Embrace what you cannot control as something wonderful, create what you can control into something wonderful, and you will live a life that can only be described as “something wonderful”.
©2011 Thomas P. Grasso All Rights Reserved ☮ ℓﻉﻻ٥ ツ
Author: tomgrasso (Page 18 of 38)
My friend Terry Hodgkinson sent me this through Facebook. It was certainly worthy of sharing.
Dream of a butterfly
The great Taoist master Chuang Tzu once dreamt that he was a butterfly fluttering here and there. In the dream he had no awareness of his individuality as a person. He was only a butterfly. Suddenly, he awoke and found himself laying there, a person once again. But then he thought to himself, “Was I before a man who dreamt about being a butterfly, or am I now a butterfly who dreams about being a man?”
©2010 Thomas P. Grasso All Rights Reserved ☮ ℓﻉﻻ٥ ツ
I could find joy in your embrace,
If only you would hug me.
I could find hope in your words,
If only you would speak,
I could find love in your actions,
If only you would move,
I could find peace in your life,
If only you would live.
I could move mountains with a finger,
If only you would let me,
I could end every storm,
If only peace you would seek,
I could pray for repentance,
If you only forgave me,
I could see light at the end,
Without the past in the way.
I could hear the music playing,
If only you weren’t screaming,
I could write every word,
If the noise would subside.
I could trust in the present,
If the past didn’t haunt me,
I could hope for the day,
When time set me free.
Whose hand is in mine,
When the bells all start tolling?
Whose prayers do I hear,
When the angels appear?
Whose blood do I shed,
To feel like I’m worthy?
Whose life do I end,
To feel this secure?
I could bask in the sunshine,
If it weren’t so damned cloudy,
I could climb to the top,
If my footing would hold.
I could become what you want,
If you could just change me,
I could bring you to smile,
Through the tears in your eyes.
We could walk on the beach,
But the quicksand surrounds us,
We could swim in the surf,
But the tide is too strong,
We could swim to the bottom,
If the water wasn’t so murky,
We could head out to sea,
If the waves weren’t so tall.
Whose time is so endless,
To be wasted on “if only”?
Whose soul is so bad,
To be thrown into that hell?
Whose forgotten their joy,
In what we call living?
Who wants to start over,
When the death bells ring?
©2010 Thomas P. Grasso All Rights Reserved ☮ ℓﻉﻻ٥ ツ
I am waiting for a timer to go off,
To tell me “it is time”,
To remind me of instant where,
I need to end this little rhyme.
Somewhere between then and now,
An eternity will pass,
Sometime between here and there,
I’ll have to get up off my ass.
Most likely I will waste this time,
In shear mortal flaw,
Or perhaps I can make use of it,
To describe some of what I saw.
Something strange began to rumble still!!
Ah but I apologize my friend,
The timer’s bell has begun to ring,
This little story has to end.
©2010 Thomas P. Grasso All Rights Reserved ☮ ℓﻉﻻ٥ ツ
I find a moment to be “separate”,
To view the world around me,
To see what is there without my conditions,
To feel what is there without my layers,
To hear what is there without my distraction,
To smell what is there without my congestion,
To taste what is there without spice,
To be where not being seems essential.
I learn this view is not to be separate,
But is to understand what “together” truly means.
To observe is not to be distinct,
But to understand all that binds us in who we are.
I cannot stand to be apart from you,
Basking in my human loneliness,
Toiling in your creation of “me” and what that means,
Or suffering in my creation of “you” and what that means.
There are times when I wish I had no such thoughts,
When I could just stay asleep and not awaken.
There are times when I just wish I could put it all away,
When I could just have a box and never deal with its contents.
Why do I care to know about me? Or about you?
Why do I listen to those who say I am not built for these endeavors,
Or to myself who suggests I am?
The answer will come in times own finality.
For now I will continue the struggle,
When I beg for a touch that never comes,
When I long for the sketch of playfulness that never gets drawn,
When this place doesn’t like an invisible, distant shore.
For now I will be who I am, or who I was,
Or who you wish me to be,
Because I know nothing else and can only see what is around me.
There is no failure in the art of trying,
There is only failure in the goal set beyond the limits of reality,
To that, I will remain indifferent.
©2010 Thomas P. Grasso All Rights Reserved ☮ ℓﻉﻻ٥ ツ
I could find peace in your arms,
If only they would embrace me.
I could find solace in your words,
If only I could hear,
I could find strength in your wisdom,
If only I would listen,
I could find love in your heart,
If only I could feel.
