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Life Alight

Unfolding life's mysteries with poetry, photography & ramblings

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Oh Wise Tree

“For me, trees have always been the most penetrating preachers. I revere them when they live in tribes and families, in forests and groves. And even more I revere them when they stand alone. They are like lonely persons. Not like hermits who have stolen away out of some weakness, but like great, solitary men, like Beethoven and Nietzsche. In their highest boughs the world rustles, their roots rest in infinity; but they do not lose themselves there, they struggle with all the force of their lives for one thing only: to fulfill themselves according to their own laws, to build up their own form, to represent themselves. Nothing is holier, nothing is more exemplary than a beautiful, strong tree. When a tree is cut down and reveals its naked death-wound to the sun, one can read its whole history in the luminous, inscribed disk of its trunk: in the rings of its years, its scars, all the struggle, all the suffering, all the sickness, all the happiness and prosperity stand truly written, the narrow years and the luxurious years, the attacks withstood, the storms endured. And every young farmboy knows that the hardest and noblest wood has the narrowest rings, that high on the mountains and in continuing danger the most indestructible, the strongest, the ideal trees grow.

Trees are sanctuaries. Whoever knows how to speak to them, whoever knows how to listen to them, can learn the truth. They do not preach learning and precepts, they preach, undeterred by particulars, the ancient law of life.

A tree says: A kernel is hidden in me, a spark, a thought, I am life from eternal life. The attempt and the risk that the eternal mother took with me is unique, unique the form and veins of my skin, unique the smallest play of leaves in my branches and the smallest scar on my bark. I was made to form and reveal the eternal in my smallest special detail.

A tree says: My strength is trust. I know nothing about my fathers, I know nothing about the thousand children that every year spring out of me. I live out the secret of my seed to the very end, and I care for nothing else. I trust that God is in me. I trust that my labor is holy. Out of this trust I live.

When we are stricken and cannot bear our lives any longer, then a tree has something to say to us: Be still! Be still! Look at me! Life is not easy, life is not difficult. Those are childish thoughts. Let God speak within you, and your thoughts will grow silent. You are anxious because your path leads away from mother and home. But every step and every day lead you back again to the mother. Home is neither here nor there. Home is within you, or home is nowhere at all.

A longing to wander tears my heart when I hear trees rustling in the wind at evening. If one listens to them silently for a long time, this longing reveals its kernel, its meaning. It is not so much a matter of escaping from one’s suffering, though it may seem to be so. It is a longing for home, for a memory of the mother, for new metaphors for life. It leads home. Every path leads homeward, every step is birth, every step is death, every grave is mother.

So the tree rustles in the evening, when we stand uneasy before our own childish thoughts: Trees have long thoughts, long-breathing and restful, just as they have longer lives than ours. They are wiser than we are, as long as we do not listen to them. But when we have learned how to listen to trees, then the brevity and the quickness and the childlike hastiness of our thoughts achieve an incomparable joy. Whoever has learned how to listen to trees no longer wants to be a tree. He wants to be nothing except what he is. That is home. That is happiness.”

-Hermann Hesse, Baume. Betrachtungen und Gedichte

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Broken Dreams

A dream I lose a day.
A dream I dream a new
Everyday.

Pieces of every dream
I ever dreamt lay scattered
Around me.

Pieces I would join if I could,
However futile the effort may seem,
I would try to put them together again.

My broken heart lies with them
Shattered to bits hard to find.
I wonder if I can ever feel again.

Yet I find the word love spoken
to me again and again.
Even when it seems to have lost meaning

The talk of futures repeated,
Planned effortlessly, endlessly.
All as I stand here with these shards beneath my feet.

A new dawn shall begin yet again
And I shall awake with a new dream
Glistening in my eyes.

Yet I will never lose memories of
The dreams I had dreamed yesterday
Broken but never forgotten.

– Khushbo

©lifealight.com, 2014.

I Just Know

© Photo By: Khushbo
© Photo By: Khushbo

Where there is silence
Symphony will soon follow
Light will only shine
In the blinding darkness

The sweet scent of Jasmine
Fills the air as the wind blows
In a new direction
hearts that follow, see it

Rosy pink and majestic
A new dawn is begun again
To celebrate a new arrival
A beautiful new beginning

A turn in destiny
bejeweled with a newness
A blissful ambiguity
A skip in your heart beat

Fingers dance gracefully
over the piano in honor
Of a hope set to arrive
late yet long awaited

It’s here and
I just know it.

-Khushbo
©lifealight.com, 2013.

 

Try Again

Sunrise

The sun rises
The sun sets
The clock churns
Time goes on

Someone is born
Someone dies
Victories are won
Disasters strike

Calamities are overcome
Battles are lost
Hopes are won
Desires are crushed

The day ends
The clock is reset
Your chance ends
A new day is born.

Try again.

– Khushbo

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