Unspoken Word
April 24, 2019
Roses

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MitchDitkoff.com

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 04:06 PM | Comments (0)

April 19, 2019
There Is No Door

TimelessToday

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 11:15 PM | Comments (0)

March 30, 2019
Poetry Unread in 39 Years

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Last night, while cleaning out my home office in preparation for selling my house, I found an old notebook filled with bits of poetry -- words I had written 39 years ago during the time I lived in one of Prem Rawat's ashrams -- a time in my life where I had majorly unplugged from the world to "go within." Each verse of what follows stands alone. There is no particular order to them. It is not a single, coherent poem, but rather bits and pieces of a moon-howling jigsaw puzzle that was my life when I was 32. Please don't try to make sense of this stuff. Just feel it. Just let these blasts from the past wash over you. Maybe a single phrase or line will speak to you -- or even sing. In the end, methinks each and every one of us, no matter what form our life takes, is on a quest to find what's real. Part of that process, it seems, has something to do with getting in touch with our thirst for the divine -- that deep, inner, ancient longing for love that truly moves us.

I sit in the cave of myself,
alone with my breath.
There is no one else here
in this cool, dark hollow of my soul.

I sing your praises.
I hang the seeds of treeless forests
in the heaven of your Name.

Night falls around me
like the arms of a lover
widowed by daylight
and seeking the warmth of another.

The one who yearns for God must die
like flowers to the fruit,
must fall to the root
around the tree of life that gives me shade.

He walks on water,
I walk on ice,
and when I lay my head at his feet
I remember there is no place left in the world to go.
Here. Only here.

How deep can I look into
anyone else's eyes?
Only to the place where they are looking for you,
unafraid of what they'll find.

Words are only burrs on the path
through the high country brush with God.

Homeless,
with only a few stars to guide me,
I am a bum in a roadside temple,
cheater, whose deck of cards
has long since been stolen.

There are angels buried in my flesh.

I must be in love
or is it insane?

Who can receive me?
Who is deep enough
for me to disappear into?

He joins heaven and hell
with a wave of his hand,
his breath, the wand,
his smile the ground I walk upon.

Void of all tears,
sworn to silence,
I lose everything, once again, but myself.

Oh song-studded boy of bothersome beauty,
fall to the feet of the only one here,
bring what you've stolen,
peel your skin like grapes
and offer it as cloth
so he might wear what once was you
for a twilight ride through the country.

Suture the ragged wound closed,
let all your scars be roads to follow home.

Like a breeze through lace curtains,
enter softly
and stay with me a while.

I bend because
he has removed the weight.

I am melting,
I am burning at both ends,
and what I see by this flickering light,
is enough.

How can the desert flower thank the sun?
It cannot speak, only bend in the breeze of his passing.

Oh Master of my soul,
you have ignited the brittle tinder of my heart.

The closer I get to you,
the more I see how far away I am.

Who else listens to me when, speechless,
my heart begins to sing? Who?

I have gone to meet you in your secret place,
but when I arrived, neither of us were there.

Forget about ashes on your forehead,
let your whole body be consumed in flames.

Who can this Master be,
the one whose path is strewn with rose petals?

PremRawat.com
TimelessToday
MitchDitkoff.com

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 12:37 AM | Comments (0)

March 29, 2019
A Man of Many Colors

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Here's a beautiful piece of art by my good friend Peter Buettner, soulful musician, composer and artist. The world is a better place with Peter here.

And here's a review of one of Peter's Woodstock's concerts back in 2008.

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 08:28 AM | Comments (0)

March 21, 2019
The Only Thing Left to Do

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Let go,
let go of letting go,
let go of letting go of letting go,
then let go of that, too.
What remains?
Nothing
and everything --
an infinite stage upon which the heart can dance.

