotten or dismissed, so that the whole can inter-live and reimagine a dynamic world. This is not easy, but I want to future generations to have the ability to know, “it will rain – it always has.”
Practice
This short practice invites a pause.
Prepare –
- Sit in front of a table or a desk. Please find a place where you can be alone with yourself.
- If seated on a chair or bench, evenly rest the soles of your feet on the floor.
- Gently tilt your head to one side for three or four breaths. Slowly bring your head to center. Pause. Then, gently tilt your head to the opposite side for a few breaths before bring your head to center again.
- Slowly roll your shoulders in one direction a few times. Then, the other.
- Interlace your fingers with your palms facing your chest. With your fingers interlaced, squeeze your palms and fingers together. Notice which thumb is on top. Then, switch the interlace so that your other thumb is on top.
- Relax your palms wherever they are comfortable, e.g., on your lap.
- Allow your attention to turn toward your breath. Just notice the quality of your breath – is it smooth, raspy, ragged. Just notice. After several breaths, continue on with your practice.
Practice –
- Place your elbows on the table in front of you. Lean in toward the table.
- Bend your elbows and drop your forehead into your palms.
- If comfortable, allow eyes to rest in the heels of your palms.
- Find a comfortable place for your fingers. For example, your fingertips can curl toward the crown of your head and your thumbs toward the sides of your head.
- Allow the weight of your head to be fully supported by your hands. As much as needed, repeat an awareness of letting the weight go. (Often, we hold back from completely letting go.)
- Invite the muscles in your shoulders, jaw, and neck to relax.
- Allow your breath to follow its own pattern. You may even feel like sighing. If so, follow the cues of your body and breath.
- Perhaps imagine that you can release, even it temporarily, all the stress that you’ve been carrying. Again, allow the breath to just be.
- Stay here for as long as is comfortable.
- Very slowly bring your head away from your palms; open your eyes into a soft gaze; begin to sit upright; and, then relax your hands back onto your lap or wherever they are comfortable.
Transition back into your day –
- Remain in quietude for a few moments.
- When you are ready, return to your day.
The verse appears in Mala of the Heart: 108 Sacred Poems, page 88, edited by Ravi Nathwani and Kate Vogt and published by New World Library. Photo by Marc Zimmer. H E A R T H is posted each new and full moon. KateVogt©2021.
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by KateVogt | Jan 24, 2020 | Nature, Spiritual - Inspiration, World Poetry
There is a desert
I long to be walking,
a wide emptiness,
peace beyond any
understanding of it.
Rumi
I felt welcomed by
the still darkness of the new moon sky. All the universe seemed to be in
a slumber. The atmosphere was quiet as an invisible cloud cover shielded
any light from the stars. The birds and neighborhood dogs had yet to stir.
Even the trees were soundless in the quiet, breezeless air.
Although I was far
from the Great Plains where I grew up, the boundless night evaporated all the
miles and years to bring me home. That place of home is where the dark
nights absorb the sky and the land and erase any sense of separateness.
As a child, I would stand in awe of the immensity of such nights and felt that
somehow a supreme, loving presence was everywhere, filling the darkness.
It seems fortunate
to have a warm, childhood memory written into the shrouded nights. It has
the familiar and comforting texture of home, where you can settle in and
ponder. The vastness seems like an empty stage, open to endless
possibility. Here, my own thoughts often ease into the calm
stillness. Nothing to know and nothing to need to know. Past, present,
and even “the now” have no allure.
As the light of the day arises, I watch my thoughts come to life. It has been a temporary respite. I have had a glimpse of what Rumi calls “peace beyond any understanding of it.” As the day moves on, I will carry that peaceful memory like a camel with its water. It won’t be lost or hoarded – just carried along to be shared along the way. Please join me.
Practice
This short practice offers quietude in the pre-dawn. If you have fear of darkness, please skip this practice.
Prepare –
- In early morning before
sunrise, find a comfortable place where you can sit quietly in the
dark.
- If inside, cover as much ambient light as you can, and leave the
overhead lights off.
- If outside, be wise about where you can sit undisturbed by
outside lights, e.g., passing car lights. Ensure you have chosen a place
where you feel safe.
Practice –
- With your eyes open, relax around the corners of your eyes and across the lids.
- Imagine you are slowly easing yourself into the fresh sweetness of this early pre-dawn.
- If helpful, systematically ease any unneeded tension in your muscles:
- Across your face, your chest, your arms, your legs, and then your shoulders and back.
- Then, just sit.
- Remember the sun will soon rise out of this quiet time of the day.
Transition back into your day –
- Sit quietly for a few moments.
- When you are ready, begin your day.
