My favorite poem. What 's yours?

Joseph Campbell formulated what became his most quoted dictum, "Follow your bliss" in the decade before his death. Join this conversation to explore this idea and share stories.

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Evinnra
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Post by Evinnra » Fri Oct 08, 2010 2:37 am

Neoplato wrote:
What is the source of hatred if not love?
:x :twisted: :shock:
Agree, again, surprise, surprise ! :D

Maybe we should start a thread on hatred, no? I too have heard that people hate those who are very much like them selves, but does that mean we hate those whom we actually love? I find that very very very difficult to believe. What do you think?
'A fish popped out of the water only to be recaptured again. It is as I, a slave to all yet free of everything.'
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Post by Andreas » Fri Oct 08, 2010 6:48 am

Neoplato wrote:
What is the source of hatred if not love?
:x :twisted: :shock:
Well I am trying to be poetic. :lol:
“To live is enough.” ― Shunryu Suzuki
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Post by Clemsy » Fri Oct 08, 2010 10:05 am

The thought popped into my head, and at this time of day its veracity is most certainly pen to question, connecting love and hate to the chakra system, one above, the other below? Surely hate is the product of ego-desire?

Hate is a word that's bounced around a lot, but I don't know how common it actually is. I can't say I've ever experienced true hate. I don't know that hate is accessible to someone who operates from the heart, no? hate is often used as hyperbole for disappointment, frustration or mere dislike.

The capacity for hate is a measure of character, no?

Haven't finished my second cup of joe yet, so feel free to round file this one...
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Post by Dionysus » Sun Oct 10, 2010 3:02 pm

Neo, Your emoticons made me laugh and laugh . . .

Here is a poem which i find myself reciting frequently, especially the opening stanza as a morning prayer.

i thank You God for most this amazing
day :for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky ;and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday ;this is the birth
day of life and of love and wings:and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any--lifted from the no
of all nothing--human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

e.e. cummings (1950)
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Post by jufa » Wed Oct 13, 2010 8:04 pm

Memories In Aloneness

The town is asleep tonight, and I sit alone within myself.
It does not matter where I may be; whose presence I am in,
nor who may be in my presence, I sit alone within myself.

It is as though I am trapped in memories of days long gone,
but never forgotten. Days when the sky was alight with beams
of brightness, and the heaven aglow in the blue only God could
establish; even when covered with dark clouds of reaching back
for that which could never be a part of now.

Oh I remember those days! I was young and in love. Days when
all you spoke was joy to me; when I marveled seeing your tongue
nudged out each syllable slowly as a child exits the womb, light-
ening my soul, mind, heart in complete, whole, perfect, and pure
rhapsody.

Somewhere I recall the night sky lit up by firecrackers, as on the
4th of July. And then I was enveloped by remembering you leaning
back in my arms. The memory fades, and I sit alone in the black
depth of only I.

jufa
Last edited by jufa on Sun Oct 17, 2010 3:09 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Post by CarmelaBear » Sun Oct 17, 2010 12:17 pm

e. e.

eye owe you

say it's the "no of nothing"

and we agree
Last edited by CarmelaBear on Fri Nov 19, 2010 1:18 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Once in a while a door opens, and let's in the future. --- Graham Greene
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Post by Andreas » Fri Nov 19, 2010 12:45 pm

Found this in a paper about mythology and had to share. Enjoy.

Robert G. Ingersoll (1833-1899)
Life is a narrow vale between the cold
And barren peaks of two eternities.
We strive in vain to look beyond the heights,
We cry aloud; the only answer
Is the echo of our wailing cry.
From the voiceless lips of the unreplying dead
There comes no word; but in the night of death
Hope sees a star, and listening love can hear
The rustle of wing.
These myths were born of hopes, and fears and tears,
And smiles; and they were touched and colored
By all there is of joy and grief between
The rosy dawn of birth and death’s sad night;
They clothed even the stars with passion,
And gave the gods the faults and frailties
Of the sons of men. In them the winds
And waves were music, and all the lakes and streams,
Springs, mountains, woods, and perfumed dells,
Were haunted by a thousand fairy forms.
“To live is enough.” ― Shunryu Suzuki
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Post by CarmelaBear » Fri Nov 19, 2010 1:21 pm

rosy births?

being a woman puts a whole 'nother view on that.

the rest was great, though.
Once in a while a door opens, and let's in the future. --- Graham Greene
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Post by smpa » Sat Nov 20, 2010 11:30 pm

I love poetry- so it is not so easy to choose - But here is something from The Waste Land. by T.S. Elliot

Little Gidding

Ash on an old man's sleeve
Is all the ash the burnt roses leave.
Dust in the air suspended
Marks the place where a story ended.
Dust inbreathed was a house-
The walls, the wainscot and the mouse,
The death of hope and despair,
This is the death of air.

