Have you seen the new page on the blog? It’s called Poems of Devotion (no prizes for guessing what’s on that page).
What you’ll see when you get there!
You are warmly invited to head over there to read and enjoy a poem. Or perhaps two, or seven! The choice is yours.
The page, as you already guessed, seeing right through the extremely obscure title, is dedicated solely to devotional poems I have composed. Many have been written in recent times, though there are some which are, well, no longer the new kids on the block (get it? New kids on the block? New page on the blog? Oh, okay, never mind).
I hope to continue my occasional practice of featuring a poem in a post (perhaps with its story or some other commentary). But, in time, all my devotional poetic pieces will be on the new page.
You are very welcome to visit the page, Poems of Devotion, to read, to contemplate, and if you so wish, copy anything you find there for your own reflections or to share with others.
Love & beauty; What else is there?
I’m grateful that I have come somehow to compose these poems of praise and love. I call it a gift of grace that has been granted me. It is a gift I now ask that I may share with you.
Varuna and Surya. the Hindu deities of sky and all Earth’s waters (Varuna), and our sun (Surya). These names resonate for me. I like how such great natural phenomena fundamental to our existence on this planet, can be ‘personalised’ in this way.
I find that having acquired symbolic or representational names for sky, water, and sun, has allowed me to somehow relate to the inherent giving and preserving of the energies that power all life that water, sky, and sun provide in a prayerful, thankful way. Kind of makes it personal.
Let me put aside for a moment the obvious scientific reality that tells us we can’t live long without water, can’t live at all without the gases in our atmosphere, and if the sun goes dark for whatever length of time it is, then all life ceases to exist.
How many times have I stood in awe watching a sunset?
Or watched as big waves rolled in with a surfer hoping for a ride?
How many times have I welcomed the sound of rain on a roof and the sight of it nourishing trees or other life
And how many times have I sat on or walked along a riverbank feeling uplifted and a little more grounded?
Many, many times is the short answer. Varuna and Surya are constant presences in our lives. And I am grateful for the life-giving and life-sustaining natures of their existence.
Sharing with you today, a little poetic expression of one of those times when sky, water, and sun, gave me just a little more than those fundamental material energies.
ONCE AGAIN VARUNA AND SURYA
Once again, Varuna and Surya are coming to make rescue. They arrive on – as in fact they are – the currents and eddies of the river of life. In this way, the natural order remains in motion.
Shared with love
from Paul the hermit
Flow river go, past the shady tree. Flow river flow, flow to the sea. Flow river flow, flow to the sea.
Thanks to Roger McGuinn for one of the classic flowing on a river songs.
Earlier today I took my camera out for a walk. Which is to say, I had an intention that the walk would be more than exercise for the body (very much needed as it is), but also an opportunity for my eyes and heart to open up a little to the tiny part of the world I was to pass through.
I also hoped that my mind would join in so that I would be able to actually recognise what I was seeing and feeling, allowing me to perhaps make images of what I saw and felt.
One final prayer: In doing its job, I hoped my mind would stay focused, and work behind the scenes very quietly.
A few minutes walk from the Hermitage is the shore of a fairly large lake, and when I reached that spot, I sat on a conveniently placed little wall, so I could, well, just sit for a bit.
By chance, um. Sorry, let me rephrase that. By the brilliant synchronicity that results from the perfect working out of the natural laws of the Universe, right in front of me, nearer to the water’s edge, a dozen or more Corellas played and foraged. At least to my limited human eyes, that’s what they were doing.
Zoom in and share the fun!!
It’s mesmerizing watching them: tumbling with each other or on their own; picking up and wrestling with twigs and other small things. I was blessed too, to witness several of these creatures taking off, in flight, and landing.
You might have heard me say (or read when I wrote) that ‘I was just not there’. Well, not today; today I was definitely there. In a contemplative reverie in which I felt connected with what I was witnessing through my lens.
‘I had a small sense of being relaxed,’ I commented casually to my community when I arrived back at the Hermitage. And that’s what it felt like: I had relaxed for a time. I can’t say I was aware of the passage of time; it was more an eternal being in the moment if I was to try to label it now. It might have been thirty minutes or ten by the world’s measure; I have no idea really.
I’m only ever going to be a beginner when it comes to paying full attention, to contemplating and being completely immersed in the moment, and not forgetting trying to control the monkey mind. Practise will never make perfect in that department!
Anyway that’s why spiritual practices are called practices: they require the spiritual seeker to be committed to a life of ongoing and continual practise.
