Solstice Poetry

During the Solstice Seminar this Sunday we gave each other some beautiful poetry. And a beautiful song was performed. One of the poems I would like to share with you. It is from Meister Eckhart, a brother in light of us (lived in 1200 AD)

THE POEM

Meister Eckhart
The Grain Of Mustard Seed

When all began 
(beyond mind's span) 
the Word aye is 
Oh what bliss 
When source at first gave birth to source! 
Oh Father's heart 
from which did start 
that same Word: 
yet 'tis averred, 
the Word's still kept in womb perforce. 

From both doth flow 
a loving glow: 
in double troth known to both 
comes forth from them the Holy Ghost, 
of equal state 
inseparate 
The three are one: 
who grasps it? None! 
Itself it knows itself the most. 
The threefold clasp 
we cannot grasp, 
the circle's span 
no mind can scan: 
for here's a mystery fathomless. 

Check and mate, 
time, form, estate! 
The wondrous ring 
holds everything, 
its central point stands motionless. 
The peak sublime 
deedless climb 
if thou art wise!

Thy way then lies 
through desert very strange to see, 
so deep, so wide, 
no bound's descried. 
This desert's bare 
of Then or There 
in modeless singularity. 
This desert place 
no foot did pace, 
no creature mind 
ingress can find. 
It is, yet truly none knows what. 
'Tis there, 'tis here, 
'tis far, 'tis near, 
'tis high, 'tis low, 
yet all we know 
is: This it's not and That it's not. 

It's clear, it's bright, 
it's dark as night; 
no name or s1gn 
can it define, 
beginningless, of ceasing free. 
Immobile, bare, 
'tis flowing there. 
Where it may dwell, 
whoso can tell, 
should teach us what its form may be. 

As a child become, 
both blind and dumb. 
Thy own self's aught 
must turn to naught. 
Both aught and naught thou must reject, 
without a trace 
of image, time, or space.
Go quite astray 
the pathless way, 
Introduction to Part One 
the desert thou mayst then detect. 

My soul within, 
come out, God in! 
Sink all my aught 
in God's own naught, 
sink down in bottomless abyss. 
Should I flee thee, 
thou wilt come to me; 
when self is done, 
then Thou art won, 
thou transcendental highest bliss!
 

THE POEM READ TO YOU