Of Palms and Palimpsests

 

To dream is not an evasion,
nor a waste of time or energy,
even if dreams fly
beyond the arc
of human consciousness.

To dream is to be in continual free-fall
to the unexpected, unanticipated next;
dreaming requires no notion or plan
—all is suspense, all is in suspension,
a readiness in unreadiness
or the scratching of a quill
over the sheet of foolscap—
archaic,
but only in the sense
that one might lack the ink
or the penmanship
in the non-present now.

There, we might glance
at our lively page
to find nothing written there, at all;
but the paper has been folded and eared,
screwed up and tossed,
retrieved and smoothed,
folded neatly, then unfolded,
creased in differing directions,
only to be undone back to flat,
worn, now and limp,
lacking enough integrity, perhaps,
for aerodynamic flight.

And all for a lack of direction,
a longing for flight
fighting reticence to height,
so that the dipped reed might record
a thought or trace a silhouette
—or otherwise leave a mark,
even if a splotchy blot

—Ultimately, the run-on sentence
is the avoidance of endings,
especially for those who
can’t figure out how to make a start,
or maybe it is all continuous starting,
without end,
Amen.

While wrapped in these ponderings,
in this landscape of dreaming,
there approached a form
drawing slowly up from a distance,
and soon there appeared a man,
riding an onager.

His gaze was steady and warm,
laugh-lines were in evidence,
and he greeted me like a friend.

Seeing the creased and blank sheet,
he said,

We embody the world we see,

an unfathomable array of beauty
punctuated by experiential pain.

Life is good, so we are taught,
and we can find ourselves

in this goodness as existential truth

even when the willow bends to breaking.

Don’t leave the canvas blank, my friend,
make your mark.

Don’t be afraid to create yourself,
be in the being;
as you have folded
and unfolded,
so all your markings
continue to amend and change.

Simultaneously, we each
know and do not know
where we are and why;
doing is all,
we invent as we go.

The words we utter,
and later record,
live on, even down to the dust
that is carried on the wind;
don’t die with your song trapped inside
—sing out, in full voice.

I’m making my mark, see?
he said,
touching his forehead, his lips, his heart,
don’t hesitate to make yours,
even if you don’t understand the significance
—the run-on sentence is the doing,
not the avoidance;
you can write and overwrite,
paint over and write some more—
it’s all continuous starting,
continuous writing,
without end,
Amen. 

He reached out and took my hand,
and held it for a moment, smiling,
before letting go,
but, as an after-thought,
reached out and touched my forehead.

Then, handing me a palm frond,
while good naturedly
slapping the onager’s flank,
forward and off on their page they went.

Looking down,
I saw that my page was full,
and that words were even running,
puddling in the creases,
accumulating in pools,
to run off the page
across the wadi,
or fly off the page,
up into the sky.

Both knowing and not knowing,
continuously starting,
we run, we fly, and we sing
without end,

Amen

© 2023 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen & songsofasouljourney.blogspot.com

Solstice

The shortest night

eases into the longest day;

the light can barely contain itself,

and the land heaves a sigh

of something quite pent up—

the interior landscape

exhales heat and humidity.

The birds take to song early,

take to flight soon after,

until the beating of wings

awakens the whole world

with inescapable rhythms.

Every stone, every branch,

even the driest blade of grass,

all awaken, as if from a long sleep,

and a longer dreaming.

Waves of warmth rise

in circular patterns off the ground,

as do the pollinators, 

flitting from blossom to blossom,

as if self-aware of greater liberties

to propel themselves upward,

despite the heavy weight 

of their cargos.

Everything rises on tiptoe, 

as if weightless,

expectant,

waiting

for the next coming,

Next,

only round the corner, now,

is all poised to bloom

and bear fruit, 

for, verily,

Life is the only choice

on this event horizon.

© 2022 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen and songsofasouljourney.blogspot.com

 

Dromedary Dreams

 

Journey of the Magi, James Tissot, c. 1894

Silent footfalls belie big burdens
—traces of feet will be gone by morning,
shrouded by wind-sifted curtains.