This poem is translated by Coleman Barks and appears in Mala of the Heart: 108 Sacred Poems, page 69, edited by Ravi Nathwani and Kate Vogt and published by New World Library. The photo is by Jeremy Bishop HEARTH is posted each new and full moon. KateVogt©2020.
by KateVogt | Dec 24, 2019 | Love, Nature, Spiritual - Inspiration, Wisdom to Live By, World Poetry
What must come, comes.
Face everything with love,
as your mind dissolves
in God.
Lalla
The
neighborhood where I was walking was quiet. A flock of birds flew far
overhead and a pair of doves were snuggled next to one another on a telephone
wire. Occasionally, a squirrel scampered soundlessly across a lawn and
into a tree.
Just
as I turned the corner to a busier street, the silence was broken by the sound
of a screen door slapping shut and a patter of footsteps. A woman,
who I later learned was named Irene, was running toward a faint sound of a
high-pitched mewing. Two grey kittens sat near the curb. Nearby on
the street was their mother, lying immobile on her side.
Irene
must have sensed that the news was not good. She had brought two
shoeboxes with her. Asking if I could help, I was handed a box, and she pointed
to the kittens. There was a soft cloth inside. She headed toward
the mother, knelt down, and then took a photo of the cat’s serene face before
wrapping the cloth around her and placing her in the other
box.
Noticing
my curiosity, Irene said, “The photo is for humility. I want to remember
that part of my humanness as I care for these kittens and help them
grow.” She paused and then continued, “It is too easy to forget
that one of the roots of our human species name is humus, or earth,
or dirt. Instead, we (as humans) often center the story around ourselves as
being the rescuer when all I am doing is temporarily stepping in on behalf of
another species. The photo helps me remember that.”
Irene’s
words reminded me of my ancestors, particularly those on my father’s side of
the family who had old-world farm values. My dad Bob was keen to remind
the younger generations that we don’t take any of our material possessions with
us when we die, and we should do the best we can in looking after whatever is
in our care. As children, we were given chores such as feeding the farm
cats in the barn. Each chore inbred a sense of loving humility and
responsibility toward the greater whole.
It
is no wonder that the name Irene is sometimes equated with “she who knows,” or
“peace” in Greek mythology. This Irene whom I met on the street carries
the beautiful timeless value of humble lovingness. Later I found out that
she is a full-time city councilwoman, a regular volunteer and advocate for
housing and employment for all, a mother of two, and a wonderful mentor to the
neighborhood children. She and her husband live simply, regularly feed
stray humans and animals, yet stay healthy in their own bodies and minds.
The cat that died was one that Irene had raised after its mother had died of a
similar car accident.
The
interruption to quietude on my morning walk offered unexpected insight into
navigating life with an old-fashioned, but not outdated, attitude and
perspective of the power of humanness to be more than just the sum of our products,
possessions, and inventions. We have the potential to remember and to
care for this earthly home that we all share. And, to remember that God
and sacredness is within every life gesture and expression. I
endeavor to approach the coming year with a more loving and reverent spirit,
and hope you will join me.
Practice
This short
practice supports your awareness of interconnectivity.
Prepare –
- Free
your hands and wrists of any personal devices.
Place them out of arms’ reach and find a comfortable seat.
- On
both hands, slowly touch the tips of each fingers with your thumb.
- Pause for a breath or two
as you with each finger.
- Invite a sense of appreciation
for the gift of having hands.
Practice –
- With
your palms relaxed, open your hands upward at a level, e.g. level of your waist
or chest, where you can observe your hands.
- Soften your wrists and your gaze. Just observe your hands as though you are
seeing them for the first time in your life.
- Notice
what you notice. For example, the space
between your fingers or the way the fingers and thumb connect into the
palm.
- Perhaps
recall how a baby observes his/her hands.
- Imagine as you observe your palms, you were able to
see all that has passed across these hands of yours – perhaps kittens or
puppies, favorite treats, beloved family, flowers, trees, books, steering
wheels and more.
- Consider gestures – soft and harsh – and other ways
that you have expressed emotions with your hands.
- All life is in your hands. Stretching
back eons, your hands arise from a long chain of connections.
- Take a moment to bring your palms together in front
of your heart. Bow your head. As the poet Lalla suggests, vow to touch
everything with love and reverence.
Transition back into your day –
- When you are ready, return to your day.
This poem appears in Mala of the Heart: 108 Sacred Poems, page 38, edited by Ravi Nathwani and Kate Vogt and published by New World Library. Photo by Jacayln Beales. HEARTH is posted each new and full moon. KateVogt©2019.
by KateVogt | Nov 26, 2019 | Food for Thought, Life Inspiration, Nature, World Poetry
There is a channel between voice and presence,
a way where information flows.
In disciplined silence the channel opens.
With wandering talk, it closes.
