See you my dear friend Ravi!!! Joy i am !! thanks for make me smile and joy!!! its my bless,...may be and your !! love you dear peace and love....hug and kiss
"To have peace and love inside me for humanity is the ultimate goal, which cant be achieved till I am at peace with my own soul".........Ravi Pratap Shahi
hi my dear friend!! i am not see you long time!! realy joy for me now,for i see you!! how are you dear Ravi? i am still joy and loving an life go on easy...have blessed days with peace and love...love you dear friend...hug and kisssss
Hello my dear friend Ravi, i am so happy for come now on ipeace and see you!!! how you my dear friend? i am fine injoy in painting and cleaning my home..i am on holliday and now have time for that to do...my love always with you...and joy for our friendship too....love you,send you warm friends wishess and blesingss...hug and kiss too...be joy and happy dear..
WONDERFUL...I RETIRED FROM KHADI & V. I. COMMISSION A YEAR BACK AS JOINT CHIEF EXECUTIVE OFFICER NOW RESIDING IN KOLKATA...I AM AVAILABLE FOR SUCH CAUSE NOW WORKING WITH TWO GROUPS...I STARTED SUCH E GROUPS LIKE ONE HERE FOR GRASS ROOT INTERACTION....IF YOU AGREE I'LL INVITE YOU TO JOIN...
On my side of the planet, morning of August 6, Hiroshima Day, the date on which the black rain of overshadowing omnicide first feel upon the Earth…
LISTEN
You’re not listening
Sky is falling
You’re not listening
Sea is rising
In tempest-rage
You are not listening, no
And the angel of death
Comes on
Like rolling thunder
Earth is eaten away – this place
Now
This is a terrible moment
In the valley of tears
In a time of tribulation
Terrible, it is terrible I say
Truly terrible
When truth is at risk
And the heart and lungs
On all sides
There is betrayal
And everywhere, everywhere
In the eyes and mouths - poisons
Now, not before
Not after – Look – be sensitive
The ecstatic flame of angel
With the eyes of crucifixion
The one crucified
This
This is when the senses
(And the soul
Housed, ecosophic, inside the body)
Need to be alert
When choices are monumental
When life, all of life, life is in the balance
Answer this:
Do you need to
Hear the sirens screaming?
Do you need to
Witness the perfect storm?
To feel black rain, as in
August ’45? Does
Creation need to split apart for you and
Death weld together for faith
Dead Earth, dust
And deadly sky?
Where are you, where really
When I turn to look around
When I search to hear your footsteps
Feel you breathing
Do you dare to know
We-you and I-we are still alive?
There is difference
Life is on one hand, death on the other
Different
To live and die
Than to live for death, to
Be death’s ambassador,
The pallbearer, the anguished who
Tore the puzzle apart, flung it, pieces
Into furnace—end stop, endgame, ominous
Into oblivion
Answer to that – know it
Know (no), know
Your answer will be binding
Wait, wait, wait then… wait I beg you
For here there is love
There is
God in the shape of prayer still
And that is Kingdom
Blessed
Are the peacemakers, the
Earth-walkers
The brave who
Turn aside to feel the heartthrob, heartache of the world, to
Hear a teardrop fall
In velvet morning, an
Angel sigh despair, a newborn
Cry in the blood pool of life
To share, to taste, to give, to take
Our common bread
Our days
Body
Holy
Flame
Cross
He walks upon the water
In a wounded whisper
Word
From mouth to ear
Far off and near
The sound
Of spreading morning
Star fallen
On Hiroshima and the end
Star of Bethlehem!
Listen…
It is not prosperity
That the midnight bells are swelling
But Christ Mass and the dove
The dove
The dove of now
Peace – the cleansing rain
Listen…
Hush, be gentle, gentle I beg you
Listen…
Christmas Eve, 24 December 2007
from HEALING, A Book of Poetry by David Sparenberg
Sunday morning, to one and all: Peace within & peace to share…
MEDICINE DREAM
I have a dream:
at the center of the dream
is circling ocean
in the center of the ocean
is turtle island
at the center of the island
is vision mountain
in the center of the mountain
is healing crystal
at the center of the crystal
is sacred light
in the center of the light
i sit dreaming
I have a dream:
i dream i am a tree
my roots spread out
beside a place of water
in sunlight
my branches turn to fire
my leaves are prayers of smoke
my heart beats like a drum
inside a stone of power
I have a dream:
my dream is at the center
of great silence
here at the center
i sit dreaming
from HEALING, A Book of Poetry by David Sparenberg
Welcome to a world of fairy tales, dreams and myths. A world where there no restrictions are only opportunities. A world of Fantasy
But within there is a deeper meaning and if we find that we have much to learn about life and ourselves. *smile*
I did not do enough,
although it was in my heart.