Of course encountering those birds at the lake today is definitely a practice I would be happy to practise anytime!
‘I like writing reverent things,’ I said to my partner Hermit. I’d just shown her a poem I had written about a walk earlier in the day on the track on the crest of the sand dune near the hermitage.
Yes, it’s true I thought later. I do write around themes of solemn respect, deep praise, of love, of appreciation of beauty, of devotional things. About my devotion to all that is Divine – which of course is eveything that is!
The walk began as a bit of a struggle, a bit challenging, though the challenge was eased somewhat by some winged friends. I know I’ve been writing a bit about angels lately, but this time the winged ones were birds. Mind you, angels can and do take many forms. Perhaps those birds were angels after all!
Anyway, as I recorded the original version while still ‘slogging’ through the sand on the track, I did so without intention. But, what emerged is, in my heart, a song of praise for those winged friends.
BIRDS IN THE BUSHES
Lumbering and stumbling, sometimes shambling through deep and shifting drifts of sand along coastal track on the crest of dune. Slow going on the track. Plodding.
But there are birds in the bushes alongside the track. Birds in the bushes twitter their encouragement. Is it twitter? Is it tweeter? Is it twirp? Twirping? Are they twirping? Are they trilling?
In any case, there is encouragement in their serenade. So, I continue on. Plodding still but a little lighter.
Another poetic and photographic note to share with you today. In the last month or so I’ve written two poems which are about angels. And both connected in some way with rain, or at least impending rain in one and actual rain in the other.
Initially I thought to just include the most recent of the two, but as I put my fingers on the keyboard it just seems to be emerging that I shall share both with you. And as you know I’m not one to ignore the demands of what types me!
Anyway, I offer them to your for your reading pleasure and perhaps cause for contemplation. Last shall be first in this matter I think. Enjoy please!
Angels, they are everywhere. Perhaps there are more than we know? Personifications of love, of compassion. Of charity too.
ON THE TEARS OF ANGELS
Is it good that angels cry? Anyway, why do they cry at all?
To wash away all the sorrows, to cleanse, to purify, to make new. And to ease the world’s pain.
Then, there are those of us who can’t conceive of ourselves as angels.
For those ones – each and every one – the tears of angels are cathartic; granting catharsis.
A CLOUD ANGEL SEEN
An angel wing seen in a cloud, ephemeral, gossamer. And the angel? She stands concealed within the silver linings of clouds, neighbouring clouds, heralding a soon to be descending deluge.
Welcome to another installment in our occasional series (see links to all previous installments at the end of this post) looking at some of the answers given by Krishna to his cousin Uddhava during a kind of Q&A session that takes place as both are about to leave their hometown which is on the brink of war. Krishna’s returning to Heaven, while Uddhava is heading for parts – and a future – unknown.
Hence all the questions around living a good true life, all driven by the knowledge that Krishna isn’t going to be around anymore to give Uddhava life advice.
And the question we’re discussing today is certainly a big one. In fact, though it is a single part of a three part question, I felt inclined to give it our full attention. To me it is that significant. In fact, thinking about it now, I could even add here that of all the questions and answers, this one could stand alone as the question, the answer.
To the question then, as asked by Uddhava to Krishna:
What is Charity?
Well, although I thought I knew what the word charity meant, and what charity is, I did end up looking it up, just to get a clearer and deeper picture.
Yes, a charity is an organization set up to give aid to those in need. And, as I also knew, charity is the voluntary giving of help – often in the form of money or other material goods – to those in need.
All just as I’d thought. But, then, I came across another entry that filled out the picture for me a little more. In addition to the above, this listing told me that the ‘true meaning‘ of charity is generosity and helpfulness.
Again, it specifies that this generosity, this helpfullness, is usually extended to the ‘suffering and needy’. Still it suggests that charity may be at least a little more universal an attitude toward functioning in the world, a world shared with so many other living beings.
(note from me: This latter definition comes from the Merriam-Webster Dictionary. I’ve used this dictionary a great deal, and for very many years. It’s been my favourite go to, as they say.
PRESS THE PAUSE BUTTON PLEASE
Right, yes, I hear you loud and clear. Here I am going on as if this is a semantics blog. Sorry about that. Perhaps we should get back on track and allow Krishna to give the answer Uddhava and the rest of us have been waiting for:
Charity is the renunciation of aggression.
Perhaps you can see why I was at first a bit taken by surprise, and I puzzled over it for a while. Then after seeing that Merriam-Webster definition, I knew I’d found a clue: generosity and helpfullness.
