I Wish I Could Speak Like Music

I Wish I Could Speak Like Music

I wish I could speak like music.
I wish I could put the swaying splendor of fields
into words 
so that you could hold Truth 
against your body and dance. 

I am trying to cover you with light. 
I want to give you the sublime rhythms of this earth
and the sky's limbs 
as they joyously spin. 

          Ayn Rand was a novelist and philosopher, known for her two best-selling novels, The Fountainhead and Atlas Shrugged, and for developing a philosophical system she called Objectivism. I cannot say that I agree with all of her viewpoints, and in fact, find some offensive, but I admire her spirit in some respects, especially this line: “Do not let your fire go out, spark by irreplaceable spark in the hopeless swamps of the not-quite, the not-yet, and the not-at-all. Do not let the hero in your soul perish in lonely frustration for the life you deserved and have never been able to reach. The world you desire can be won. It exists.. it is real.. it is possible.. it's yours.”

          In addition, I welcome her belief: "my philosophy, in essence, is the concept of man as a heroic being" and "love is our response to our highest values". Heroism is more true for some than others. Someone who makes this particularly true is Zach Sobiech, who, before his death from osteosarcoma, realsed the song "Clouds" that became the first song by an independent artist to reach the top of the iTunes music charts. This kind of legacy is resonate with Hafiz knowing we orchestrate symphonies within. 

5,000 people singing Clouds at Mall of America

(2013)

But What Can Die?

But What Can Die?

The earth is a host 
that murders its guests.

But what can die?
Nothing.

All dying just removes the husk 
over the soul.

All dying unveils
the wonder within. 

           I am halfway through Viktor Frankl's Man's Search for Meaning, and one of the things that stood out to me is how in the constant threat of death, people were not just staying alive, but actually living. He recounted people handing out their serving of bread, despite being starving, people using their free time to hold religious services and pray, rather than get the much needed rest, people leaning on each other, literally and figuratively. He noted that those who survived possessed a spiritual freedom, which was a unique essence that could not be taken away from them. These men believed that despite horrendous suffering, he "could not be replaced, nor his life be repeated". In this, men lived like their lives mattered and lived for a future when "mattering" meant what it used to.  For Frankl, this meant envisioning himself in a lecture hall, discussing his time in the concentration camp in light of his profession, and for this, being known as a famous psychiatrist. “Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms—to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way.”
         For Frankl, that meant that even in the face of immense suffering, no one could suffer for him or in his place. In this realization he found that his existence in the world was definite, he was alive, and his uniqueness would come in the form of how he beared his burden. He acknowledged that while this achievement "will not inspire envy" it was the "accomplishment of my life for which I am most proud".
       
           Frankl's writing is brilliant, and below I have included one of his passages on Fate (which he believed in and mentioned numerous times in the book):

"When the transport of sick patients for the "rest camp" was organized, my name (that is, my number) was put on the list, since a few doctors were needed. But no one was convinced that the destination was really a rest camp. 

The chief doctor, who had taken a liking to me, told me furtively one evening at quarter to ten, "I have made it known in the orderly room that you can still have your name crossed off the list; you may do so up until ten o'clock." 

I told him that this was not my way; that I had learned to let fate take its course: "I might as well stay with my friends." 

There was a look of pity in his eyes, as if he knew. He shook my hand silently, as though it were a farewell, not for life, but from life. 

....

We were not heading for the gas chambers, and we actually did go to a rest camp. Those who had pitied me remained in a camp where famine was to rage even more fiercely than in our new camp. 

....

Many weeks later we found out that even in those last hours fate had toyed with us few remaining prisoners. We found out just how uncertain human decisions are, especially in matters of life and death. I was confronted with photographs which had been taken...our friends who thought they were traveling to freedom...had burned to death. 

....

Does this not bring to mind the story of Death in Teheran? A rich and mighty Persian once walked in his garden with one of his servants. The servant cried that he had just encountered Death, who had threatened him. He begged his master to give him his fastest horse so that he could make haste and flee to Teheran, which he could reach that same evening. The master consented and the servant galloped off on the horse. On returning to his house the master himself met Death, and questioned him, "Why did you terrify and threaten my servant?" "I did not threaten him; I only showed surprise in still finding him here, when I planned to meet him tonight in Teheran," said Death." 

Viktor Frankl (1905-1997)

Behold Yourself

Behold Yourself

Like a great film or play everyone should see,
behold yourself. 

Hints of your beauty the mountains have,
and the enchanting complexions of coral reefs
are pale to a golden candle in your heart. 

What moves in any ocean moves through you. 
A thousand kinds of music play every hour
that you orchestrate. 

              I just came across the poem Postcards by E. Ethelbert Miller. It is below: 

Postcards

When was the last time you mailed a postcard? 

 My mother kept the ones I sent her. 

My sister mailed them back to me after she died. 

I had forgotten I had written so many small notes to my mother. 

The price of stamps kept changing. 

I was always mentioning on the back of cards I was having a good time. 

I can remember the first time I lied to my mother. 

It was something small, maybe the size of a postcard. 

Her small hand inside my hand. 

I was beginning to feel something I knew I would never write home about. 