I wanted to enjoy
the warmth of life
more than to put out
the fires of war.
I protested
but I did not sacrifice.
I marched
while the innocent and guilty alike
were burned by death from the sky.
Maybe if that child in
Vietnam
had not died of napalm,
the children of Iraq would
not now be
dying in my name?
Being an American,
I chose the ease of
what we call freedom.
I said, "No,"
but I did not make myself heard in
the power of compassionate
denouncement. I said “Yes,”
but not always to otherness
and not with the strength and
reverence of beatitude.
When I die
war will not have
left the lovely Earth and
should I come back in
the perfume of a flower, likely
the petals will be
stained with freshly fallen blood.
What child’s cheek
may yet come to paint with
pain the soft white of the lily? What
lust may yet harvest
the agony of thorns,
while crushing the ecstasy of roses?
I did not do enough,
although I had set out
to make a monument of
War No More.
There is my failure.
The teeming world of
tears that so easily tips
into fear and madness
does not need
these words alone. Rather,
a communion
where none are absent. Where
there can be anger as
an emotional bubble but
not enemies and
not crimes of hate.
It is said that
freedom is not free;
but it is
death that is made wholesale.
The axiom is propaganda. Peace
requires the greater vulnerability.
I have done some:
having spoken
when others remained silent; having
stepped up on occasion,
while others withdrew. But I have
not done enough. I know this,
so do you.
That yet another generation must
plant the seeds of healing I
have dreamed of and they,
labor for the season
I have not known.
Yet have I read, in
visions of prophecy,
that a tree will in twilight later grow
at the center of the circle of life; the
weapons of fratricide be
beaten down, the vineyards filled
with the royalty of angels. Robins
singing and butterflies,
not boy-men crying
for their mothers’ mercy.
Rather,
to dance in that round in
footprints of a loving God! To stand in prayer
blessed beneath that
earthly bough.
When?
hi my dear friend Ravi!!! its my joy and happy for see you now here!!! how are you my dear friend??? i am fine with all my girlls at home!!! we have joyfull time and fun!! life is a beautiful gift and its all i have!!! love and life in ONE...hahaha!! i am blessed with that!! wish you to all you need for be joy and loving...for be full* or emty* hahaha!!!! love you and bless...hug and kiss you my dear Ravi
Not everyone comes wearing
a red dress.
Many are content with
white shirts, plaid skirts, blue jeans.
The wounded are wearing
overcoats,
because for them
the world is prematurely cold.
The silly and the cleverest
are dressed as clowns.
And the angels are
naked, between the eyelashes
of our setting sun.
Not everyone comes wearing
the reminder of black,
although pain is everywhere
and loss attends us.
Those who are painted in blood
have wept in the wasting of war.
And those who are
painted with light
are here to heal us.
Friend,
even if I came to you
in the rags of weariness,
the cloak of invisibility or
dust of neglect, the
web of a spider,
would you offer me a drink of water
seeing thirst,
and help to decide
a way, at the crossroads of life?
If I look into your
hands, what will I find:
a golden thread,
the strength of beauty,
a loaf of bread?
iPeace.us
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Thanks for lighting on me....love youuu
love youuuuuuuThank you so much for your kind words!
namaste
LISTEN
You’re not listening
Sky is falling
You’re not listening
Sea is rising
In tempest-rage
You are not listening, no
And the angel of death
Comes on
Like rolling thunder
Earth is eaten away – this place
Now
This is a terrible moment
In the valley of tears
In a time of tribulation
Terrible, it is terrible I say
Truly terrible
When truth is at risk
And the heart and lungs
On all sides
There is betrayal
And everywhere, everywhere
In the eyes and mouths - poisons
Now, not before
Not after – Look – be sensitive
The ecstatic flame of angel
With the eyes of crucifixion
The one crucified
This
This is when the senses
(And the soul
Housed, ecosophic, inside the body)
Need to be alert
When choices are monumental
When life, all of life, life is in the balance
Answer this:
Do you need to
Hear the sirens screaming?
Do you need to
Witness the perfect storm?
To feel black rain, as in
August ’45? Does
Creation need to split apart for you and
Death weld together for faith
Dead Earth, dust
And deadly sky?
Where are you, where really
When I turn to look around
When I search to hear your footsteps
Feel you breathing
Do you dare to know
We-you and I-we are still alive?