God is completely present, even
in these evening breezes;
every desert is wholly a part of Eden.

With all the planets aligned
to the fullness of ascended moon,
light is abundantly consigned,

Accompanied by comet and star
—all is made bright and visible;
no matter where you stand, there you are,

seen. Yet, onward we ply and plod,
destination unknown,
as they say in the Land of Nod.

Being—to be—good, by deed,
word and thought, is to lodge in a place
so full of goodness, there is no need

to be elsewhere; such is the goal.
To find, there within goodness, a refuge,
where to coalesce and be whole,

in spirit, mind and body,
this is what the dromedary dreams of,
while traversing the ancient wadi.

12/23/2021

For Epiphany

© Elisabeth T. Eliassen & songsofasouljourney.blogspot.com

Notes/Commentary: 

* Genesis 3:8-9, some translations suggest the Divine Being enjoys a walk in the cool evening breezes.
* Moon, Jupiter, Saturn and Venus to aligned around (Dec. 10), joined by the moon.

* Comet C/2021 A1 (Comet Leonard) will be visible throughout December 2021 and into early January 2022

* The mythobiblical Land of Nod is located east of Eden, from which Cain was banished for murdering Abel. But this is less about a story and more about a language. Nod is the root of the Hebrew verb “to wander.” Related words reflect meanings ranging from vagabond and fugitive to being disturbed, agitated or moved. To “live in the land of Nod” can mean “to live a wandering life.”

My friend Bajun R. Mavalwalla posted Tissot’s work on his Facebook page, along with some thoughts on the magi, from the traditions of his family. I woke up a week later with the words “dromedary dreams” in my mind. Since the words showed up, I thought I’d better work with them!

This poem is meant to be lighthearted and from the point of view of dromedaries, the common pack animal of the middle eastern deserts. Humans (with their baggage) run all over the place, trying to find the person, place or thing that will make existence perfect (“destination unknown”). The dromedaries in this poem rather think you don’t have to run around to find that—well, perhaps they would prefer to find, stay and experience the goodness of a single place, any place that is illumined by Divine light. (This would certainly save wear and tear of the desert sands on dromedary feet!). 

Ultimately, this is a story of immanence, the holiness of the seen and unseen. People run all over, looking for holiness, when in truth they are surrounded by it, if only they could see and be illumined/informed by the signs, and act in accordance with them--that is, with responsible stewardship and benevolence. Rather than make this a story about astronomers from Persia with three gifts for a baby messiah, my rendering is intended to honor the traces of Zoroastrian monotheism that come to us through the Hellenist Judaism of Philo and Christianity—the transformative threefold ethical path of good thoughts, good words and good deeds.

E.T.E.

September 11, 2021: A Meditation on Being

 

Rosh Hashanah is here. A time to turn and return. Here is one fundamental lesson I learned from a small portion of the sermon, given by Rabbi J. Perlman, something I had not known and found to be utterly amazing. 

The name of the Holy One (one, at least) is not a noun! It is an action verb, an imperfect action verb because the action is incomplete. To offer clarity, scriptural Hebrew has only two tenses Perfect Tense (denoting a completed action) or Imperfect Tense (denoting an incomplete action); these tenses are related to function, not to time. When Hebrew is translated into English, where all the tenses are time oriented (past, present, future), obvious difficulties are encountered.

This is a rather important detail Christian – and readers of scriptures in other language renderings – would likely miss because of the vagaries of translation. Indeed, just how to properly translate certain Hebrew phrases into English and other languages has been argued about for a very long time, and there is no concrete answer or agreement to the discussion. This is an open discussion.

What in the heck am I talking about, you ask?

It is that passage in Exodus (3:14) where the Holy One answers the question Moses asks: “What is your name?” The answer is given in many English renderings as “I AM THAT I AM… tell them I AM sent you.”

