Only Real Antidote
Enlightenment is the
only real antidote to
the world’s despair.
~ Marianne Williamson
Only Real Antidote
despair
Every Grain of Sand
Bob Dylan
In the time of my confession,
in the hour of my deepest need
When the pool of tears beneath my feet
flood every newborn seed
There’s a dyin’ voice within me
reaching out somewhere,
Toiling in the danger and in
the morals of despair.
Don’t have the inclination to
look back on any mistake,
Like Cain,
I now behold this chain of events
that I must break.
In the fury of the moment
I can see the Master’s hand
In every leaf that trembles,
in every grain of sand.
Oh, the flowers of indulgence
and the weeds of yesteryear,
Like criminals,
they have choked the breath
of conscience and good cheer.
The sun beat down upon the steps
of time to light the way
To ease the pain of idleness
and the memory of decay.
I gaze into the doorway of
temptation’s angry flame
And every time I pass that way
I always hear my name.
Then onward in my journey
I come to understand
That every hair is numbered
like every grain of sand.
I have gone from rags to riches
in the sorrow of the night
In the violence of a summer’s dream,
in the chill of a wintry light,
In the bitter dance of loneliness
fading into space,
In the broken mirror of innocence
on each forgotten face.
I hear the ancient footsteps like
the motion of the sea
Sometimes I turn, there’s someone there,
other times it’s only me.
I am hanging in the balance
of the reality of man
Like every sparrow falling,
like every grain of sand.
Index of Lyrics on Allspirit
In a Dark Time
By Theodore Roethke
In a dark time, the eye begins to see,
I meet my shadow in the deepening shade;
I hear my echo in the echoing wood–
A lord of nature weeping to a tree.
I live between the heron and the wren,
Beasts of the hill and serpents of the den.
What’s madness but nobility of soul
At odds with circumstance? The day’s on fire!
I know the purity of pure despair,
My shadow pinned against a sweating wall,
That place among the rocks–is it a cave,
Or winding path? The edge is what I have.
A steady stream of correspondences!
A night flowing with birds, a ragged moon,
And in broad day the midnight come again!
A man goes far to find out what he is–
Death of the self in a long, tearless night,
All natural shapes blazing unnatural light.
Dark, dark my light, and darker my desire.
My soul, like some heat-maddened summer fly,
Keeps buzzing at the sill. Which I is I?
A fallen man, I climb out of my fear.
The mind enters itself, and God the mind,
And one is One, free in the tearing wind.
Read more poems from Theodore Roethke
Index of poets on Allspirit
Don’t Despair…
Don’t Despair…
by Hafez
Joseph to his father in Canaan shall return, don’t despair walk on;
and Jacob’s hut will brighten with flowers, don’t despair walk on.
Aching hearts heal in time, vanished hopes reappear,
the disparate mind will be pacified, don’t despair walk on.
As the spring of life grows the newly green meadow,
roses will crown the sweet nightingale’s song, don’t despair walk on
If the world does not turn to your whims these few days,
cosmic cycles are preparing to change, don’t despair walk on.
If desperation whispers you’ll never know God,
it’s the talk of hidden games in the veil, don’t despair walk on.
O heart, when the vast flood slashes life to its roots,
Captain Noah waits to steer you ashore, don’t despair walk on.
If you trek as a pilgrim through sands to Kaabeh
with thorns lodged deep in your soul shouting why, don’t despair walk on
Though oases hide dangers and your destiny’s far,
there’s no pathway that goes on forever, don’t despair walk on.
My trials and enemies face me on their own,
but mystery always backs up my stand, don’t despair walk on.
Hafez, weakened by poverty, alone in the dark,
this night is your pathway into the light, don’t despair walk on.
From: The Spiritual Wisdom of Hafez
Haleh Pourafzal and Roger Montgomery
I measure every grief…
Emily Dickinson
I measure every grief I meet
With analytic eyes;
I wonder if it weighs like mine,
Or has an easier size.
I wonder if they bore it long,
Or did it just begin?
I could not tell the date of mine,
It feels so old a pain.
I wonder if it hurts to live,
And if they have to try,
And whether, could they choose between,
They would not rather die.
I wonder if when years have piled–
Some thousands–on the cause
Of early hurt, if such a lapse
Could give them any pause;
Or would they go on aching still
Through centuries above,
Enlightened to a larger pain
By contrast with the love.
The grieved are many, I am told;
The reason deeper lies,–
Death is but one and comes but once
And only nails the eyes.
There’s grief of want, and grief of cold,–
A sort they call ‘despair,’
There’s banishment from native eyes,
In sight of native air.
And though I may not guess the kind
Correctly yet to me
A piercing comfort it affords
In passing Calvary,
To note the fashions of the cross
Of those that stand alone
Still fascinated to presume
That some are like my own.
It was not death…
Emily Dickinson
It was not death, for I stood up,
And all the dead lie down;
It was not night, for all the bells
Put out their tongues, for noon.
It was not frost, for on my flesh
I felt siroccos crawl,–
Nor fire, for just my marble feet
Could keep a chancel cool.
And yet it tasted like them all;
The figures I have seen
Set orderly, for burial,
Reminded me of mine,
As if my life were shaven
And fitted to a frame,
And could not breathe without a key;
And ‘t was like midnight, some,
When everything that ticked has stopped,
And space stares, all around,
Or grisly frosts, first autumn morns,
Repeal the beating ground.
But most like chaos,–stopless, cool,–
Without a chance or spar,–
Or even a report of land
To justify despair.