          At first, I presumed this writer, who identifies as "E." for a first name, was gay, as why else would you not write home about love? Then I read, E. is actually a straight black male, and the girl he writes about is Chinese. Judy's race or color is not mentioned in the poem, but he knew his mother would not approve of the relationship. In doing so, I wonder if maybe he feels as though he never wrote home about his greatest accomplishment, loving another. I wonder if she felt offended. I wonder if it lasted. If you truly "behold yourself", then the confidence is there to embrace whatever identity is yours. Then again, the author reflects on in his commentary, asking the reader: "In the past, don't all secrets seem small?" 

The Night Orchard

The Night Orchard 

The night orchard is in bloom, 

the clear sky. 

How many people have looked upon it

and called it by different names? 

Still, the stars respond as if there is something 

so personal between you. 

       This past month I got a Celestron NexStar 90SLT Mak Computerized Telescope to replace my Meade ETX 90PE. I've yet to fully set it up and "slew" it, as observers would say, but I'm excited to add pictures and joys to my blog when I start regularly observing again. I love starring at the stars in the night sky and just feeling without worry, feeling infinite, for mere moments. As Henry Wadsworth Longfellow said, "the lovely stars are the forget-me-nots of the angels".

      The first constellation I knew by heart was Orion, and within it the stars, Rigel and Betelgeuse.

Orion Constellation, Hubble 

Heaven is Jealous

Heaven is Jealous

There are moments in moist love 
when heaven is 
jealous of what we on earth can do.

And there are gods who would trade their lives
to have a heart that can know human pain,

because our sufferings will allow us to become
greater than this world. 

         For school I research many topics, few stick with me as more than facts that must be recalled, both now and at some future point in time. Today, I happened upon Triploid syndrome, an extremely rare chromosomal disorder, with a prognosis worse than Downs Syndrome (Trisomy 21), Edwards Syndrome (Trisomy 18), and Patau Syndrome (Trisomy 13). Individuals with triploid syndrome have 69 chromosomes rather than the normal 46. Fetuses are usually lost early on through miscarriage. Another portion survive, but are stillborn. Very few are born alive, in fact there are only around 60 recorded cases ever in the world. Unfortunately, these children rapidly decline after birth. Of note, most of the medical pictures for children born alive with Triploid syndrome are featured both in articles and on the parents' blogs. Of course it is the parents' blogs that are the reason behind why I bring this up. Almost universally I was met with quotes similar to this one: "Briefly I held an angel, and for that I am grateful, for that, I can know joy." 

         I believe that there are heavenly moments in human relationships and sometimes we come across angels on earth, and I'd wager both of these are most likely to happen in moments of love. Moments of love can be anything, from sitting close to having sex to saying goodbye too soon. If Hafiz is right, then "our sufferings allow us to become greater than this world", and this too, however unsettling, is a component of love. Perhaps the only solace is knowing that love does allow us to rise above, "Of all the things you see, only love is infinite" (Rumi). 

        The words of Kahlil Gibran sum this up perfectly:

"But if in your fear you would seek only love's peace and love's pleasure,
Then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness 

and pass out of love's threshing-floor,
Into the seasonless world 

where you shall laugh, but not all of your laughter, 

and cry, but not all of your tears." 

The Cathedral (1908), Rodin Museum

“In friendship or in love, the two side by side raise hands together to find what one cannot reach alone.” - Gibran

Where Is The Door to God?

Where Is The Door to God?

Where is the door to God? 
In the sound of a barking dog,
in the ring of a hammer,
in a drop of rain,
in the face of everyone, 
in all we can behold. 

             In 2009, everyone knew the opening lyrics to The Fray's You Found Me, "I found God

on the corner of First and Amistad...". God is wherever people are when they find him, when they need him, when they talk to him. Poets have long known that God is in the eyes of your beloved, in the first snow of the season, in the miracle of a new day, etc. As humans, we seem to forget this from time to time, but if you prayed to God now, he would be near enough to hear you, holding your hand as you read this. 

You Found Me (2009), The Fray 

How Do I Listen?

How Do I Listen? 

How do I listen to others?
As if everyone were my Master 
speaking to me 
his cherished last words.

How do I listen to you?
As if you were the Alpha 
and the Omega 
of all sound. 

         April is poetry month, woohoo! The American Academy of Poets sent me this email today: "Once a day please press pause on the mad rush and read a poem. Linger over its language. Reflect on its lines, as they might reveal new truths about your life. Imagine the experiences and histories portrayed, which are so different from your own. Smile and enjoy!"
        When we are "fully present" it is a great gift. It is how we grow in love with another, by dropping the obligations of life, pressing pause, and lingering in their presence. Listening, just listening. Cherishing every word as if it were a poem, because the words of the people you love are akin to poetry.
        Just as the Academy of Poets recommends this month, truly absorbing the words of your lover "reveal new truths about your life". In the iconic novel by John Green, The Fault In Our Stars, the two main characters face the challenge of their time to listen to each other being limited.
“Some infinities are bigger than other infinities. But, my love, I cannot tell you how thankful I am for our little infinity. I wouldn't trade it for the world. You gave me a forever within the numbered days, and I'm grateful.”           The marks you leave within the hearts of those who loved you, have an infinity all their own. And yes, that's poetry. Happy Poetry Month! :D