The Hebrew, transliterated, is “ehyeh asher ehyeh”; ehyeh is the verb “to be.” Because time is not a factor in Hebrew, verbs must be understood contextually. The meaning of the short phrase “ehyeh asher ehyeh” is less like “I am what I am” than “I was/I am/I will be what I will be as I continue to evolve [because I never end].” As I am not a linguist of ancient Hebrew, I had to consult an array of information on the internet to provide this particular, wide-ranging, personal understanding for you to consider. 

Moses found the enormity of this reply difficult to comprehend; the entity he had encountered was most definitely above and beyond any being he could imagine, but how do you identify – how do you name – such an apprehension, such a limitless, uncontained being, to others? How do you name something that cannot be understood, seen or embodied?

 

Ehyeh realized this was a problem, a stumbling block, for Moses; this is why Ehyeh goes on to say everything contained in the remaining passages of Exodus 3, identifying what has already been done for this set of people l’dor vador (from generation to generation), and what indeed will be done next, if Moses will go back to the people and proclaim the news.

 

The reply of Moses, at the start of Exodus 4, is understandable: They won’t believe me – in part because you have not appeared to them, as you have appeared to me. That response is natural, and it speaks to blind faith in the invisible, which struck me as blind faith in the future, given the context of the Rabbi’s sermon, the one I heard just a few days ago. [In my own Christian tradition, this brings context to that passage where Thomas needs to see the wounds of the Jesus that has returned. Jesus does not rebuke Thomas for his reaction, he draws near, remarking: Seeing is believing.] That would be food for an interesting discussion, but that is not what engaged my mind, on this particular Rosh Hashanah.

 

The Divine is being, and we are being also, in the image of the Divine. I will date myself by making a reference to the Flip Wilson Show, of the 1970’s, where there was an infrequent silly segment called, “The Church of What’s Happening Now.” 

The Holy One is always more about “what’s happening now” than anything that happened in the past, ever urging people to keep up and keep clean with current issues and relationships, rather than dwell on old ones. This is why the High Holy Days are so vitally important. Turning and Returning is not about dwelling on the past; Turning and Returning is about now and future. This is why reconciliation and forgiveness are such important features of the Days of Awe. How can we move forward, after all, if we allow ourselves to be hindered by what happened yesterday, last year, or decades ago. Anything that binds us to the past keeps us from participating in and realizing the future good we can be or make.

Dwelling on the past – also fundamentalism and orthodoxy – can be seen, in this light, as hindering our ability to move beyond “the way we’ve always done things;” it limits what we can apprehend and what our responses should be to what we apprehend. When we Turn and Return, it should always be toward forward momentum, following in the wake of Ehyeh, always moving ahead of us. This does not mean forgetting, this means getting on with life.

In a few days, on Yom Kippur, these words will be chanted (Deuteronomy 30:19), and I have edited the passage to represent the Divine in keeping with this discussion: 

This day, I call the heavens and the earth as witnesses that I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Now choose life, so that you and your children may live and that you may love being, apprehend what it is to be, and to hold fast to being. For to be is your life’s work, and being will give you many years in the land Being swore to give to your fathers, Abraham, Isaac and Jacob.

Today is the 11^th of September. We can mourn our losses and remember those we lost. What we should not do is be stuck in a past that leads to further destruction, further strife, further war. 

Even later in the day on Yom Kippur, a portion of these words will be chanted (Leviticus 19: 32-37), and I have edited the passage again, to fit the context of this discussion:

Show honor to the elderly; stand up when they come into the room. And show respect to your leaders. I am Being. Do not do bad things to foreigners living in your country. You must treat them the same as you treat your own citizens. Love them as you love yourselves. Remember, you were foreigners in Egypt. I am Being! [I declare that ]You must be fair when you judge people, and you must be fair when you measure and weigh things. Your baskets should be the right size. Your jars should hold the right amount of liquids. Your weights and balances should weigh things correctly. I am Being. I brought you out of the land of Egypt. You must remember and obey my ethics. I am Being!”