There is difference
Life is on one hand, death on the other
Different
To live and die
Than to live for death, to
Be death’s ambassador,
The pallbearer, the anguished who
Tore the puzzle apart, flung it, pieces
Into furnace—end stop, endgame, ominous
Into oblivion
Answer to that – know it
Know (no), know
Your answer will be binding
Wait, wait, wait then… wait I beg you
For here there is love
There is
God in the shape of prayer still
And that is Kingdom
Blessed
Are the peacemakers, the
Earth-walkers
The brave who
Turn aside to feel the heartthrob, heartache of the world, to
Hear a teardrop fall
In velvet morning, an
Angel sigh despair, a newborn
Cry in the blood pool of life
To share, to taste, to give, to take
Our common bread
Our days
Body
Holy
Flame
Cross
He walks upon the water
In a wounded whisper
Word
From mouth to ear
Far off and near
The sound
Of spreading morning
Star fallen
On Hiroshima and the end
Star of Bethlehem!
Listen…
It is not prosperity
That the midnight bells are swelling
But Christ Mass and the dove
The dove
The dove of now
Peace – the cleansing rain
Listen…
Hush, be gentle, gentle I beg you
Listen…
Christmas Eve, 24 December 2007
from HEALING, A Book of Poetry by David Sparenberg
MEDICINE DREAM
I have a dream:
at the center of the dream
is circling ocean
in the center of the ocean
is turtle island
at the center of the island
is vision mountain
in the center of the mountain
is healing crystal
at the center of the crystal
is sacred light
in the center of the light
i sit dreaming
I have a dream:
i dream i am a tree
my roots spread out
beside a place of water
in sunlight
my branches turn to fire
my leaves are prayers of smoke
my heart beats like a drum
inside a stone of power
I have a dream:
my dream is at the center
of great silence
here at the center
i sit dreaming
from HEALING, A Book of Poetry by David Sparenberg
Welcome to a world of fairy tales, dreams and myths. A world where there no restrictions are only opportunities. A world of Fantasy
But within there is a deeper meaning and if we find that we have much to learn about life and ourselves. *smile*
Hope seeing you there/Gunilla
Hot Comments for MySpace, Hi5 and Orkut
at 1 and 60
I did not do enough,
although it was in my heart.
I wanted to enjoy
the warmth of life
more than to put out
the fires of war.
I protested
but I did not sacrifice.
I marched
while the innocent and guilty alike
were burned by death from the sky.
Maybe if that child in
Vietnam
had not died of napalm,
the children of Iraq would
not now be
dying in my name?
Being an American,
I chose the ease of
what we call freedom.
I said, "No,"
but I did not make myself heard in
the power of compassionate
denouncement. I said “Yes,”
but not always to otherness
and not with the strength and
reverence of beatitude.
When I die
war will not have
left the lovely Earth and
should I come back in
the perfume of a flower, likely
the petals will be
stained with freshly fallen blood.
What child’s cheek
may yet come to paint with
pain the soft white of the lily? What
lust may yet harvest
the agony of thorns,
while crushing the ecstasy of roses?
I did not do enough,
although I had set out
to make a monument of
War No More.
There is my failure.
The teeming world of
tears that so easily tips
into fear and madness
does not need
these words alone. Rather,
a communion
where none are absent. Where
there can be anger as
an emotional bubble but
not enemies and
not crimes of hate.
It is said that
freedom is not free;
but it is
death that is made wholesale.
The axiom is propaganda. Peace
requires the greater vulnerability.
I have done some:
having spoken
when others remained silent; having
stepped up on occasion,
while others withdrew. But I have
not done enough. I know this,
so do you.
That yet another generation must
plant the seeds of healing I
have dreamed of and they,
labor for the season
I have not known.
Yet have I read, in
visions of prophecy,
that a tree will in twilight later grow
at the center of the circle of life; the
weapons of fratricide be
beaten down, the vineyards filled
with the royalty of angels. Robins
singing and butterflies,
not boy-men crying
for their mothers’ mercy.
Rather,
to dance in that round in
footprints of a loving God! To stand in prayer
blessed beneath that
earthly bough.
When?
David Sparenberg
3 Feb. 2009
Not everyone comes wearing
a red dress.
Many are content with
white shirts, plaid skirts, blue jeans.
The wounded are wearing
overcoats,
because for them
the world is prematurely cold.
The silly and the cleverest
are dressed as clowns.
And the angels are
naked, between the eyelashes
of our setting sun.
Not everyone comes wearing
the reminder of black,
although pain is everywhere
and loss attends us.
Those who are painted in blood
have wept in the wasting of war.
And those who are
painted with light
are here to heal us.
Friend,
even if I came to you
in the rags of weariness,
the cloak of invisibility or
dust of neglect, the
web of a spider,
would you offer me a drink of water
seeing thirst,
and help to decide
a way, at the crossroads of life?
If I look into your
hands, what will I find:
a golden thread,
the strength of beauty,
a loaf of bread?
David Sparenberg
18 July 2009
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