we inhabitants of pachamama consciously and/or unconsciously hear daily of the unleashing of unhealed pain and trauma and are called to contemplate the impact on our island home necessitating our gathering in circle to hear spirit in the gentle breeze and flowing water, in the heartbeat of the drum and the voices of the elders, in the echoes of ancient memories reverberating inside… in this sacred moment of eternity, let us come home to what truly is… we are one people breathed alive through our one singing heart… receiving the knowing of how to freely be… moving fluidly through sacred mystery… let us deepen into that field out beyond, the sacred listening circle of satyagraha meaning in pursuit of truth… let’s gather together drawing down the energy of harmony from the imaginal realms and take in the words of an amazing peacemaker who brings us to membering again the wisdom that there is only one of us here and opens our one heart to greater compassion… as we read his poem, let us re-member our mindful breathing… breathing in, re-member life is without limits… breathing out, re-member that we, like Thay, have never been born and never die, we are children of the central sun that never rises and never sets:

~

Please Call Me By My True Names

“Don’t say that I will depart tomorrow—
even today I am still arriving.

Look deeply: every second I am arriving
to be a bud on a Spring branch,
to be a tiny bird, with still-fragile wings,
learning to sing in my new nest,
to be a caterpillar in the heart of a flower,
to be a jewel hiding itself in a stone.

I still arrive, in order to laugh and to cry,
to fear and to hope.
The rhythm of my heart is the birth and death
of all that is alive.

I am a mayfly metamorphosing
on the surface of the river.
And I am the bird
that swoops down to swallow the mayfly.

I am a frog swimming happily
in the clear water of a pond.
And I am the grass-snake
that silently feeds itself on the frog.

I am the child in Uganda, all skin and bones,
my legs as thin as bamboo sticks.
And I am the arms merchant,
selling deadly weapons to Uganda.

I am the twelve-year-old girl,
refugee on a small boat,
who throws herself into the ocean
after being raped by a sea pirate.

And I am also the pirate,
my heart not yet capable
of seeing and loving.

I am a member of the politburo,
with plenty of power in my hands.
And I am the man who has to pay
his “debt of blood” to my people
dying slowly in a forced-labor camp.

My joy is like Spring, so warm
it makes flowers bloom all over the Earth.
My pain is like a river of tears,
so vast it fills the four oceans.

Please call me by my true names,
so I can hear all my cries and laughter at once,
so I can see that my joy and pain are one.

Please call me by my true names,
so I can wake up
and the door of my heart
could be left open,
the door of compassion.”

~

~

in the early hours of today, i hear of the attacks on Moscow and contemplate the impact on our island home re-membering how for so many years this day is one of gathering in circle to hear spirit in the gentle breeze and flowing water, in the heartbeat of the drum and the voices of the elders, in the echoes of ancient memories reverberating inside… today, let us come home to what truly is… we are one people breathed alive through our one singing heart… receiving the knowing of how to freely be… moving fluidly through sacred mystery… let us deepen into that field out beyond, the sacred listening circle of satyagraha meaning in pursuit of truth… let’s gather together drawing down the energy of harmony from the imaginal realms and take in the words of an amazing peacemaker who brings us to membering again the wisdom that there is only one of us here and opens our one heart to greater compassion… as we read this poem, let us re-member our mindful breathing… breathing in, re-member life is without limits… breathing out, re-member that we, like Thay, have never been born and never die, we are children of the central sun that never rises and never sets:

~

Please Call Me By My True Names

“Don’t say that I will depart tomorrow—
even today I am still arriving.

Look deeply: every second I am arriving
to be a bud on a Spring branch,
to be a tiny bird, with still-fragile wings,
learning to sing in my new nest,
to be a caterpillar in the heart of a flower,
to be a jewel hiding itself in a stone.

I still arrive, in order to laugh and to cry,
to fear and to hope.
The rhythm of my heart is the birth and death
of all that is alive.

I am a mayfly metamorphosing
on the surface of the river.
And I am the bird
that swoops down to swallow the mayfly.

I am a frog swimming happily
in the clear water of a pond.
And I am the grass-snake
that silently feeds itself on the frog.

I am the child in Uganda, all skin and bones,
my legs as thin as bamboo sticks.
And I am the arms merchant,
selling deadly weapons to Uganda.

I am the twelve-year-old girl,
refugee on a small boat,
who throws herself into the ocean
after being raped by a sea pirate.

And I am also the pirate,
my heart not yet capable
of seeing and loving.

I am a member of the politburo,
with plenty of power in my hands.
And I am the man who has to pay
his “debt of blood” to my people
dying slowly in a forced-labor camp.

My joy is like Spring, so warm
it makes flowers bloom all over the Earth.
My pain is like a river of tears,
so vast it fills the four oceans.

Please call me by my true names,
so I can hear all my cries and laughter at once,
so I can see that my joy and pain are one.

Please call me by my true names,
so I can wake up
and the door of my heart
could be left open,
the door of compassion.”

~