Then it came to me: Ahimsa!! No, this is not some obscure exclamation reserved for Eureka! moments. Rather Ahimsa is a foundational principle underpinning many of the great religious traditions of India.
For me, Ahimsa is basically doing no harm, the practice of non-violence towards all living beings, through one’s thoughts, words (speech), attitudes, actions.
However because life is complicated (ie: there are no easy answers), various schools of thought over time have developed a kind of modification in which they say that Ahimsa is choosing to tackle the complexities of our lives in the world in such a way that we do as little harm as possible.
But how, one might ask, can we expand those dictionary definitions to include Ahimsa? Well, as far as I’ve been able to think about it so far, I’d say that Krishna’s answer itself is the root that we can graft those definitions onto
Which is to say, renouncing aggression is that root, that foundation on which to base the cultivation of charity and a charitable attitude and manner in our relationship with ourselves, with all other beings, and with the planet (and the rest of the Universe too of course).
(By the way, thank you to my Partner Hermit for that word: charitable. Not that I didn’t already know the word, obviously, it’s just that at the time I just could not find it anywhere in my slow-moving brain!)
That open, generous, helpful, compassionate, patient, kind, thoughtful (oh let me count the applicable words!), that charitable demeanour and behaviours with which we engage with the world (and with ourselves) are the result of removing aggression from our thoughts, words, and deeds.
Actually, thinking about cause and effect, and effect and cause, for a second: the way towards that state of charity is the same. In other words the means and the end don’t only justify each other, they are each other. One thing.
Don’t be ready for fight or flight each time you communicate with your boss, or your spouse, or your child, or your parent. Or with anyone else in any situation you find yourself in.
Listen to and observe with patience, care, compassion, and your full attention, the needs of others. Don’t assume you know best. And include yourself in this paying attention.
Look before you leap. Stop, listen, think, pause, before jumping into any situation that needs understanding, calm, quiet and time to alleviate any possible confusions, or misunderstandings.
If you make a mistake (or is it when?), don’t be so hard (aggression?) on yourself. Be just as open, friendly, forgiving, patient and the rest, with you as you would like to be with everyone else.
As to ‘generosity and helpfullness to the needy and suffering’? Well, all living beings suffer simply in the act of living itself. We are all well aware of this. The degree and forms of this suffering (and the needs that cause the suffering) will always vary, but even so, they are inevitable.
There’s a small mantra or prayer, I often use to end other prayers or reading, that I’ve always liked a lot:
Om Shanti, Shanti, Shanti
I have always thought that this was simply a prayer to the Divine that included the repetition of the word for peace three times.
Of course it is that, but recently I heard that it’s structured in this way with the three repetitions to make of it a deeper or more universal prayer:
Shanti: Peace within myself Shanti: Peace to all living beings Shanti: Peace to the world itself
I may have the words slightly off, but the essence is there. Anyway, for me this really does sound like Charity.
If you’ve missed earlier posts in this series please click on the links below
With the current hermitage located not so much on the side of the road, as right on the side of a large sand dune system, you might imagine that I am at and on the beach every day.
While almost every day, I walk the track that follows the crest of the dunes in this particular area, I’ve only actually gone down to the beach itself a handful of times.
So, yesterday as start to my resolve to make amends for this omission, I climbed the dune, ignored the crest track leading left and right, and continued straight on and down the other side of the dune, and onto the beach itself. My intent was to spend an hour or so walking along the tide line.
And so it was.
Judging by such rare experience of the beach itself, I might easily say I am no ‘beachcomber’; no discoverer of coastal treasures, little natural beauties from the sea, or even the occasional oddity one might expect washed up. Until yesterday that is.
Not that I went to ‘comb’ the beach: rather I was there trying to put myself on the receiving end so to speak, to be a receptacle for what I might be blessed with (not to forget the need for exercise and movement).
And so it was.
This sense of grace and blessings, I hope I’ve conveyed in the small poetic effort (as well as its companion photo) that I now share with you.
SPOTTED ON THE SAND DUNE
Strolling (briskly mind you) along the sands, There I was – deep in the liminal zone. Ankle-deep – sometimes – seawater cooling my feet. One way to receive Varuna’s blessings.
Back on dry sands (still in the liminal zone) I pause to examine a spiral shell – an elegant and delicate sea creature. It lives. Reverently, I move it to deeper water.
As I rise from my small task of union, of reunion, I glance – still within the liminal zone – upwards. There, near the crest of the sand dune sits a chair. An armchair I spotted right there on the sand dune.
