Tag Archives: poetry

Coming home: a practice for the new year…

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In the buddhist circles, often at the beginning of a retreat or meditation, a new year or new cycle, we chant the three refuges. With the three refuges, we take refuge in the Buddha, the Dhamma and the Sangha. Taking refuge in the Buddha is about coming home to the the awakened one within ourselves. Refuge in the Dhamma is about coming home to the deepest truths of the way things are. And refuge in the Sangha is about coming home to the community that sustains us, nourishes us and supports us in moving towards freedom. Most days, in my evening prayer, after lighting the candle, I use the three refuges to help ground me and remind me of why I practice and what is important and how to show up for my life.

I’m struck by this practice of coming home, especially at the turn of this new year. This practice of coming home is essentially what mindfulness is: coming home over and over again to the here and the now. For, this present moment is where the possibility of freedom is, the transformative power of love is. In a new translation of Rumi given to me by a dear friend, the first verse in the first poem in the book (Gold, translated by Haleh Liza Gafori), says:

“Let Love

the water of life,

flow through our veins”

-Rumi

In coming home, we return to this source, this love, this awareness which includes everything. The difficult and sublime thoughts, the aches and pains, the heartbreak, irritations, anger, sadness, grief as well as the joy, peace, ease, delight and enjoyment. And everything in between. This space has tremendous tenderness, aliveness, wisdom, intuition and grace. When we start to sense into this mystery – that nothing is separate from this flow of life, of love, of light, there is only one way to live: with compassion and kindness. To appreciate the gifts of each day. To allow ourselves to drop our armoring and be touched by life, by beauty and by gratitude.

May this new year allow you to come home and find many moments of peace and joy!

With love, S.

The beauty, ordinariness and extraordinariness of not knowing…

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Photo by Autumn Mott Rodeheaver on Unsplash

The more I practice mindfulness in my daily life, the more I’m struck by the ordinariness and extraordinariness of each moment. It’s like this rewiring that is happening so slowly that I can’t see the mechanics of it but I can feel that something is changing, slowly, gradually and over time. Like the turning of grapes into wine – a metaphor so often used by Rumi.

When grapes turn
to wine, they long for our ability to change.

When stars wheel
around the North Pole,
they are longing for our growing consciousness.

– Rumi

With mindfulness, we start to loosen our habitual ways of categorizing our experience as like or dislike as we often have a tendency to do. And we are somehow left with more openness, more space and more choice in responding. The definition of relationships and the expectations of ourselves and others start to fall away and we start to see clearly. Like removing a pair of glasses that were foggy and we didn’t know we had them on!

When we experience each moment directly in this embodied way, there seems to be this incredible newness – a sort of not knowing that seems to flavor our experience. Suddenly each moment feels so much richer – without needing words to describe it or label it. Simple acts like cooking, taking a walk, talking to a partner, working on an interesting problem or meeting with a friend take on a new hue.

We also start to become aware of this incredible vulnerability that underlies all of our lives – we don’t know what could happen tomorrow, or in an hour from now, or even next moment. We might think we do, but actually we don’t. Not really. This not knowing, when seen through the lens of kindness and empty of the ideas of me and mine, suddenly feels so liberating and tender. When we truly experience the truth of this vulnerability, how can we not reach out and help each other? How can we not take care of this body, our body, that feels so fragile at times? How can we not appreciate the blessings in our lives, the people who show up for us and the sheer abundance that Earth provides us with, no questions asked? Mary Oliver aptly says:

Pay attention.

Be astonished.

Tell about it.

– Mary Oliver

So this is my invitation: can you simply pause in this moment, breathe and notice what is happening? Can you take in the sheer miracle of staying alive? Each leaf that is falling to the ground is imploring and reminding you of the truth of letting go. Can you let go, truly let go and surrender to this moment? It is a huge task. And yet it is ours, and not by the century or the year, but by the hours (Mary Oliver).

With love, Shuba

Musings on the sidewalk poem…

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I first came across this poem about a hole in the sidewalk, titled ‘Autobiography in five short chapters‘ by Portia Nelson, in Mark Nepo’s book Finding Inner Courage, a few years ago. It is a profound poem and somehow stuck in my head and I keep finding meaning from it in layers. Today’s blog is a commentary on this poem from my own experience…I have taken the liberty of splitting up the poem here. Thank you Portia for this gem!

AUTOBIOGRAPHY IN FIVE CHAPTERS
I
I walk down the street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I fall in.
I am lost … I am hopeless.
It isn’t my fault.
It takes forever to find a way out.
II
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I pretend I don’t see it.
I fall in again.
I can’t believe I’m in the same place.
But it isn’t my fault.
It still takes a long time to get out.

Anyone on a spiritual journey knows that the first step to freedom is to stop blaming others and accept responsibility: The first couple of paragraphs speak to this journey of moving towards acceptance.

III
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I see it is there.
I still fall in … it’s a habit.
My eyes are open.
I know where I am.
It is my fault.
I get out immediately.

The third paragraph of course makes sense. Those of us who start paying attention to our habitual ways of being, know that we keep finding ourselves over and over in similar patterns. And as we move towards freedom, even if we make the same mistakes, it becomes easier to recover and know where we are. We learn to become intimate with our own suffering – which is what the Buddha points to in the first noble truth.

IV
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I walk around it.

And just as there is suffering, there is also the end of suffering! As we start to know our own habits, we are slowly able to walk around the holes – to see them coming and take appropriate (skillful) action.

V
I walk down another street.

Finally, this past month, I realized what the last paragraph is talking about: we become so acquainted with our patterns and disenchanted with them, knowing where they will lead, that we realize there is a different way of doing things! We could walk down another street! We have the choice to not take the same street anymore. The new street may have other obstacles of course, but we are no longer stuck in our old patterns. We have the choice to try something new. This newness has a taste of equanimity, of wonder, of ease and of freedom!

