If you give a person a piece of bread, just imagine for once if you were the one receiving this piece of bread. How would the entire event look to you? What would be going on in you? This will help you to have the right attitude, even as a giver. Especially as a giver. For sensitive and understanding must be the giver. Because it is a great burden to receive. So hand over this burden gently. Do not mock them that must receive from you, but remember too to preserve their dignity.
There is a common humanity that we share, and it is this shared oneness that interacts with itself each time we give and receive. And so, many times it is the giver who has actually received even more, often without even being aware of it. Give therefore with gratitude at the opportunity to give, you who receive all the time.
With what may you give? First of all, with understanding. Empathy. The urge and the attempt to truly understand the outer position and inner disposition of another awakens within one something which can be passed on to another.
Sometimes just a smile of encouragement, a look of warning, a question or a suggestion. A small gift. A favour, small to you but big to the recipient. Big to you but bigger still to the recipient. The culture of compassion. Edifier of the human race.
The art of giving and receiving. So fine an art. Giving without giving away our humanity. Receiving without receiving also indignity. Receiving without paying for it with even the subtlest of humiliation. Receiving objectively, careful not to take one-sidedly. Giving objectively, careful not to be one-sided. Giving without expecting in return anything else, anything lower, than the experiencing of a shared humanity. The giver knows gratitude too, a strange happy release of elated normalcy within one’s heart. The perception that one has just done that for which one lives. To give.
And who can give the most? None other than the receiver. Oh, how much, how so much the receiver could give, more than he knows. He can give to the occasion the height of dignity it deserves by receiving with dignity, maturity and freedom. To receive does not mean to be a slave for life – but to receive is to create a kind of temporary internal imbalance which urges towards restitution. And this alone is released in Gratitude. When you receive you must give something back. This is also the law of reciprocal action. You must give back, according to your nature.
Behold this beautiful Creation that issued forth from the Spirit of God. Forever it returns to us the fruits of our thoughts and words, the results of our deeds and even our most intuitive perceptions. We reap what we sow. Pleasure and pain. Joy and sorrow. Growth and limitation. Everything comes back in the Law of Reciprocal Action. Forever we receive. Receive back.
And forever we must give. Give back in the service of Growth. Like the recurrent seasons, so does the urge make itself felt over and over again within us deeply. The urge to give, to give of ourselves. The urge to give to others the honest effort to understand them; to really try to understand others. This is the foundation of all proper Giving. This is the beginning of giving. Understanding is the first step towards Giving. And it lies in our nature.
It does not lie in our nature to return hatred for hatred, darkness for darkness. These are alien to that which makes us fruits of an ever onward evolving Creation of Light. But it lies in our nature, more or less deeply buried, to look into the heart of things and sense what we owe each thing – gentleness or severity, a question or an answer, a gift or a demand, a favour or a waiting upon a something that ought to have come. Or laughter or quiet. Or just plain Gratitude. It lies in our nature to seek for understanding, and then to act, to give, from out of this Understanding. This is the meaning of life.
In that piece of bread you are about to give lies an opportunity to give that which makes us all human. It is the bread of life. Have your bite and pass it on. It will come back to you, richer and fuller. But keep it for yourself, and it will disappear like a thief into the night. You will seek It, but It will remain as elusive as the Holy Grail. But find love within you, and seek to give love to those around you, and It will come to you.
Che Chidi Chukwumerije
Montag, 24. August 2009
The Fluttering
Outside my window there fluttered a bird…
I opened the window and in it flew. It alighted upon my table and became a story, a book of many pages full of emotion and history. Poet, poet, you anchored the story and it became a masterpiece that fed and accompanied human hearts from generation to generation.
A century of sleep passed again. Again again the night dawned and swallowed up the world. From the depths of my sleep a sound extracted me, the flutterings of a bird. Outside the window, woman or bird? Woman and bird? A woman stands behind the bird. With sleepy eyes I her behold, a waif of moonlight, standing outside my window, an ephemeral beauty, a strange woman…
I open the window and walk to her. Dimly I was aware of the bird that flew in through the open window into my chamber even as I walked out of it, into the tired night. The glass door shut behind me, Noah’s ark sailed away sans poet. There she stood before me, the night’s promise, unfulfillable. A thousand pleasures she would give to me, but none quenched my thirst… Until it dawned that she was the thirst itself, cyclically renewing itself, fawn Sisyphus.
Wearily I dragged myself back to my window; shut. It was shut, long shut, with me on the outside. Looking in I make out, upon the table, another book, another distant story. Buried in my heart. Like a visitor at a glass tomb, thoughtfully I look back in time. It used to be a bird, a bird that once flew to me. Sadly I gaze at the scroll through the infinity of a glass window. I can see the book, but I cannot reach or read it. Poet, poet, awakend and then distracted, unable to anchor your story, the very reason for your awakening. How does it feel to gaze upon your calling and be unable to enter it?
Weary and more you find the door and enter, but generations have since passed… the table, it is empty.