There it was, facing me – and the sea – in the middle of nowhere. Though this is clearly somewhere for somebody. The perfect perch for taking in Pacific views.
Empty chair, lonely sight overlooking the liminal zone.
‘It’s good practis/ce sitting out here.’ So said my partner hermit as we sat sipping post evening meal tea on our little front porch that happens to face exactly due west.
It was on the tip of my tongue to ask: ‘Do you mean it’s a good thing (practice) to be doing regularly as in Sadhana, a spiritual practice? In other words is it a good habit to cultivate?
‘Or do you mean it’s good as a kind of training – as practise – in improving our ability to sit in quiet and stillness?’
As I say, these questions were on the tip of my tongue, but then: Blog Alert!!. So, in a rare moment of triumph I managed to hold my tongue (metaphorically speaking) and let those questions sift through my mind so that later (it’s now the next day) a post to share with you might emerge.
So, here we are, setting the scene for this post. I know it’s about words, about language. Semantics is what it could be about, given that it’s about words and their meanings.
But, aren’t words simply symbols for the things they describe or represent? And so often semantics involves quibbles over meanings.
So let’s not make this about semantics, no quibbling required here. You see what set off the Blog Alert!!! was that here was the one word, that is actually two distinct words each with their own meanings, that just happen to sound alike.
Still no quibbling though: we don’t need to pick and choose between meanings – actual and/or intended. Two words, two symbols, two meanings (one for each word that is), so we can choose not to choose – remember no quibbling.
We can realise that in the context, both words are equal and correct. Both may be acknowledged as being meaningful to and in the moment, to the situation.
Lately I think I’ve been saying quite a lot about silence quiet – quietude – peace and calm. Stillness also. All are the same thing: all are states in which we might realise the truth of our natures as divine.
Same Sun Another time & place
Anyway, we had just finished our evening meal, and now sat with tea, having just witnessed the last remnants of the sun sink below the horizon (or was it the horizon coming up to meet and finally hide the sun?).
Quietly sitting, relaxing you might say, in post sunset peace and quiet, with only the occasional and softly spoken conversation going on.
Then that comment from my partner hermit, sharing that sitting as we were is good practis/ce.
Certainly for one such as me who has great difficulties in being quiet, being still, and cultivating silence, such occasions of quiet sitting (with tea naturally) is excellent practise, good training in the changing of long-established and conditioned habits and behaviours.
And, as such, it is a most excellent practice to cultivate, a great thing to do (I’d say action to take, but somehow that feels not quite right) to cultivate stillness and silence. I’ve written elsewhere that to cultivate or to rediscover silence is to realise that silence already existent as the divine, as consciousness, as all and everything.
My partner hermit is one of the wise ones, a sage. One spoken word that actually contains two words, two symbols, each with its own meaning, that finally merge into One.
A poem for your reading pleasure. Written on site today in response to an experience while out walking on the dunes next to the hermitage.
I’m including a photo I made a few weeks ago of the exact place where the poem was written,
And many loving thanks to my partner hermit for the sketch made in the same area today (synchronistically it was made unknown to me and vica versa)
Please enjoy.
Love from Paul the Hermit
BRIGHT LIGHTS IN THE DUNEFIELDS
Today. On the Ocean Track. Daily hiking across the top of the dunefields. Not so sure-footed, I trudge heavy-footed.
As I pass by, there are bright lights in the dunefields. I pause in my passing as my eyes are drawn (or is it my heart?) to the bright lights in the dunefields.
I feast my senses upon the bright lights in the dunefields. They bless me, these bright lights. They sing to me; they speak to me.
In my silence, I hear them. But I hear not voices. I see them. But I see not colours, shapes or forms.
What I see, I see. I see me, I see you. They see me, the bright lights in the dunefields.
They see you; can you see them? These bright lights in the dunefields.
Today, a poem and a photo for you. I made the photo just over a year ago, and was very fond of it from the start. Then when I put into an editing app, it evolved to what you see today.
As well as that, as I ‘worked on’ the image, the little poem, (a kind of freestyle Haiku I think it could be called … sort of!) just emerged and I had to hurry to write it down.
Last night I was going through some poems of mine, and came across this one again. Not so much that I’d forgotten about it, more that I hadn’t thought of it since way back then.
So, I went on a search for the photo (also not forgotten, just buried deep in the hard drive!), so I could share it and the poem here with you on this blog. First the photograph:
Notes from the Hermit's Cave 