My teacher told me to enter meditation as though writing a poem without words. That delighted me, because I’ve often sensed that what I write is not the actual poem, the words are just markers for the indescribable feeling or thought.
Nevertheless, if you want to share, words become unavoidable!
The Singing Sings the Singer
>I sing songs of God
or so it seems to me.
Words and tunes and names have changed,
or so it seems to you.
Sunday-school rhymes, speaking in tongues,
Gregorian chants, Buddhist mantras,
and the words I string because I must.
>I take what words I find
and use them though they’re useless.
It’s building rafts of pebbles,
and somehow sailing anyway.
>Don’t listen to the words,
Don’t listen to the notes.
Before the words–
Before the notes–each note–
Do you see it?
Can you feel it?
It’s all I am, and all you are.
>When my bones have turned to dust,
and the oceans sink in sand,
>Just listen to the Singing
from which we are sung.