Friday, March 27, 2015
on emotion and modesty
http://zenyogagurdjieff.blogspot.de/2015/03/negative-emotions.html
interesting thoughts on emotions, leave aside the question of God,
about "negative" emotions. one has to accept emotions and embrace them
and deal with them as well as one can like with all other aspects of life.
to be adult means to be able to look for a way not to let emotions rule,
but it will happen anyway, accidentally, to all these highly developed ever
so wise people, intellectuals, gurus,masters, it happens when they meet
their own emotional source and pattern in meeting with other humans.
it is a call for modesty.
nobody hovers above another one.
interesting thoughts on emotions, leave aside the question of God,
about "negative" emotions. one has to accept emotions and embrace them
and deal with them as well as one can like with all other aspects of life.
to be adult means to be able to look for a way not to let emotions rule,
but it will happen anyway, accidentally, to all these highly developed ever
so wise people, intellectuals, gurus,masters, it happens when they meet
their own emotional source and pattern in meeting with other humans.
it is a call for modesty.
nobody hovers above another one.
this is not a good poem, just how i feel
do i call this home,
a place of loneliness
growing next to solitude
yes. it is my home
the cat watches my steps,
purrs on my lap
until he scratches,
just a wee bit, for love
there is nobody but me
and imagination, dream.
it is as it is.
after all, i am filled
with the fragrance of flowers,
filigrane leaves against light,
not only my hopeless heart
which must always be strong
i cannot be, nobody can.
i could be more like steel
resilient as a knife's blade.
i could be more like water
which closes over your hand
as if nothing was there.
but my blood sings another song,
my heart tells me to dare,
my brain to despair,
but i will not, will not.
i walk, i dream, i sleep,
nobody will know.
my insufficiencies
make me modest,
as much as i can be,
more i cannot see.
i do not know from where
my kindness flows, it does,
but so does the turmoil,
the storm, the thunder
so does the rain, i must
bear who i am and grow
until i am a tree, bent, old,
ready to burst and to fall,
to rot and feed the soil,
the grass and the bushes,
the flies and the birds,
a last song, a final dance
and then the wind
will take my dust
to the skies,
to the sea.
a place of loneliness
growing next to solitude
yes. it is my home
the cat watches my steps,
purrs on my lap
until he scratches,
just a wee bit, for love
there is nobody but me
and imagination, dream.
it is as it is.
after all, i am filled
with the fragrance of flowers,
filigrane leaves against light,
not only my hopeless heart
which must always be strong
i cannot be, nobody can.
i could be more like steel
resilient as a knife's blade.
i could be more like water
which closes over your hand
as if nothing was there.
but my blood sings another song,
my heart tells me to dare,
my brain to despair,
but i will not, will not.
i walk, i dream, i sleep,
nobody will know.
my insufficiencies
make me modest,
as much as i can be,
more i cannot see.
i do not know from where
my kindness flows, it does,
but so does the turmoil,
the storm, the thunder
so does the rain, i must
bear who i am and grow
until i am a tree, bent, old,
ready to burst and to fall,
to rot and feed the soil,
the grass and the bushes,
the flies and the birds,
a last song, a final dance
and then the wind
will take my dust
to the skies,
to the sea.
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