Rumi
It has been sunny and warm most of this fall season. A friend Karen and I like to end our workweek
with a walk, and we have found ourselves seeking partially shaded paths. One leads through local neighborhoods to a canyon
with a stream and lush vegetation. Even
with our lack of rain, water still ripples over a rocky streambed, making its
way to an edge of a cliff where it spills into a canyon and continues its flow below.
The trail slopes gently from the upper to the lower part of
the stream. At the base of the
waterfall, it feels timeless. The water
drops like tears from the outcropping above.
As it moves over the face of the stone, its sound shifts and
changes. Somehow it conveys emotions
outside the reach of words, so it is comforting to pause within this worldly
chasm of eternity – and to sit and listen.
All the stories of the world seem to be told within the
falling water. Just as tears can express
our joys and sufferings, each drop stirs something within. As Karen and I sat on a bench during our last
visit to the waterfall, I felt a sense of the ever-present yielding and letting
go of life. For example, the day gives way
to night, night to day, rivers to oceans and oceans to shores, plains into
mountain and mountains to plains, exhales to inhales, and inhales to exhales. And, the fall leaves yield to the earth where
they form compost for new life.
Poets such as Rumi can bring us to the openness of the
pause. Within the space between the
words there is the empty bridge to the next word or phrase. It feels like an invitation to linger there,
momentarily free of wandering. Perhaps
it is an invitation to notice and embrace the richness in the everyday
moment. I hope to pause and listen more
to these wordless messages, whether from our nature-kin or ancient poets. Please join me.
Practice
This short
practice supports your unspoken understanding.
Prepare –
- Find
a quiet place where you can sit comfortably for a few minutes.
- If in a chair, place the soles of your feet on the
floor.
- If you have had a busy day, take a moment and shake
out through your arms and legs – one at a time.
Practice –
- Hold your head in your hands. Allow your palms to cover your eyes.
- Invite the muscles around your jaw to release.
- If you feel comfortable, invite an awareness of your sense of being here with yourself.
- Pause here for a few breaths.
- With your head upright and a soft gaze, bring your hands over your ears.
- Invite the muscles around your belly to release.
- If it feels comfortable, listen to the sound of your breathing.
- Pause here for a few breaths.
- With your head upright and a soft gaze, allow the backs of your hands to rest on your thighs.
- Invite the muscles around your forearms, wrists, and hands to release.
- If it feels comfortable, imagine you are sitting in the presence of that which you hold most sacred according to your belief.
- Pause here for a few breaths.
Transition back into your day –
- When you are ready, return to your day.
This poem is translated by Coleman Barks. It appears in Mala of the Heart: 108 Sacred Poems, page 33, edited by Ravi Nathwani and Kate Vogt and published by New World Library. HEARTH is posted each new and full moon. KateVogt©2019.
by KateVogt | Nov 12, 2019 | Food for Thought, Gardening as Metaphor, Love, Nature, Wisdom to Live By, World Poetry
I was delighted with myself,
having offered everything I had;
my heart, my faith, my work.
“And who are you,” you said,
“to think you have so much to offer?
It seems you have forgotten
where you’ve come from.”
Rumi
Roots were sticking upward and dirt was strewn all over. Given the overall condition of our planet and the increasing frequency of natural disasters, this upheaval was relatively minor. A geranium plant was dangling over the edge of its pot. Apparently a squirrel or bird had dug into the freshly added soil and uprooted the plant in the process.
I up-righted the geranium and gave it a little pat. Notwithstanding my minimalist gardening
attention, I have fondness for this geranium plant. It is a model of resilience, because it has
survived the appetite of the local deer that will eat even “deer-resistant”
plants.
A few days later, a new blossom popped out from the geranium. Upon seeing the cheery red color, I felt a sense of pride. Then, I noticed the scraggly green stock, and remembered that this plant was not only a model of hardiness, but also had its own life capacity. Perhaps it actually had needed to be repotted, i.e., it needed more room for its roots and not just new surface soil that I had added.
The wildlife’s digging might have given the plant what it
required: a chance to be re-rooted. The
dangling geranium could have easily dropped to the ground and found new life
there. My role likely was
accidental.
Such a small and ordinary life event was what I needed to reconnect with a sense of humility. Ironically, two common flower meanings for geraniums are folly and foolishness, both of which I find easy to fall into. Our human minds seem to gravitate toward considering ourselves as the center of our life events and interactions, whether with other humans or the rest of nature.
Prophets and sage poets such as Rumi remind us to recall the
source of all life – we are one of many species sustained by the invisible and
ever-present grace of love. For today,
the geranium is my reminder to slow down and accept the lessons of each
moment. I hope you will join me.
Practice
This short practice supports our capacity to let go.
Prepare –
- Stand
with a hip-width stance.
- Shake
out your right arm for approximately 30 seconds. Then, your left arm.
- Bend
your knees and bounce gently up and down.