On this September 11^th, let us mark the occasion by remembering, but then by moving forward, choosing life! The best way to honor those we’ve lost is to be! The expectation of the Divine is that each individual engage with Being by being all that we can be, doing as much good in this world as we can. Being is our sacred birthright; being our very best is our sacred duty.

Blessings to you, and let us say: 

Amen.

Advent Austerity

 

That which we seek may not show forth today
—perhaps this is a hidden blessing.

 

Moon and stars light the night skies,
making way for bright sun / cold morning.

 

Masked faces pass one another silently,
like quiet and distant ghosts.

 

Solitary cyclists ply their courses,
weaving between pedestrians with care.

 

Fisherfolk, in shorebird form,
bide their time, lying in wait for canny nourishment.

 

People prepare humble meals at home,
created with simple ingredients to hand.

 

Come nightfall, all creatures
retire to their respective nesting places.

 

Thoughtful quiet descends.

 

There is a measure of,
if not peace,
acquiescent composure.

 

The tension between oppression and freedom
is bridged by self-control,
wherein this condition apart 
is allowed to uphold fragile integral nature,
very like the deliverance depicted in any miracle play.

 

If we were not so self-conscious
within our self-regulated austerity,
we might yet hear the song
of the hummingbird's dream,
might feel the earth’s hum in our bones,
might awaken to the nascent answer
of the riddle of our existence,
then tattoo it, as a reminder,
on our opened-ever-outward palms, 
ready to accept and to give blessing,

as the journey rolls on.

© 2020 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen and songsofasouljourney.blogspot.com

photo by Rick Lewis for Bay Nature magazine, April - June 2016

All That You Touch

It is not enough
that each step moves forward
if there is neither measure,
nor meaning;
if the ground that offers support
isn’t also speaking,
or, if speaking, is not heard.

Know: All that you touch is also touching you.

Being is a reciprocity,
an opportunity and invitation
to participate in fullness, everywhere
         to glean,
                  to feel,
to make,
         to sing and
                  celebrate.

Remember: All that you touch is also touching you.

You are the butterfly sightings
the drumsongs of feet,
caught up in this epic symphony;
your instrument
is tuned to the entirety
of all that has ever been,
         of all that can ever be.

Every touch, every encounter,
is an opportunity and invitation to renew,
         to grow,
                  to learn,
         love,
                  laugh,
an invitation to linger in song.

Celebrate: All that you touch is also touching you.

An infinite smear of star dust,
twin enigmas of light and dark,
blessings of water and earth,
join in the marvel of you,
burnished by sun, wind and waves,
l’dor v’ador, in saecula saeculorum.

There is no need to discover,
the garden of wisdom,
the lake of merit,
the mountain of repose,
the vale of mysteries
—they meet on the
landscape of your soul.

For, all that you touch is also touching you.

There is no need to search for
mystical union,
for all that you touch is already touching you,
awaiting an answer to the eternal question:
“Will you be with us?”
—awaiting the resounding song of your soul,
the song of “Yes.”

© 2018 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Waking beneath swirling stars

Waking beneath swirling stars
into this kaleidoscopic array,
where colors, light and shadows play
through loud or unexpectedly quiet hours,
grateful for: fruit of the vine,
waiting to be crafted into wine;
all the prayerful, fragrant flowers
snug ‘neath warm and sunny ray;
the themes with variations
of being and doing, each day
a new start at the foundations;
the play of You at my horizon,
which is really the Play of Us,
hum-sung to grow and wisen
all toward easiness within, without fuss;
the freedom to know and accept love;
the curiosity to seek and explore,
both below the surface and above,
what can be known of music and rhythms,
in their proper expansions and contractions,
mind and heart exercising all possible lyricisms
beyond the care of doubting reactions;
borrowed place and renewing rest;
for the weight of others’ cares;
for communal work and quest;
for those willing hands, hearts, arms and chairs
offered in my own hours of need;
and more,
            and more,
                        and, oh, so much more;
take this as a pledge to sow and seed and cede
beauties where most appropriate, never forsaking.

