Tired of Speaking Sweetly - a poem by Hafiz

Bom Dia!  A good friend of ours David Pott sent us this poem this morning by the 13th century mystic Sufi poet Hafiz, and I couldn't resist sharing it on the blog.

Tired of Speaking Sweetly

Love wants to reach out and manhandle us, 
Break all our teacup talk of God. 
If you had the courage and 
Could give the Beloved His choice, some nights, 
He would just drag you around the room 
Ripping from your grip all those toys in the world 
By your hair, 
That bring you no joy. 

Love sometimes gets tired of speaking sweetly 
All your erroneous notions of truth 
That make you fight within yourself, dear one, 
And wants to rip to shreds 
And with others,
Causing the world to weep
On too many fine days.

God wants to manhandle us,
And practice His dropkick. 
Lock us inside of a tiny room with Himself 
The Beloved sometimes wants 
To do us a great favor: 

Hold us upside down And shake all the nonsense out. 

He is in such a “playful drunken mood” 
Quickly packs their bags and hightails it 
But when we hear 
Most everyone I know 
Out of town. 

~ Hafiz ~
The Gift – versions of Hafiz by Daniel Ladinsky

We've been revelling in the retreats so far this year. So wonderful to have guests animating the landscape once again. It's such a joyous thing to watch people relax into their week, with themselves and with other people around them. If you've been here you'll know exactly what I mean.

After a few days of daily yoga practice, morning meditation walks through the forest, dips in the natural river pools, good food, clean spring water to drink and bathe in, and most importantly of all, some massage and acupuncture from Vonetta, the months of stress and tension that often lead people to come on retreat, begins to melt away.

You see it on the face first of all. I really should take before and after photos of everyone so you can see what that looks like. "Angel faces" is how our last week's group aptly described the phenomenon. When the tension that builds up in the small muscles of the face disappears, it's like seeing a brand new version of someone.

A special thanks also to our Karma Yogi volunteers this year. Lou from the UK, Maria from Germany and our dear friend and yoga teacher Sara from Oleiros were so helpful in getting us started for the year. Thanks for your patience in the chaos of set up. Much appreciated. :)

This month we have the delightful Petra & Sophia from Holland and Dylan from south Australia. All the volunteers have worked incredibly hard to enable the retreats to run smoothly and with a lot of fun too. You guys are stars. It's been an absolute pleasure to have you on the team. You've set the bar high for the teams that follow!

Our friend Tashi Dawa flew in for a fortnight of retreats in April and as always lifted our spirits with her loveliness. So sad to see her leave but we wish her all the best in her retreats in Italy and France this year with Kaliyoga.

That's all for now, just wanted to share Hafiz's poem with you today as I loved the idea of the divine playfully turning us upside down now and again.

Saude, Paz e Amor

Memphis

Lines written in Early Spring 1798...

William Wordsworth

I heard a thousand blended notes,
While in a grove I sate reclined,
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind.

To her fair works did Nature link
The human soul that through me ran;
And much it grieved my heart to think
What man has made of man.

Through primrose tufts, in that green bower,
The periwinkle trailed its wreaths;
And ’tis my faith that every flower
Enjoys the air it breathes.

The birds around me hopped and played,
Their thoughts I cannot measure,
But the least motion which they made
It seemed a thrill of pleasure.

The budding twigs spread out their fan,
To catch the breezy air;
And I must think, do all I can,
That there was pleasure there.

If this belief from heaven be sent,
If such be Nature’s holy plan,
Have I not reason to lament
What man has made of man?


Thanks to my Aunty Sally for sending through this poem. Wordsworth was a British poet who spent his life in the Lake District of Northern England. Wordsworth, along with Samuel Taylor Coleridge, started the English Romantic movement with their collection LYRICAL BALLADS in 1798. When many poets were writing about ancient heroes in grandiloquent style, Wordsworth focused on nature, children, people, and used ordinary words to express his personal feelings. His definition of poetry was "the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings arising from emotion recollected in tranquillity"

"Poetry is the breath and finer spirit of all knowledge; it is the impassioned expression which is in the countenance of all Science."

Lyrical Ballads, 2nd ed., 1800

"Anyone can sing"

Lots happening here at Moses. We'll put up a proper blog soon with more pics and videos of the forest and gardens restoration work. But read this poem today sent by Panhala. They have some great poems and accompanying photos. (If you fancy subscribing to Panhala, send them a blank email to Panhala-subscribe@yahoogroups.com)

Anyone can sing

Anyone can sing. You just open your mouth,

and give shape to a sound. Anyone can sing.

