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...with a spirit of self-exploration |
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Pennine Tai Chi |
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Poetry |
The Reed Flute – Rumi
Pay heed to the grievances of the reed Of what divisive separations breed From the reedbed cut away just like a weed My music people curse, warn and heed Sliced to pieces my bosom and heart bleed While I tell this tale of desire and need.
Whoever who fell away from the source Will seek and toil until returned to course Of grievances I sang to every crowd Befriended both the humble and the proud Each formed conjecture in their own mind As though to my secrets they were blind My secrets are buried within my grief Yet to the eye and ear, that’s no relief Body and soul both unveiled in trust Yet sight of soul for body is not a must. The flowing air in this reed is fire Extinct, if with passion won’t inspire Fire of love is set upon the reed Passion of love this wine will gladly feed Reed is match for he who love denied Our secrets unveiled, betrayed, defied. Who has borne deadly opium like the reed? Or lovingly to betterment guide and lead? Of the bloody path, will tell many a tale Of Lover’s love, even beyond the veil. None but the fool can hold wisdom dear Who will care for the tongue if not ear? In this pain, of passing days we lost track Each day carried the pain upon its back If days pass, let them go without fear You remain, near, clear, and so dear. Only the fish will unquenchingly thirst, Surely passing of time, the hungry curst. State of the cooked is beyond the raw The wise in silence gladly withdraw.
Cut the chain my son, and release the pain Silver rope and golden thread, must refrain If you try to fit the ocean in a jug How small will be your drinking mug? Never filled, ambitious boy, greedy girl, Only if satisfied, oyster makes pearl. Whoever lovingly lost shirt on his back Was cleansed from greed and wanton attack Rejoice in our love, which would trade Ailments, of every shade and every grade With the elixir of self-knowing, chaste With Hippocratic and Galenic taste. Body of dust from love ascends to the skies The dancing mountain thus begins to rise It was the love of the Soul of Mount Sinai Drunken mountain, thundering at Moses, nigh.
If coupled with those lips that blow my reed Like the reed in making music I succeed; Whoever away from those lips himself found Lost his music though made many a sound. When the flower has withered, faded away The canary in praise has nothing to say. All is the beloved, the lover is the veil Alive is the beloved, the lover in death wail Fearless love will courageously dare Like a bird that’s in flight without a care How can I be aware, see what’s around, If there is no showing light or telling sound? Seek the love that cannot be confined Reflection in the mirror is object defined. Do you know why the mirror never lies? Because keeping a clean face is its prize. Friends, listen to the tale of this reed For it is the story of our life, indeed! |
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Krishna playing flute |