© 2017 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Bay-wise Byways: 1. Cartography

Some will laugh
when they see me
plotting the geography
of my heart.

Starting at Mount Tamalpais
and ending at Cold Mountain,
the footpath rounds the San Francisco Peaks,
and touches the Four Corners.

Terrains are inconclusive,
but lines are deeply drawn.

Truly,

there is art
in such cartography.

To map your own heart:
breathe,
open wide,
move forward on the trackless path,
follow the bird in flight,
keeping to the middle ground,
mind the gap,
and rest when the sun goes down.

Where you are now,
be fully here,
singing the song of your soul.

© 2016 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Sutra of No More Sutras

Thus I have heard, once and forever.

In the wake of Shariputra’s death and parinirvana, Ananda spoke,
voicing the thoughts of those assembled.

“Honored teacher, we know your time with us nears its completion.
Pray, tell us how to continue beyond your extinction?”

The Buddha opened his eyes and offered his smile to all,
and then he spoke:

“For many years, we have thus assembled,
and I have given voice to the music of one vehicle,
three treasures,
four noble truths,
six perfections,
ten powers and ten precepts,
twelve causes and thirty-two signs.
I have spoken and chanted into the ten directions:
and these sayings and singings continue to vibrate through the chiliocosm. “

“To you, a good doctrine has been given,
acknowledged by buddhas and arhats,
past, present and future,
and expertly remembered by you, honored Ananda.
Many sermons have been set down,
by scribe after scribe,
in scroll after scroll after scroll.

“Good cousin, Ananda,
these teachings of the way
have been the making of a raft,
one strong enough to float above
the ever-flowing stream of happening
and even of dharma practice.

“But this raft must now be untethered and released,
and each adept must engage
the singular stream of unfolding—
the teaching, and also the teacher,
must be released into the wild unknown.

“Wherefore?
Because, any other course would come to ruin
in grasping and corruption.”

All present, on hearing these things, quietly bowed their heads.

“Do not sorrow, Dear Ones,
do not sorrow; the great void is not to be feared,
for truly it is indicative of endless potential,
which is Presence,
gleaming and differently perceived in each moment.

“How the good doctrine will flourish
on the ever-flowing river
cannot be foretold by the Tathagata,
nor by all the ranks of adepts in every dimension,
neither can time tell.

“To reside on the scroll
is to miss the point,
it is a surrender to inaction
that borders on forgetting;
one can rapidly become lost
in the thicket of serifs and diacriticals,
grammars and dialecticals.

“This leads to doubt.
Doubt leads to discussion.
Discussion leads to arguments and grousing,
parsing and chasing
after forms and meanings.

“In the end, this activity is
so tarry illogical
to the reality of eternal moment.”

The birds in the trees stopped singing,
cocking their heads to listen.

The butterflies found a place to light,
so they could hear.

The trees bowed their limbs lower.

“The chasing after merit
is also like the chasing after forms and meanings.

“There is only the Way,
and the truth of the Way
is where the heaping of merit occurs
never for the individual,
but only for all of existence,
as served by the Three Jewels.

“These Jewels are Buddha, Dharma and Sangha;

compassion, frugality and humility;

right view, right knowledge and right conduct;
thought, word and deed;
essence, vitality and spirit.

“Any heaping of merit is
unknown and unknowable,
but indeed present in eternal moment.

“Every being who does right in the moment
heaps merit onto the wheel of time and change,
for all and for all time.

“There is no such thing as competition;
all conscious right actions are integral
to the completion of perfection.
This is the essence of the Middle Way.”

A single ray of light burst forth
from between the Buddha’s brows,
touching all with understanding.
The birds, the butterflies and the trees
arose jubilantly.

“Take to the raft of the Way and journey.
Be the gift of goodness in the World.
Do not write it or discuss or plan it.
Be it, in the best way you can, in the moment;
this is how the teaching grows and spreads
to all generations.”

When the Buddha finished this Discourse,
all present were filled with the joy of this teaching,
and, taking it sincerely to heart, they went their ways.