What is harder, is to proclaim the soul,

to initiate a wild and necessary deepening:

to give the voice broad, sonorous wings

of solitude, grief, and celebration,

to fill the body with the echoes of voices

lost long ago to bravery, and silence,

to prise the reluctant heart wide open,

to witness defeat, to suffer contempt,

to shrink, lose face, go down in ignominy,

to retreat to the last dark hiding-place

where the tattered remnants of your pride

still gather themselves around your nakedness,

to know these rags as your only protection

and yet still open - to face the possibility

that your innermost core may hold nothing at all,

and to sing from that - to fill the void

with every hurt, every harm, every hard-won joy

that staves off death yet honours its coming,

to sing both full and utterly empty,

alone and conjoined, exiled and at home,

to sing what people feel most keenly

yet never acknowledge until you sing it.

Anyone can sing. Yes. Anyone can sing.

~ William Ayot ~

And if you're struggling to have anything to sing about, watch even just 1 part of this documentary on the Monarch butterfly and be amazed. Surely we are the same as butterflies....

Happy 12th Birthday Eloise! By River

As those of you who have been reading our blog might well know, I have not been very well over the Christmas holidays, but it’s a New Year, 35 litres of olive oil pressed and today is my daughter’s birthday.  I never knew that there was so much love in my life.  I am the kind of head down get to work sort of girl, with a tendency to skim my eyes over the tops of trees and feel the blue skies endlessly stretching over head.   It’s the light here that I love the most, it sparkles and bounces off every surface and calls me awake every day. 

Today began with a warm fire on and frozen pipes, after all it is still winter time, my favorite season.  The sun is rising over the little village of Amieira and the mist has already passed over the river and been on its way. 

My daughter came into this world ready, blue eyes steadily gazing at us as if to say I have been waiting to meet you. Why does everything take such a long time?  She was desperate to get out and stretch those beautiful long limbs of hers.  After an hour and a half of labour, there she was and next to me alone in our bedroom my beautiful husband and best mate.  When we crawled into bed and awoke Joshua such a feeling of completeness took over me that I knew I would never recover from this kind of loving.  

So we called her Eloise Grace Winter.  Eloise, warrior of light and the name of my grandmother Grace a state of loving kindness which we all hope to live under and Winter, the family name of my beloved husband and his beautiful family. 

This morning, while the children were still sleeping, I took a walk around our frozen patch of heaven and felt the ice and stone crunching under my boots.  Moses our dog is all too keen to get going in the  morning and I can never resist his eager dawn greetings, so, slightly frozen I ventured out.  I am now walking in my daughters’ shoes of two years ago, she is twelve but she is bypassing me so fast that often my mind is in a blur.  Slow down girl, I always want to say but how could she when there is so much beauty and laughter she wants to share each day.

We Winters have finally moved into our home and are finding our rhythm, the daffodils planted by the previous owners of our house over 40 years ago are flowering, soaking up and dragging each drop of sunshine to the ground.  I have started clearing the vegetable patch and the forest s as green as anyone can imagine as green as my little girls eyes today.  The sky is blue and crisp and I know I will see this in her eyes too.  How could there be anything else but joy in our lives today?  Another day of play.

I have always loved the children’s birthdays best and today we will be hanging out with our gorgeous friends Shanti B from Angola and Emma from Ireland and Ellie’s lovely Portuguese  friend from school Joanna, and the  cacophony of heritage that we the Winters represent.  Praise and love be ever present.  Today, on my daily walk in my daughters’ shoes I am reminded yet again of the many actions that needed to take place in order for us to be here.  I see the sign of my daughter to remind me that I am home, “Moses”, I see the boat of some friends waiting for their return, I see Olive leaves and upturned trees, the hard crunch of stone and the ever-present sound of the river below combined with the wind in the trees and the birds chirping the morning sound remind me of how grateful I truly am that we are finally at home, again.  

Thank you all my friends for your loving kindness and the big net you have all spread to help me come all the way back round to the same rising lights.  Obrigada.

Here is a Poem for the Girls who will Rip your Heart Out and Show You How to Love

Her colour vibrates

She awakens and enlivens

Every moment with Sound

Intuitive

A spiritual gift

In her I see

Healers

Empathy

Mission

Connected numbers

Chronic pain of a toxic world released in laughter

Physically, Emotionally

Environmentally, Spiritual

Remarkable

When, 

schooled in love

Every emotion is held in her presence

Crystal light is this child

All the while still the same as she came

A veil is pulled back in each generation

Her every utterance s a heart string pulled

She sits pink, divinely feminine

Unabashed energy held within a structure

All power, all gravity and light

She sees sickness before the tide swells

And vibrates, shake and tell

Loving forgiveness

Cuddling touch, kiss and hugs

This way to play

Her mass of rare precious light will not be

Patronised, manipulated or lied to

Give me beauty and truth

Telepathic or just switched on

Come into the world as royalty

And act that Way

Fearlessly sensitive

Not afraid to feel and live

Draw to the light

Moths die at the heat of the bulb but still come

A multi- coloured dress enters my world
And I forget to breathe

Thank you Ellie

For the heart song you give to me

 Introducing Eloise Grace Winter, 12 years of age, princess of Moses........