There are flood and drouth
Over the eyes and in the mouth,
Dead water and dead sand
Contending for the upper hand.
The parched eviscerate soil
Gapes at the vanity of toil,
Laughs without mirth.
This is the death of earth.

Water and fire succeed
The town, the pasture and the weed.
Water and fire deride
The sacrifice that we denied.
Water and fire shall rot
The marred foundations we forgot,
Of sanctuary and choir.
This is the death of water and fire.

In the uncertain hour before the morning
Near the ending of interminable night
At the recurrent end of the unending
After the dark dove with the flickering tongue
Had passed below the horizon of his homing
While the dead leaves still rattled on like tin
Over the asphalt where no other sound was
Between three districts whence the smoke arose
I met one walking, loitering and hurried
As if blown towards me like the metal leaves
Before the urban dawn wind unresisting.
And as I fixed upon the down-turned face
That pointed scrutiny with which we challenge
The first-met stranger in the waning dusk
I caught the sudden look of some dead master
Whom I had known, forgotten, half recalled
Both one and many; in the brown baked features
The eyes of a familiar compound ghost
Both intimate and unidentifiable.
So I assumed a double part, and cried
And heard another's voice cry: "What! are you here?"
Although we were not. I was still the same,
Knowing myself yet being someone other-
And he a face still forming; yet the words sufficed
To compel the recognition they preceded.
And so, compliant to the common wind,
Too strange to each other for misunderstanding,
In concord at this intersection time
Of meeting nowhere, no before and after,
We trod the pavement in a dead patrol.
I said: "The wonder that I feel is easy,
Yet ease is cause of wonder. Therefore speak:
I may not comprehend, may not remember."
And he: "I am not eager to rehearse
My thoughts and theory which you have forgotten.
These things have served their purpose: let them be.
So with your own, and pray they be forgiven
By others, as I pray you to forgive
Both bad and good. Last season's fruit is eaten
And the fullfed beast shall kick the empty pail.
For last year's words belong to last year's language
And next year's words await another voice.
But, as the passage now presents no hindrance
To the spirit unappeased and peregrine
Between two worlds become much like each other,
So I find words I never thought to speak
In streets I never thought I should revisit
When I left my body on a distant shore.
Since our concern was speech, and speech impelled us
To purify the dialect of the tribe
And urge the mind to aftersight and foresight,
Let me disclose the gifts reserved for age
To set a crown upon your lifetime's effort.
First, the cold fricton of expiring sense
Without enchantment, offering no promise
But bitter tastelessness of shadow fruit
As body and sould begin to fall asunder.
Second, the conscious impotence of rage
At human folly, and the laceration
Of laughter at what ceases to amuse.
And last, the rending pain of re-enactment
Of all that you have done, and been; the shame
Of things ill done and done to others' harm
Which once you took for exercise of virtue.
Then fools' approval stings, and honour stains.
From wrong to wrong the exasperated spirit
Proceeds, unless restored by that refining fire
Where you must move in measure, like a dancer."
The day was breaking. In the disfigured street
He left me, with a kind of valediction,
And faded on the blowing of the horn


blessings to you all
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Post by Andreas » Thu Dec 23, 2010 7:09 am

"We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time." [T.S. Eliot: Little Gidding.]
“To live is enough.” ― Shunryu Suzuki
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Post by Neoplato » Thu Dec 23, 2010 5:45 pm

"We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time." [T.S. Eliot: Little Gidding.]
And after that moment of Ah-Ha (which is a very pleasent experience and lingers around for a great while), what happens say...a couple of years later?
Infinite moment, grants freedom of winter death, allows life to dawn.
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Post by Andreas » Thu Dec 23, 2010 6:13 pm

There is always something more to explore Neo, always.. or you can just enjoy the silence, I guess. But I really don't know, I let you know when I get there. :P
“To live is enough.” ― Shunryu Suzuki
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Post by Cindy B. » Thu Dec 23, 2010 11:04 pm

Neoplato wrote:And after that moment of Ah-Ha (which is a very pleasent experience and lingers around for a great while), what happens say...a couple of years later?
More laundry to do. :P


Here's a book that might interest you, Neoplato:

After the Ecstasy, the Laundry: How the Heart Grows Wise on the Spiritual Path
By Jack Kornfield (2001)
http://www.amazon.com/After-Ecstasy-Lau ... 361&sr=1-1

Cindy
If the path before you is clear, you’re probably on someone else’s. --Jung
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Quotes

Post by smpa » Fri Dec 24, 2010 3:49 pm

God does not play dice with the Universe
Joseph Campbell
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Re: Quotes

Post by Cindy B. » Fri Dec 24, 2010 4:27 pm

smpa wrote:God does not play dice with the Universe
Joseph Campbell
Just want to mention, smpa, that here Campbell was repeating a quote attributed to Einstein. :)

Cindy
If the path before you is clear, you’re probably on someone else’s. --Jung
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