Saturday, January 14, 2012

Language as Rain

I just read the most beautiful passage from The Hand of Poetry: Five Mystic Poets of Persia by Inayat Khan, translated by Coleman Barks.  On the subject of Hafiz:

     Consider this metaphor for his poetry.  The sound of rain is language being used. Silence is an orchard when it's not raining, the ground moisture being quietly drawn up into the fruit trees.  Then there's the Hafiz-place, in between silence and speaking, when it's quit raining, but a rain-like dripping continues in the orchard.  His poetry is a peace so fine it keeps overflowing, as though from nowhere.


This week and maybe the next, I plan to let the things that I like speak in place of my words.  The daily writing of my thoughts is something I enjoy, particularly because on some occasions a discussion in comments is sparked.  But I sense that what I really need during this time is enough quiet inside my own mind to remember what I like without taking too many other thoughts in, or sending too many thoughts out.

During the next week, I might share a picture that I've taken, or a song that's playing in my heart.  I might have nothing at all to share.  Comments are welcome but not obligatory.  I'm going to live as though the ground water is being quietly drawn upwards.

Today, I have a song.


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