Peter Hawkins sufi poetry

Re: Peter Hawkins sufi poetry

Funny - recently I had this mental image of a long board with pegs, and on each peg a cloak was hanging, and each cloak was labelled with a role: wife, daughter, sister, business analyst, web master, cook, poet, singer, geo-cacher ... and I wondered what it would be like to not wear any of them.

It would probably be cold, especially when the wind blew.

Better, I think, to wear the one you need when you need it, remembering that the lable is on the cloak, not you.

Gassho!

[Taigu]

Re: Peter Hawkins sufi poetry

Just one thing, some of you may think I wrote this...No, no, no. Not me, a sufi guy called Peter Hawkins.
Glad you like it and that it rings a bell big time!

gassho


Taigu

[Risho]

Re: Peter Hawkins sufi poetry

Thank you Taigu sensei, that is really beautiful.

When I first entered the corporate world, out of college, this question pained me. I seemed to play different roles during different times of the day. I consciously made a commitment to stop living a dualistic life. That's when I really started reading a lot about zen. Unfortunately, I didn't start the practice until a decade later.

I remember thinking how "fake" everyone was. I think that is a very naive and common observation when in one's early twenties, new to the "real" world, not sure how to make sense of it. I've certainly heard other young twenty somethings say the same thing. Where do I fit in? It was a very difficult time.

Fortunately I've never learned to fit in. In any case, I realized it was me who was fake. I still catch myself in these roles at times, and I still commit to not going into them. To living an authentic life.

Gassho,

Risho

[JohnsonCM]

Re: Peter Hawkins sufi poetry

Funny - recently I had this mental image of a long board with pegs, and on each peg a cloak was hanging, and each cloak was labelled with a role: wife, daughter, sister, business analyst, web master, cook, poet, singer, geo-cacher ... and I wondered what it would be like to not wear any of them.

It would probably be cold, especially when the wind blew.

Better, I think, to wear the one you need when you need it, remembering that the lable is on the cloak, not you.

[ghop]

Re: Peter Hawkins sufi poetry

Naked he goes to take from the hanger his other garb
The one familiar in his daily world.
Then for a moment, pauses, wondering about that other role,
This self he has learnt to play.
What happens, he wonders, if he leaves this role Hanging on its hook?

Brilliant. This has such a familiar echo in my bones.

39 years and still I have never met myself.

Thanks for the poetry Taigu.

gassho
Greg

[Myozan Kodo]

Re: Peter Hawkins sufi poetry

Really great Taigu.
Thanks.
Soen

Re: Peter Hawkins sufi poetry

Funny - recently I had this mental image of a long board with pegs, and on each peg a cloak was hanging, and each cloak was labelled with a role: wife, daughter, sister, business analyst, web master, cook, poet, singer, geo-cacher ... and I wondered what it would be like to not wear any of them.

[Janne H]

Re: Peter Hawkins sufi poetry

Thanks Taigu, for sharing.

Great poem.

Janne

[Hans]

Re: Peter Hawkins sufi poetry

Hello Taigu,


absolutely wonderful. Thanks for posting this.

Gassho,

Hans

[Dokan]

Re: Peter Hawkins sufi poetry

And in this moment of freedom Neither being Hamlet nor playing self
Slips free through the crack in time

I love these two lines...

Thank you Taigu for sharing.

Gassho,

Shawn

[Taigu]

Between two breaths, who are you? And where are you? What is your original self like? What is the meaning of Shin jin datsu raku, body mind cast away? When you drop why and how, what question are you left with? For you guys, a bit more of useless poetry. A sufi version of a Zen Koan:

The applause is fading into a memoried echo
Theatre lights are extinguished one by one
And in the fading twilight of the dressing room
The actor slowly disclothes his role.
The greasepaint scraped, the costume removed
And hung on the hook behind the door. And for a timeless moment
The once actor, stands there all alone
Naked, empty, between the worlds.
“Was he Hamlet? Did Hamlet exist there on the stage? Where has Hamlet gone?”
Naked he goes to take from the hanger his other garb
The one familiar in his daily world.
Then for a moment, pauses, wondering about that other role,
This self he has learnt to play.
What happens, he wonders, if he leaves this role Hanging on its hook?
And in this moment of freedom Neither being Hamlet nor playing self
Slips free through the crack in time
Out through the fire exit, previously unnoticed Into another world and the free night air.
But who was it that left that night?
And who was left, hanging on the door?