PremRawat.com
TimelessToday.com

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 11:37 AM | Comments (0)

March 17, 2019
The Ecstatic Wound of Longing

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Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 01:26 PM | Comments (0)

February 09, 2019
What Moves Us All to Dream

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Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 11:16 PM | Comments (0)

January 28, 2019
Seek the One Beyond the Veil

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Full Moon at Sunrise

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 06:52 AM | Comments (0)

January 19, 2019
Your Eyes

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it is the universe, instead, that seems the scar.
No blessed vision of light, no offered hand
to squeeze whiter than mine could relieve me,
only the treasure of being with you.
Who cares what the end or beginning will be
when the flower of your fullness is upon me?
What need is there to measure
when the earth reveals its splendor
in the fragrance of the giver
having given me pure wonder?
The sky is always open, the sea forever parted,
the forest endlessly blooming
in the heart of the true lover.
I sing the praises of the Master!

Alone in this unending night,
inching closer to the one
who infinitely woos me into rapture,
I am fooled again
(I cannot hold you, I cannot let you go),
and stand by the side of the road, watching
the wind ripple the weeds and the stars.
Who cares if this universe expands or contracts,
explodes or encodes its mysteries into my cells?
What need have I for knowing
when the summer wind is blowing
through the void black hair of my love?
You smile and the secret of this universe is told,
you laugh and I cannot remember who I am or hope to be,
fly deeper into silence,
discover breath again
and dissolve,
(snow on a nun's breast,
rising, dough-like, to the sun).

Mitch Ditkoff
Illustration: Lisa Dietrich

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 04:44 AM | Comments (0)

December 28, 2018
Who Can I Share My Joy With?

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MitchDitkoff.com
Full Moon at Sunrise
Photograph: unsplash-logoNathan Dumlao

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 06:54 PM | Comments (0)

December 12, 2018
I Share My Poetry Too Soon

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TimelessToday

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 10:24 PM | Comments (0)

December 08, 2018
There Is No Door

Is there a door? Does it open? Who opens it? And what is it that exists beyond the metaphors we use to explain our journeys homeward? Music: Stuart Hoffman.... Video: Fernando Garcia... Poetry: Mitch Ditkoff. Watch full screen.

MitchDitkoff.com

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 02:56 PM | Comments (0)

December 06, 2018
Be Empty Like the Sky

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November 28, 2018
A Song of Praise for the World

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What follows is a piece I wrote and performed at the Woodstock "One Voice" event, produced by Evelyne Pouget, three months after 911. For maximum value, read this piece aloud.

I speak today with one voice,
here in this town known around the world for peace,
a place that is metaphor for the highest aspirations
of the human soul: Woodstock.
What I have to say existed long before speech,
long before teachers and those who thought
they needed to be taught.
I speak of the time before time, before us and them,
before otherness, separation, fear,
or the need to make amends.
Pure presence there was back then,
isness, first light, love --
what the wise ones among us call by many names
according to their faith, but it has no name,
this impulse to be, this pulsation of life, this truth --
what poets feel before they pick up their pens,
why dancers, quivering in their own skin,
look around the room for space in which to move.

Back then, before the yes and no, the good and bad,
the East and West,
before our addiction to naming and knowing
and the curious claim people make that
God is on their side and their side only,
there was only one thing,
one infinite expanse of grandeur, one breath.
The human voice was quieted with awe before it.
I speak of presence and wonder and the state of
divine receptivity,
I speak of being at home in ourselves and with each other,
what children feel before they sleep, alone in their beds,
knowing their parents are awake in the next room --
the place where no fear of death abides
and even more importantly, no fear of life.

In this beginning,
(which comes with each and every breath)
the only path there was
was the one we made by walking on it,
the path Mohammed walked and Buddha,
the path Jesus walked and Krishna.
Moses, Rumi, Kabir, Lao Tzu, the Ba'al Shem Tov,
Masters known and unknown,
your neighbors and your friends,
each on fire with the possibility of living life as it was meant to be,
each ignited by the very same power some call God,
the God, whose name, lovers, no matter what their path,
invoke at the height of their passion,
the God of Abraham, Isaac, Jacob and Abdul,
the God of wizards, the God of fools,
why the earth turns
and the sufis
and the seasons.

It is this unreasonable force, this power of love,
this mirror of our selves to whom we pray,
while preying on each other,
that joins us together today --
why men dig deeper underground half a world a way
and others penetrate the sky,
each fueled by what they think is noble enough to die for.