I could find peace on the mountain,
If only I were there,
I could find joy in the song,
If only I could sing.
I could find the rain drops cleansing,
If only I could run naked,
I could find resolve in your hands,
If only I could hold.
I could find wisdom in walking,
If I could only stop sitting,
I could find silence in the moment,
If I could only sit still.
I could stop being so bad,
If I only knew good.
I could move on with living,
If only memories would die.
If only mountains would move,
If only the sky would stop falling,
If only angels would fly,
If only love would stop hiding,
If only the clock would stop ticking,
If only you would stand by.
If only…
If only…
If only…
©2010 Thomas P. Grasso All Rights Reserved ☮ ℓﻉﻻ٥ ツ
Today I envision I am on a mountain. I can smell the freshness of winter coming with each inhalation, and can feel the release of the warmth inside of me into the entirety of all around me. I can sense my own smallness in the silence that is while feeling the enormity of who I am in the noise. The rushing waters in the creek just beyond my eyesight remind me that the Earth does give, while the remnants of man found in trash that eases its way down the waterway reminds me that I do take. I can hear the songs of birds given me cadence as I head upwards toward the sky. I give thanks to the young tree that gives me stability when I stumble on the mountains steepness, and offer praise to the old oak that allows me to rest on it when the walking becomes to much. How fast I can stumble down this mountain, how slow is the climb back up.
The air is clean, the sounds are natural. There are no cars or planes or trains or others to distract me from that which I am a part of. I can feel the breath enter my lungs and can feel its gift travel throughout my body. That is the brilliance of the effort, the more my body needs the more I appreciate what it receives. I never think of the gift of breath as much of anything until I need to breath hard. I never appreciate the gift of food until I feel the pangs of hunger. Perhaps I need to feel them more. Perhaps I need to challenge this body more so that the mind can appreciate all of the things it takes for granted.
I look up and see the sun through a clear blue sky. The wind makes music in the limbs of the trees around me and I keep beat to the sound that rings in my head. I am nearing the summit, I can see the top through eyes that have so often seen nothing but the bottom. I can hear the silence through ears that have for so long heard nothing but the noise. I can feel love in my Being that has so often felt nothing but pain.
I want to share this feeling with others, but simply ask “who am I?”. Certainly the leaves that have taught me a song in my steps know more than me. Certainly the trees that have given me stability and rest know more than me. Certainly the birds that sing a song of life know more than me. Certainly the sky giving a view to the sun above knows more than me. I am a nothing, and even in this moment’s realization the leaves, the trees, the birds and the sky say “we are nothing too. You have created us as all that we are.” “We are equals,” they seem to say, simply being until created into something by someone: superior, inferior, fearful, feared, good, bad. Imagine man just being man until he created himself as something else.
I awaken from this momentary respite. I am sitting at my desk looking at a computer screen wondering “where is my mountain?”. I don’t have a clue yet, I am simply here being distracted by life and the creations I have made in it. The noise around me is torturous, I just ask for some silence. I ask simply for clean air, clean water, and solid footing. I ask simply for view of the top so that I can get a view from the top.
Someday I will find myself within view of a summit. I will feel the solid earth beneath me, hear the silence and sounds of nature all around me and know that I am there. For now, I will let life get in the way.
©2010 Thomas P. Grasso All Rights Reserved ☮ ℓﻉﻻ٥ ツ
I so want to find my soul,
Lost in the wilderness looking for me.
A heartbeat away from remembering,
A lifetime away from rejoicing.
I turn to the mountains to find you,
The softly falling snow’s silence only broken
by the sound of rushing water
Cascading down around me as if cleansing my mind.
I hike up to the river’s edge,
It’s roar calls to me and beckons me to stare,
I feel something, I feel everything,
A moment’s notice of an eternal state of Being.
I once was surrounded by the urban jungle
I could not see the hills beyond the steel,
I could not hear the water rushing above the trucks passing by,
The snow…well it was pushed away by a need to get nowhere.
I once felt rage as I traveled to and fro,
Dealing with the asphalt path and others made just like me,
In a hurry to get nowhere,
In a rush to turn around and do it all over again like drones.
I once breathed air hardly fit for breathing,
I once used so much that I filled endless holes in the earth from consumption.
I sought more than the stuff I had before,
And found confinement in things I thought would set me free.
I once slaughtered a life just like me,
I ate it as if it were going to make me well.
I can hear your cries of fear dear friend,
I can see you suffer as the blood spills from your veins.
It all comes back to me
The stupidity, the depravity, and most of all the insanity.