So here you go, sleeping again. A century and many more of restless dreams. Then you hear it… the fluttering… outside your window. The night is dark, the moon is pale and skeptical, the glass is scratched, the witch is calling and the bird is fluttering…
Do you remember? It’s been a long sleep. Memory has become a distant memory. Who is this moon? What is this woman? Why is this night? When is this window? How is this bird?... Even yourself you do not know anymore. Long was this sleep.
Poet, poet, you move in my heart. Like a bird fluttering outside my window. Time is my window. If I open it and let the bird fly in, I will see and remember that it is no ordinary bird, but a memory being, a poem, a story which, anchored, will grow wings and fly into the hearts of those who are thirsty outside…
Poet, poet, you move in my heart.
Che Chidi Chukwumerije
I opened the window and in it flew. It alighted upon my table and became a story, a book of many pages full of emotion and history. Poet, poet, you anchored the story and it became a masterpiece that fed and accompanied human hearts from generation to generation.
A century of sleep passed again. Again again the night dawned and swallowed up the world. From the depths of my sleep a sound extracted me, the flutterings of a bird. Outside the window, woman or bird? Woman and bird? A woman stands behind the bird. With sleepy eyes I her behold, a waif of moonlight, standing outside my window, an ephemeral beauty, a strange woman…
I open the window and walk to her. Dimly I was aware of the bird that flew in through the open window into my chamber even as I walked out of it, into the tired night. The glass door shut behind me, Noah’s ark sailed away sans poet. There she stood before me, the night’s promise, unfulfillable. A thousand pleasures she would give to me, but none quenched my thirst… Until it dawned that she was the thirst itself, cyclically renewing itself, fawn Sisyphus.
Wearily I dragged myself back to my window; shut. It was shut, long shut, with me on the outside. Looking in I make out, upon the table, another book, another distant story. Buried in my heart. Like a visitor at a glass tomb, thoughtfully I look back in time. It used to be a bird, a bird that once flew to me. Sadly I gaze at the scroll through the infinity of a glass window. I can see the book, but I cannot reach or read it. Poet, poet, awakend and then distracted, unable to anchor your story, the very reason for your awakening. How does it feel to gaze upon your calling and be unable to enter it?
Weary and more you find the door and enter, but generations have since passed… the table, it is empty.
So here you go, sleeping again. A century and many more of restless dreams. Then you hear it… the fluttering… outside your window. The night is dark, the moon is pale and skeptical, the glass is scratched, the witch is calling and the bird is fluttering…
Do you remember? It’s been a long sleep. Memory has become a distant memory. Who is this moon? What is this woman? Why is this night? When is this window? How is this bird?... Even yourself you do not know anymore. Long was this sleep.
Poet, poet, you move in my heart. Like a bird fluttering outside my window. Time is my window. If I open it and let the bird fly in, I will see and remember that it is no ordinary bird, but a memory being, a poem, a story which, anchored, will grow wings and fly into the hearts of those who are thirsty outside…
Poet, poet, you move in my heart.
Che Chidi Chukwumerije
Stretching
This opening of the path
the path into
into the inner
inner worlds
worlds of wonder
wonder of humanity
humanity's mystery...
'tis a mystery that begs mastering
demands mastering
enforces mastering...
those that flow and run like the river are those that will enter into this opening
this opening of the path
the path into
into the inner
inner worlds
worlds of wonder
wonder of humanity
humanity's mystery.
Diversity.
Che Chidi Chukwumerije
the path into
into the inner
inner worlds
worlds of wonder
wonder of humanity
humanity's mystery...
'tis a mystery that begs mastering
demands mastering
enforces mastering...
those that flow and run like the river are those that will enter into this opening
this opening of the path
the path into
into the inner
inner worlds
worlds of wonder
wonder of humanity
humanity's mystery.
Diversity.
Che Chidi Chukwumerije
Reminiscing your river
Your depth again, how wonderful...
a thousand suns shinning brightly, but I know a brighter moon...
your eyes, two moons
reflected light, you say?
nay, brighter
for the light whose reflection they are
is the light of insight
deep deep inside
as bright as the day was, more luminous is the quiet night,
portal of light eternal
there, far far away
nearer than thoughts can breach,
and never really reach
the things you, with a few humble words,
always teach...
tales by moonlight
the sleep that followed,
was it a dreaming or an awakening?
arising into a new dawn
not with a memory of dreams forgotten
or tales unremembered
in your thoughts
but full of the bursting thirst
in your heart
to set a world aglow
and pull the waters of a sleeping river
from deep underground
up, out into the day-conscious surface
of another thinking mind
watch the waters, how they rise
free of binding ties
river river, there’s a bird that cries
as it flies along
and doesn’t know why…
Che Chidi Chukwumerije
a thousand suns shinning brightly, but I know a brighter moon...
your eyes, two moons
reflected light, you say?
