Shivpreet Singh
Shivpreet Singh
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Eid Mubarak folks! This morning I woke up and read new poetry from Rattle and this poem was very moving. Here is the original on Rattle: https://rattle.com/dua-for-dervishes-by-michael-cirelli/


Dua for Dervishes
by Michael Cirelli

The crests of his dress
In 3s like sets of waves,
An O on the stage, a groove
Ground by soft leather soles
O perfect circle etched!
O spinning cipher human planet!
O the body void! O null.
Everything the Sufi does
Is for the love of Allah I’m told.
But when the dance was over
He came out smoking a Marlboro
In a cheap pleather jacket
And knockoff Nikes.
His hair flopped limp
On his forehead with each
Overextended inhale.
O the disappointment
As he scrolled on his smartphone,
Earbuds clogging his head
With Katy Perry I now suspect.
O Facebook for the love of Allah!
O fake Nikes for the love of Allah!
O iPhones O iTunes O iClouds
Overhead for the love of Allah.
Roar for the love of Allah!
I ran into my accountant halfway
Around the world that night,
My accountant for the love of Allah.

The poem begins with a Sufi dancer—spinning, sacred, almost cosmic. The kind of image we like to associate with devotion. A body becoming a circle, a human turning into something beyond himself. But then the dance ends.

The guy unexpectedly steps outside, lights a cigarette, scrolls on his phone, earbuds in, wearing knockoffs—completely ordinary. He’s even listening to Katy Perry. Which made me smile. I guess in the reverent it may feel like a a small disappointment, as if the sacred has slipped.

By the end of the poem, we are finding everyone—even an accountant—“for the love of Allah.”

Maybe the point isn’t that the sacred disappeared. Maybe it’s that we were expecting it to look a certain way: clean, elevated, separate.

Which brings me to what I have been meditating on this week. Maya. This is maya—the illusion that the divine lives only in the perfect moment, the perfect person, the perfect posture. Guru Amardas says, “maya viche paya” — what is beyond illusion is found within it. The love of God is discovered through the love of His gifts, welcome and unwelcome.

Those who are praying are human too. They are not finished beings. They are not pure symbols. They are people—smoking, scrolling, stumbling, singing pop songs—still trying to find Allah in the noise, in the mess, in the middle of their lives.

And maybe that is the prayer. To find what is beyond counting in the counting. To glimpse the infinite even in an accountant. To realize that nothing has fallen away— only our idea of what the sacred should look like. And once that illusion loosens, everything begins again “for the love of Allah.”



I've Dreamed Many Dreams
Ron DeMarco

I've dreamed many dreams that never came true.
I've seen them vanish at dawn.
But I've realized enough of my dreams thank the Lord,
To make me want to dream on.

I've prayed many prayers when no answer came,
Though I've waited patient and long,
But answers have come to enough of my prayers
To make me keep praying on.

I've trusted many a friend that failed,
And left me to weep alone,
But I've found enough of my friends that are really true,
That will make me keep trusting on.

I've sown many seeds that have fallen by the way,
For the birds to feed upon,
But I've held enough golden sheaves in my hand,
To make me keep sowing on.

I've drunk from the cup of disappointment and pain
I've gone many days without song,
But I've sipped enough nectar from the Roses of Life
To make me keep living on!





This morning I am reading 300 Goats by Naomi Shihab Nye. Goats were on top of her mind that year because she had returned from China where there had been an active debate on whether it was the year of the sheep or goat. With her heightened state of awareness about goats she seems worried about Goats on a ranch in Texas which was experiencing icy cold weather. 

The poem reminds me of Guru Arjan’s poem, “kahe re man chitveh uddam”. Why O mind  ?  The ants that live on rocks find food. Flamingos fly off after laying their eggs; when the young ones hatch they find what they need to survive. 

It also reminds me of Jane Hirshfield’s poem about saving an ant. We take on the responsibility of the savior. But are we really saving anyone?


Naomi Shihab Nye: “300 Goats”

In icy fields.

Is water flowing in the tank?

Will they huddle together, warm bodies pressing?

(Is it the year of the goat or the sheep?

Scholars debating Chinese zodiac,

follower or leader.)

O lead them to a warm corner,

little ones toward bulkier bodies.

Lead them to the brush, which cuts the icy wind.

Another frigid night swooping down — 

Aren’t you worried about them? I ask my friend,

who lives by herself on the ranch of goats,

far from here near the town of Ozona.

