(English version by Robert Hass Original Language Polish)
A valley and above it forests in autumn colors.
A voyager arrives, a map leads him there.
Or perhaps memory. Once long ago in the sun,
When snow first fell, riding this way
He felt joy, strong, without reason,
Joy of the eyes. Everything was the rhythm
Of shifting trees, of a bird in flight,
Of a train on the viaduct, a feast in motion.
He returns years later, has no demands.
He wants only one, most precious thing:
To see, purely and simply, without name,
Without expectations, fears, or hopes,
At the edge where there is no I or not-I.
and this film: http://soulbiographies.com/our-spiritual-nature/
Go find someone who knows.
A woman, your mother,
They will show you how to begin.
Cast on. This is not easy.
It involves loops. Relax.
Tension flows in, twists and knots.
Feel the warmth of the wool.
Allow the click of needles,
the rhythm of the stitches
to knit you calm.
It is not grief that shapes our days,
but peace. Console yourself
and as you knit,
death will not come close, but lies,
its belly to the fire to warm its fur.
Once a man came to me and spoke for hours about the great visions of God, he felt he was having.
He asked me for confirmation, saying ‘Are these wondrous dreams true?’
I replied, ‘How many goats do you have?’
He looked surprised and said, ‘I am speaking of sublime visions and you ask about goats?’
And I spoke again, saying, ‘Yes brother — how many do you have?’
‘Well, Hafiz, I have sixty two.’
‘And how many wives?’
Again he looked surprised, then said, ‘Four.’
‘How many rose bushes in your garden? How many children? Are your parents still alive? Do you feed the birds in winter?’
And to all he answered.
Then I said, ‘You asked me if I thought your visions were true. I would say that they were if they made you become more human, more kind to every creature and plant that you know.’
photo Rose Cook