nay, brighter
for the light whose reflection they are
is the light of insight
deep deep inside
as bright as the day was, more luminous is the quiet night,
portal of light eternal
there, far far away
nearer than thoughts can breach,
and never really reach
the things you, with a few humble words,
always teach...
tales by moonlight
the sleep that followed,
was it a dreaming or an awakening?
arising into a new dawn
not with a memory of dreams forgotten
or tales unremembered
in your thoughts
but full of the bursting thirst
in your heart
to set a world aglow
and pull the waters of a sleeping river
from deep underground
up, out into the day-conscious surface
of another thinking mind
watch the waters, how they rise
free of binding ties
river river, there’s a bird that cries
as it flies along
and doesn’t know why…
Che Chidi Chukwumerije
Pain
If you avoid pain, you avoid life
If you avoid life, you avoid youth
If you avoid youth, you avoid love
If you avoid love, you avoid experiencing
If you avoid experiencing, you avoid growth
If you avoid growth, you avoid change
If you avoid change, you avoid strength
If you avoid strength, you avoid happiness
If you avoid happiness, you avoid disappointment
If you avoid disappointment, you avoid movement
If you avoid movement, you avoid knowledge
If you avoid knowledge, you avoid yourself
If you avoid yourself, you avoid beauty
If you avoid beauty, you avoid life…
Do not fear Pain. It is the proof that you live,
The outgrowing of yourself
The door that separates you from your dreams.
Cross it.
The acceptance, experiencing and mastering of pain
Is the seed out of which the tree of life shall blossom
In all its rich manifestation…
For you.
Che Chidi Chukwumerije
If you avoid life, you avoid youth
If you avoid youth, you avoid love
If you avoid love, you avoid experiencing
If you avoid experiencing, you avoid growth
If you avoid growth, you avoid change
If you avoid change, you avoid strength
If you avoid strength, you avoid happiness
If you avoid happiness, you avoid disappointment
If you avoid disappointment, you avoid movement
If you avoid movement, you avoid knowledge
If you avoid knowledge, you avoid yourself
If you avoid yourself, you avoid beauty
If you avoid beauty, you avoid life…
Do not fear Pain. It is the proof that you live,
The outgrowing of yourself
The door that separates you from your dreams.
Cross it.
The acceptance, experiencing and mastering of pain
Is the seed out of which the tree of life shall blossom
In all its rich manifestation…
For you.
Che Chidi Chukwumerije
Just Dance
A road of water, slippery
A bridge of knife-edge, treacherous
A fall of repetition, weakening
An opacity of reflection, saddening
A backdoor of wall, illusionary
A tiger if library, jealous
A conscience of intuition, merciless
Hardfall on softpain, intangibles
Awakening twice, once to life and once to self
Accepting the conditions of the journey
Intangibles, contradictions, repetitions, unpredictbles
Armed with Intuition and intellect
Go with the flow.
Che Chidi Chukwumerije
A bridge of knife-edge, treacherous
A fall of repetition, weakening
An opacity of reflection, saddening
A backdoor of wall, illusionary
A tiger if library, jealous
A conscience of intuition, merciless
Hardfall on softpain, intangibles
Awakening twice, once to life and once to self
Accepting the conditions of the journey
Intangibles, contradictions, repetitions, unpredictbles
Armed with Intuition and intellect
Go with the flow.
Che Chidi Chukwumerije
Fields of Light
In fields of light above this realm
Where sight and sound are one
I chanced upon a little elm,
A woman sat upon
From far afar I sharp’d my eyes
To peer good at this sight
And soon came I to see thread-ties
Twixt her and the High Light
She sat so still, she didn’t stir
Or so it seemed to me,
’Til I was no more far, but near,
And then began to see
That in her hands she held a flute
The longest yet I’ve seen
Which stretched gently until its root
Her small lips was between
And she it was who through her sounds
Was forming all these fields
Of beauteous light where joy abounds
And my heart rapture yields… -
These fields of light I long have passed
Yet never will forget
That those blessed hills, meads, groves were massed
But through that simple set
Of flute and woman, weaving music,
Healing broken hearts
And forming fields of light of scenic
Beauty for these Parts…
Che Chidi Chukwumerije
Where sight and sound are one
I chanced upon a little elm,
A woman sat upon
From far afar I sharp’d my eyes
To peer good at this sight
And soon came I to see thread-ties
Twixt her and the High Light
She sat so still, she didn’t stir
Or so it seemed to me,
’Til I was no more far, but near,
And then began to see
That in her hands she held a flute
The longest yet I’ve seen
Which stretched gently until its root
Her small lips was between
And she it was who through her sounds
Was forming all these fields
Of beauteous light where joy abounds
And my heart rapture yields… -
These fields of light I long have passed
Yet never will forget
That those blessed hills, meads, groves were massed
But through that simple set
Of flute and woman, weaving music,
Healing broken hearts
And forming fields of light of scenic
Beauty for these Parts…
Che Chidi Chukwumerije
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