I see it clearly in this moment’s notice of my eternal state of Being,
It was because I was, It is because I am.
The river, now still, allows me to see myself through its eyes,
The silence unbroken as the snow softly settles around me.
I can feel the trees alive around me, I can sense the clean air soothing me
I love what I see, this me, captured by the Oneness all around me.
I don’t need You. I don’t need Me.
I have all that I have been looking for on this mountain,
Besides this stream, all around me.
It has taken me far too long to get here, to this place I cannot leave.
©2010 Thomas P. Grasso All Rights Reserved ☮ ℓﻉﻻ٥ ツ
There are these moments in my life when I am left to think about that which I am, or that which I have been taught to be, or that which I think is right. It is never my inclination to discount any of these particular thoughts, although I seem to have been blessed with a short memory for most of them. The most painful of these thoughts, those that seem to have been the very definitions of the term “me”, are the ones that linger like an irritating cough interrupting my restful slumber.
It seems to be that we humans do spend an awful lot of time wasting away our lives on these meaningless activities. I so envy the tree as it goes about its life without justification or need to be anything other than a tree. How strange would this universe be if a tree tried mightily to be more likes its Creator, or even had the audacity to question that which gave it life? What if a tree could create for itself a condition by which growing upward was wrong? It would struggle to bend itself toward the ground, its branches pushing upward as its mind pushed downward. Or what if the sun itself decided that burning brightly and hotly was wrong? It would struggle against itself to dim its light, and would change our universe forever.
I think about the lonely salmon whose sexual urges push it against the mighty stream. Imagine if it were written that it was wrong, that not only the act of listening to its nature but also the nature of its act were both wrong. What would become of the salmon, of its nature, of its purpose? Imagine if salmon rejected those who saw fit to fulfill their nature. Imagine the guilt those who simply had not the inclination nor the need to cater to those words of discouragement would feel. Imagine the shame of “failure” it would feel. Imagine the distractions it would need to seek to forget who it was. Imagine the need for “salvation” that this fear would create, and the need to create the salvation as surely as it had the need to create the fear to begin with.
Fortunately for the salmon, the tree, the grass, and all creatures of the earth save man this need does not exist. They are free to act as they were created to be simply because they have no need to be anything else. What beauty is there in such a life’s purpose!!
I have had the create fortune of revisiting with some others the parable of the “Prodigal Son“. This parable has not only inspired me to untold moments of thought, but also has provided me with a great insight to where I was during any one of these moments. Regardless of where I was, I choose to only focus on where I am this moment in regards to not only the discussion but the parable. I no longer seek the perspective of either son, the judged or the judging, but rather the father who simple loves without the need to be either.
There is a bit of each character in all of us. There is a part of us that is the lost son. We make mistakes. We squander opportunity. We suffer. Then there is a part of us that is older son. We work hard to please others. We strive to do what we are taught is “right”. We suffer. There is also a part of us that is the father. That part of us just observes and forgives. That part not only forgives the parts of us that cause us to suffer, but allows the suffering in order that we may return to it. We struggle mightily to “sin”. We struggle mightily to stay on the “righteous path”. We struggle so therefore we suffer, all-the-while the father in each of us just accepts, loves, and forgives.
How many of us can truly embrace who we are as either son? How many of us can learn to be who we are without shame or guilt? Very, very, very few of us I suppose. So few that those who can are considered “special”. God’s will does not involve “right” or wrong – that is man’s will – but rather involves doing. That purpose we call “God’s will” is found in the son whose wild living finds him broke and hungry. That purpose we call “God’s will” is found in the son struggling to remain true to beliefs. That purpose we call “God’s will” is found in the realization that we need our “father” again, as well as in the act of returning to him, and yes as well as in the act of forgiving ourselves in the knowledge that we will leave him again.
It’s inevitable. It’s the matter of humans Being. When we accept our quest to grow toward the sky we limit our suffering in the transformation. When we accept that the light we emit is the light we are intended to shine we limit our suffering in the creation. When we accept that the swim upstream is not only necessary but who we are we fulfill our purpose without interference from who we think we should be.
Or not…because in not doing so we are fulfilling our purpose was well. It’s all right, for the sun cannot shine without the darkness of the universe. The song cannot be played without the silence that allows it to be. Perfection…all of it. Peace.
©2010 Thomas P. Grasso All Rights Reserved ☮ ℓﻉﻻ٥ ツ
I do, regardless of fit or fancy…simply choose to be.
©2010 Thomas P. Grasso All Rights Reserved ☮ ℓﻉﻻ٥ ツ