The question, my friends, is not what to die for,
but what to LIVE for.
What is your calling? Your dream? Your gift?
What is your responsibility?
The choice, as always, is yours.
The messenger abides within you,
comes to your threshold,
sneaks past the guards you've posted at love’s door
and speaks:

"The cave you seek is the cave of the heart,
the air you patrol is your breath.
Walk whatever path you choose, but know that
each step is also an arrival.
Slow down, breathe deep, trust,
Give roses to people you barely know,
make someone tea,
embrace humanity all you want, but don't forget
to embrace each other -- now, the only time there is.
Let your weapon of choice be Cupid's bow,
see God in everyone,
have fun, wake up, be real!
Live as if this was the first day of your life, or the last.
Men, be men. Women, be women.
Win the war inside you --
the battle between the darkness and the light,
rejoice in the undeniable fact that you are alive!
Find your voice
and when you do, use it wisely.
Sing! Dance! Praise!"

Photo: unsplash-logoHumphrey Muleba

MitchDitkoff.com
My book of poetry
Storytelling for the Revolution

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 01:46 PM | Comments (0)

November 24, 2018
The Slightly Overweight Modern Art Museum Security Guard

He stands there, barely,
a kind of slow moving
piece of performance art,
just a bit off-stage,
not comprehending
the apparently fabulous shapes
recently described in the New York Times,
though he is, indeed, dressed for the part.
His hands, lightly clenched behind his back,
hold no brushes, no paint, no cloth.
His eyes, unsure of much,
here in this large white room,
glance off into somebody else's distance
while the rest of him,
curious for the moment,
wonders if the tuna fish sandwich
his wife packed for lunch
will be quite enough today.
Now he is leaning up against the wall,
now is he not,
now he is not leaning up against he wall,
now he is.

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 10:00 PM | Comments (0)

November 18, 2018
POETRY

Poetry:
frost on a window just before it snows.
Looking through it changes everything you see.

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 03:35 PM | Comments (0)

November 14, 2018
SILENCED

Now that I have seen what creates me
I no longer need to die
or speak of moonrisen eyes of others
gone wild for me.
Amazed, I stand alone now
at the sight of the one
who lightens the stones
and tunes my ear to the sound of my own heart
no longer locked behind bones.
Outside,
leaves are turning the color of old men's teeth
and I blush at the thought
of ever being alone with you.
How can I explain?
Driftwood here I have become,
carried to a shore beyond my sight
where you forever wait --
cave of undiscovered gold,
pure earth,
first ray of sun,
moonbeam in the slow night of my arrival.

Excerpted from Full Moon at Sunrise

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 06:12 PM | Comments (0)

November 08, 2018
An Infinite Amount of Poetry

There is an infinite amount of poetry
in every drop of water,
an infinite,
always-being-written
book of psalms
in each and every breath.
There is milk and honey everywhere,
milkmaids, magic, and gypsies
who steal your heart,
then give it back
ten thousand times infused
with secrets that take
far more than a full moon
and a lifetime to decipher.
No automatic alt text available.

MitchDitkoff.com

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 01:56 PM | Comments (0)

November 07, 2018
Longing Wells Up from Within

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TimelessToday
Heart of the Matter
Words of Peace Global

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 11:29 PM | Comments (0)

October 27, 2018
What I Have Understood

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TimelessToday

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 11:32 PM | Comments (0)

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April 2019, March 2019, February 2019, January 2019, December 2018, November 2018, October 2018, September 2018, August 2018, July 2018, June 2018, May 2018, April 2018, March 2018, February 2018, January 2018, December 2017, November 2017, October 2017, September 2017, August 2017, July 2017, June 2017, May 2017, April 2017, March 2017, February 2017, January 2017, December 2016, November 2016, October 2016, September 2016, August 2016, April 2016,
“I have nothing to say, I am saying it, and that is poetry.”
— John Cage

Welcome to my new blog — brief ruminations on what it is that moves me (and maybe YOU, too). If any of my poems inspire you, please forward them to friends. Good muse travels fast. Or could, with your help.

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