Your feet can be flat on the floor.
Practice –
- Come
to a seated position either in a chair or on the floor.
- If in a chair, place the soles of your feet on the
floor.
- Place
the backs of your hands on your thighs.
- Five times, curl your fingers and thumbs toward the
palms.
- Then, allow your hands to remain open.
- Relax
across your eyes and around your jaw.
- Allow
your shoulders and palms to soften.
- Invite
your breath to be smooth and easy.
- Close
your eyes or ease them into a soft gaze.
- Imagine
all the tension and holding on is releasing from your body and mind.
- Invite awareness that all is recycled. As you let go, the universe absorbs and uses
all. Like leaves dropping from the tree
in the fall, the release offers nourishments and makes room for the new.
Transition back into your day –
- When you are ready, return to your day.
This poem is translated by Coleman Barks. It appears in Mala of the Heart: 108 Sacred Poems, page 31, edited by Ravi Nathwani and Kate Vogt and published by New World Library. Photo by Michael Beener. HEARTH is posted each new and full moon. KateVogt©2019.
by KateVogt | Oct 13, 2019 | Food for Thought, Life Inspiration, Wisdom to Live By, World Poetry
Birth, old age,
sickness, and death:
From the beginning,
this is the way
things have always been.
Any thought
of release from this life
will wrap you only more tightly
in its snares.
Dieu Nhan
Some questions are profound. I have come to expect them to be posed by the prophets, poets, or great sages of the world. But it was the three and half year old Eli who looked up and asked me, “Who are you?” Her intonation was such that she was asking from a place of curiosity, not fear or confrontation.
My automatic response was to offer my name. “I’m Kate,” I answered, but it was clear from the look on her face that a mere label was not what she was looking for. It was a search for how I fit into her world, or what my relationship was to her. I had greeted her mom Ami as we gathered our mail from our mailboxes. Eli prompted me to give her a better answer by opening her eyes a little wider and quietly observing my face. “I’m your neighbor,” I said, as I pointed the direction of our apartment. Eli smiled and began to tell me stories about her day.
After our short
conversation, Eli’s question lingered at the back of mind. Probably the most truthful answer I could
have given would be to acknowledge that I don’t know who I am, but I am working
on it. Naturally, that answer is too
esoteric for most anyone regardless of their age. Yet I’ve learned enough to recognize that
there is an indescribable part of me that is, just is.
Until I can fully answer Eli’s question, I am her neighbor and am still held in the cycles of life’s joys and sufferings. Perhaps I should have pointed Eli toward Dieu Nhan who was born a princess, married and widowed. She traversed through the phases of life until there was not even the thought of being a someone. As with other wise beings, Dieu Nhan transformed into a fountain of compassion, kindness, and light-heartedness.
I trust that the
imagined journey is freedom, and that earthly embodiment is its lesson. I am thankful that we live in the midst of
wisdom, which abides day by day, from dawn to dusk, and moment to moment. The trees, plants, animals, wind and sun are
always there to remind us to see the infinite space holding all life. Please
join me in answering Eli’s question, “Who are you?”
Practice
This short
practice supports our capacity for direct perception.
Prepare–
- Turn
your phone and any other devices to airplane mode.
- Find
a quiet and comfortable place to sit.
- If you are on a chair, place the soles of your feet
on the floor.
- Sway
your upper body from side to side a few times.
Return to stillness.
- Slowly
move your eyes side to side, up and down, at a diagonal from one upper corner
of the eye to the other, and then the other direction.
- Blink
your eyes a few times. Then, open your
eyes and mouth wide, as if you are fully amazed. Relax your face but with a slight smile,
sincere not too forced.
Practice–
- Close
your eyes and imagine the warmth of the sun is seeping into your lids and
nourishing your entire being. Soak up
the giving nature of the sun to nourish the plants and support life on
earth.
- Imagine
yourself radiating the beneficial warmth of the sun. Just soft, warm light.
- Open
your eyes into a soft gaze and allow your eyes to receive the sensory
impressions (e.g., colors, shapes, dimensions, shadows, light, textures,
design, or distance). Just receiving,
just experiencing, and just observing with no need to label or analyze.
- After
a few moments, lightly close your eyes again and receive whatever experience
arises. Note: If it is more comfortable for you to keep
your eyes open in a soft gaze, please feel free to do so.
- If
you have lost the gentle smile, invite it to return.
Transition back into your day–
- With your eyes in a soft gaze, slowly scan the
room or space where you are, simply observing.
Invite a sense of child-like delight in being alive.
- When you are ready, return to your day.
This poem appears in Mala of the Heart: 108 Sacred, page 78, edited by Ravi Nathwani and Kate Vogt and published by New World Library. HEARTH is posted each new and full moon. KateVogt©2019.