© 2015 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Now and Then

Now and then,
in the glare of some too bright light,
there is heaviness to the world,
or perhaps it is this flesh
that weighs so.

We do not own this moment,
or even our memories,
for all things change--
we are all changing,
and soon shall all be changed.

As the leaves blush with color,
falling like showers of tears,
they seem a dry and wrinkled
testament to all that was,
both green and young;

But what these eyes have seen
lies deep within this soul,
a music of memories
rising to the surface,

now and then.

Now and then,
backward, then fast forward;
Autumn leaves give way
to light Spring eves,
with buds on all the trees.

Now and then—
who can say when?
—wistful memories
of so many days gone by
will rightly sing this soul alight.

© 2014 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Bare Necessity

As through an open door,
the sun rises,
and the spider gates
enwrap the early riser
with morning glory.

Light wakes all sleeping places,
unveiling every hidden place,
filling all with the beauty
known as dawn.

All names rise, too;
all are known and know,
nothing is strange or out of place,
there is no mystery of otherness.

What is revealed
in the rising of the sun
is, and all must work together,
through the good and the bad,
rolling onward, and more.

© 2014 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

meditation on Isaiah 45:1-7 and Luke 8:17

Meditations in Fast Times: 38. We all walk this path

Note to Readers: “Meditations in Fast Times” is a devotional writing experiment for the Season of Lent. Each day during the season, I am writing a poem as a meditation on, taking as my inspiration and intertextual basis, T.S. Eliot’s “Four Quartets”, as well as incorporating the daily office, current events, and other readings—some the same as those Eliot used while composing his seminal work and others.

                38.

We all walk this path,
The blood in our veins dances
As we follow the stars;
Each pattern is a math
Of blind schemes and chances,
Of discovery solely ours.

We seek the still,
Where at the still point
There might be peace
Within which to find will
To withstand all disappoint,
To accept a final cease.

Where have we been?
It is difficult to say;
Perhaps we are the place
Where there is no sin,
Only experience may
Mark our path and face.

We watch one we love
Ascend the final tree;
Sacrifice does not mar
The healing of the Dove,
It is here for all to see,
Being reconciled to the Star.

Freedom and release,
Both time and timeless,
Past and future join now,
Where the only timepiece,
Is being, explicitly ceaseless
—Only truth hangs from the bough.

© 2014 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Meditations in Fast Times: 30. There is a time for building

Note to Readers: “Meditations in Fast Times” is a devotional writing experiment for the Season of Lent. Each day during the season, I am writing a poem as a meditation on, taking as my inspiration and intertextual basis, T.S. Eliot’s “Four Quartets”, as well as incorporating the daily office, current events, and other readings—some the same as those Eliot used while composing his seminal work and others.

                30.

There is a time for building,
a time for collapse,
a time of reckoning,
a time for remembering,
a time of forgetting,
a time for forgiving
a time of returning;
all these times are the same time,
past, present and future,
all apparent in the blooming eglantine,
all apparent in the salt clinging to each blossom,
all apparent in everything awaiting its due season.

We rise, we fall, we crumble;
Our old wood burns quick, hot
cinders into ash; we return to earth
and the wind carries us, like seeds,
to every corner, every place—
we are the song on the wind
as sunlight fills the empty pool;
neither shadow, nor light,
but we are there, in due season.

We are in the running rivers,
we are in the waving grain,
we are in the slowness of trees,
in the speed of the hummingbird,
we are the cries, smiles, laughter and dance
that turn to mourning and remembrance,
we are silence and sound, which together are music,
we are the songs of sadness or rejoicing—
we are the time and seasons,
and we await our due,
our return.

We are quietness at rest,
if we could be content so to be.

We are the dream,
if we could be content so to be.

The house of mirth and the house of mourning
are one and the same dream;
the clinging salt does not harm the beauty of the rose,
and the rose does not rebuke the embrace of the salty spray—
they are content to be thrown together,
for it is grand to be;
being is the grandest dream of all.

© 2014 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen