Dust if you must – By Rose Milligan

Dust if you must, but wouldn’t it be better
To paint a picture, or write a letter,
Bake a cake, or plant a seed;
Ponder the difference between want and need?

Dust if you must, but there’s not much time,
With rivers to swim, and mountains to climb;
Music to hear, and books to read;
Friends to cherish, and life to lead.

Dust if you must, but the world’s out there
With the sun in your eyes, and the wind in your hair;
A flutter of snow, a shower of rain,
This day will not come around again.

Dust if you must, but bear in mind,
Old age will come and it’s not kind.
And when you go (and go you must)
You, yourself, will make more dust.

The last time (author unknow)

The last time (author unknow)

 

From the moment you hold your baby in your arms,

You will never be the same.

You might long for the person you were before,

When you had freedom and time,

And nothing in particular to worry about.

You will know tiredness like you never knew it before,

And days will run into days that are exactly the same,

Full of feeding and burping,

Whining and fighting,

Naps, or lack of naps. It might seem like a never-ending cycle.

But don’t forget…

There is a last time for everything.

 

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Shantideva, “The Way of The Bodhisattva” (5.13)*

“The Way of The Bodhisattva” (5.13)*

 

Where would I find enough leather

To cover the entire surface of the earth?

But with leather soles beneath my feet,

It’s as if the whole world has been covered.

 

Śāntideva

 

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‘I want to apologise’ by Rupi Kaur

‘I want to apologise’

by Rupi Kaur

 

i want to apologize to all the women
i have called pretty.
before i’ve called them intelligent or brave.
i am sorry i made it sound as though
something as simple as what you’re born with
is the most you have to be proud of
when your spirit has crushed mountains
from now on i will say things like, you are resilient
or, you are extraordinary.
not because i don’t think you’re pretty.
but because you are so much more than that

COULD YOU EMBRACE THAT? by St Thomas Aquinas

I said to God,” Let me love you” 

And He replied, “Which part?” 

“All of you, all of you,” I said.

“Dear,” God spoke, “you are as a mouse wanting to impregnate a tiger who is not even in heat. It is a feat way beyond your courage and strength. You would run from me If I removed my mask.”

I said to God again, “Beloved I need to love you – every aspect, every pore.”

And this time God said, “There is a hideous blemish on my body, though it is such an infinite small part of my Being – could you kiss that if it were revealed?”
“I will try, Lord, I will try.”

And then God said, “That blemish is all the hatred and Cruelty in this world.”

PS Love is the only answer to hatred…

The Guest House – By Jellaludin Rumi

The Guest House

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice.
meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.

Be grateful for whatever comes.
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

— Jellaludin Rumi,
translation by Coleman Barks

Tom Beatty

Tom Beatty

By Edgar Lee Masters

I was a lawyer like Harmon Whitney
Or Kinsey Keene or Garrison Standard,
For I tried the rights of property,
Although by lamp-light, for thirty years,
In that poker room in the opera house.
And I say to you that Life’s a gambler
Head and shoulders above us all.
No mayor alive can close the house.
And if you lose, you can squeal as you will;
You’ll not get back your money.
He makes the percentage hard to conquer;
He stacks the cards to catch your weakness
And not to meet your strength.
And he gives you seventy years to play:
For if you cannot win in seventy
You cannot win at all.
So, if you lose, get out of the room –
Get out of the room when your time is up.
It’s mean to sit and fumble the cards,
And curse your losses, leaden-eyed,
Whining to try and try.