How does this poem speak to you?

With love, Subha

Opening our hearts…

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We spent a few days of our Christmas break at Nassau in the Bahamas, a real treat for our family. The ocean, the blue waters, the sand on my feet, and leisurely time with my family – all were healing to my nervous system. Returning from our break, and settling back into winter in New England, albeit a mild one so far, I’m so grateful we could have this time together – it feels like such a precious gift, one that is helping me center and open to this new year with fresh eyes.

My greatest dharma teacher, my daughter on the beach in Nassau, on Christmas Day.

In a tradition inspired by a fellow blogger, I have been setting an intention for each year with a word/phrase. Last year’s word was Savor; and savor I did! Savoring each moment of connection, the joys that came my way, the friendships, the adventures and travels, the learnings and growth. And it has filled my heart with so much gratitude and love! This year, my word for the year is Open: Opening to not-knowing, opening to the mystery and wonder, opening my heart to being touched and opening to the goodness.

So, today, I leave you with this offering from my heart – a poem – my New Year’s gift to you! May your new year be filled with many moments of peace, joy and awakening!

The little moments come by

and touch me like the sand particles

held in my palm – gingerly, tenderly.

Some stick while others fall away,

leaving the tiniest trace

like the footprints once washed away,

leave a well for the waters to fill in,

a tiny puddle that carries

the deep blue ocean

within.

– Subha srinivasan

With Love, S.

Full Moon, Fish and Bird…

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For a while in my life, Rumi poetry was part of the fiber of my being. I read a lot of his poems, and some of my close friends know that I have made some significant life decisions inspired by Rumi. Then, for a while, I took a Rumi break. I think I needed it, to be able to let go of my experiences of the poems and see them anew. That is one of the reasons I am so happy and excited to be back in Rumi-sphere again. So much thanks to Coleman Barks and to Mary Oliver (who read Rumi until her last days…a beautiful essay of her life here).

Today’s poem, from a year with Rumi, so apt for this full Moon, has this beautiful passage:

I am a fish. You are the moon.

You cannot touch me, but your light

fills the ocean where I live.

Rumi (translated by Coleman Barks)

I was inspired to write a verse in response to Rumi.

I am a fish. You are the moon.

Every one of your moon beams

has transformed me from within

so that I am a fish no more.

Instead I am a bird flying high

in the wide open sky

to be closer to you.

Shuba (with a bow to Rumi)
Photo by Frank Cone on Pexels.com

I am leaving you with this. I didn’t think Rumi would mind. What do you think?

Namaste, S.

Deep Purple Delight, a verse and more…

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Last night, inspired by my teacher’s challenge, I was moved to write this short poem about Anjali:

Deep Purple Delight

In her purple-rimmed glasses,

and her deep lilac pullover,

She looks at me, her face shining pink:

Abounding in laughter,

bursting with delight,

Her whole being is alight with joy!

In that moment,

my breath catches, and my heart softens,

as I gaze in marvel at this radiant being of light!

Photo by SplitShire on Pexels.com

Imagine my surprise as I turned to today’s poem in my copy of ‘A Year with Rumi’ and saw the poem titled: ‘Who says words with my mouth’. It made me laugh. Here are a couple of lines from the end of the poem.

This poetry. I never know what I’m going to say.

I don’t plan it. When I’m outside the saying of it,

I get very quiet and rarely speak at all.

Rumi (translated by Coleman Barks)

How apropos! I had written the poem after my nightly-ish meditation.

So, there it is: this quiet that is always there within us, waiting. Before or after the words. Just waiting for us to sit and wait in return. That is the marvel of the practice of returning home. Watching the breath, listening to the sounds, witnessing the thoughts, cultivating the love. Do you feel it? This beckoning of the silence from which the words spring? We just show up over and over again.

So, I return to my deep purple delight. May yours be filled with light!

Namaste, S.

That is the marvel of the practice of returning home. Watching the breath, listening to the sounds, witnessing the thoughts, cultivating the love.

Sing your song…

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I’ve wanting to write in my blog these past few weeks, but nothing materializes. Somehow I don’t have the words to describe all that I feel. When I try words, they seem cliched, trivial and I know my life experience is anything but that. So much has been happening, each day, each week, I can hardly keep up. I don’t mean externally – my life is a simple one for the most part – family, work and play. Internally, it is a different story. I have moments each day when everyone makes sense and I am magically alive. I spend several moments each day, lost in trance – of being elsewhere – not quite in the moment. I have come to recognize those moments with fondness – they allow me to soften. Making the turn and seeing a familiar face, or walking into a shop and seeing somebody I know, or simply walking sometimes. A lot of times, while driving. My judgments for wandering have diminished leaving a strange comaraderie for myself. This is me – imperfect. and my attention wanders. Lets return. and I do.

I have moments when I am caught in the anguish, of feeling that I am not enough. Frustration that I cannot be more, do more. And somehow, I notice, and they pass. The moments I feel most alive are when I am in nature, and when I stop and appreciate whatever is in front of me. It happens a lot when I am with my daughter – she forces me to pause. Its like she sees this beautiful being in me that makes me stop and figure out if I can catch a glimpse of this being in me too. Such love, a daughter brings. such joyful play and appreciation.

So, tonight, before I go to bed, I will be sneaking into my daughter’s room to watch her tonight. I hope you too have something that makes your heart smile.

I leave you with this…

Sing your song

life isn’t all that long
so take this moment
to sing your song

sing it wildly,
belt out loudly
let everyone hear

that heartful voice
inside of you
loud and clear

no one else can sing it
the way you do, not quite,
there is no other you

so take this moment,
pause for a minute
get ready and sing…!

With Love, S.