She shrugs, “Not really,

they know what to do. They’re goats.”
Tonight I am reading about Michael J Fox. He has always intrigued me because I used to watch his movies and I was very sad when I found out he had Parkinson’s because I saw my grandfather suffering through that disease for many years. 

What is remarkable about all the interviews and writings on Michael J Fox is his chardi kala - a phrase that doesn’t really have a good translation in English. A state of being hopeful and cheerful even in the face of calamity and despair. 

The following quote from Fox, 59, in the People magazine article reminded me of that chardi kala again:

“I’m down to this. My guitar playing is no good. My sketching is no good anymore, my dancing never was good, and acting is getting tougher to do. So it’s down to writing. Luckily, I really enjoy it.”

It is so true that joy is something Fox usually has in abundance.  He cannot do much but he can still write. He has written 4 memoirs and he seems to be enjoying that. And it is such a hopeful message. Perhaps when one day I won’t be able to record or sing, I will be able to write more. Or perhaps just hear. And that will be the best service I can do for humanity. 

This reminds me of Guru Arjan's Meetha Meetha. Whatever you do lord, appears sweet to me says the Guru. This also reminds me of John Milton on his blindness:

When I consider how my light is spent,
    Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,
    And that one Talent which is death to hide
    Lodged with me useless, though my Soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
    My true account, lest he returning chide;
    “Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?”
    I fondly ask. But patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies, “God doth not need
    Either man’s work or his own gifts; who best
    Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state
Is Kingly. Thousands at his bidding speed
    And post o’er Land and Ocean without rest:
    They also serve who only stand and wait.”

Analysis:

https://www.owleyes.org/text/on-his-blindness/read/text-poem#root-418824-1

Taati Vao Na Lagai - Guru Arjan's embrace 

Someone texted me these words and I just felt like singing Bhai Harjinder Singh ji's melodious composition of this shabad with the piano. This is that recording. Since the initial recording I added some strings to it, mix and mastered and kept the vocals from that first attempt. And while I was working on the video, I felt like Guru Arjan embraces us through these sweet words. So, the video is colored with "embrace." This is being released as part of the Kirpa Dhaar project which includes uplifting shabads during the Pandemic. 


The scorching winds cannot harm you when you walk the path of genuine service.

Hot Winds of Testing as explained by Jesus Christ

Jesus related a parable in Luke 8 about a farmer who scattered seed in his field. Some of the seed fell on fertile soil, while some fell on rocky ground. In explaining the parable, Jesus stated in verse 13, "The seeds that fell on rocky soil represent those who hear the message and receive it with joy, but their roots are shallow and they don't last. When trouble or persecution arises because of the word, they quickly fall away."

A Love That Saves you From Hot Winds

Life is full of ups and downs, and we all experience tough times. Everything may seem to be going well, then suddenly a new challenge arises (what are hot winds or taati vao): illness, death, relationship problems, a setback in business, or just depression. It can be tempting to feel discouraged and question why it happened. 

For the evolved soul, these experiences are opportunities that God provides to guide us towards our purpose. For such spiritual beings, there are no "hot winds". To Guru Arjan, "hot winds don't touch one who is under the protection of God." Just like he says, "everything appears sweet, because my love is the doer." (Tera Kiya Meetha Lagai)

To paraphrase civil rights leader Valerie Kaur, "Regardless of how battered you may become, even if faced with blazing heat or a rain of fire, even if you're bleeding in childbirth or on the battlefield, the searing winds cannot touch you. This is because you are in the company of the sacred and are part of it. You are with God and of God. You are with love and of love. And this type of love saves us all."

Lyrics, Transliteration and Translation 

ਬਿਲਾਵਲੁ ਮਹਲਾ ੫ ॥
बिलावल महला ५ ॥
Bilāval mėhlā 5.
Bilaaval, Fifth Mehl:


ਤਾਤੀ ਵਾਉ ਨ ਲਗਈ ਪਾਰਬ੍ਰਹਮ ਸਰਣਾਈ ॥
ताती वाउ न लगई पारब्रहम सरणाई ॥
Ŧāṯī vāo na lagī pārbarahm sarṇāī.
The hot wind does not even touch one who is under the Protection of the Supreme Lord God.

ਚਉਗਿਰਦ ਹਮਾਰੈ ਰਾਮ ਕਾਰ ਦੁਖੁ ਲਗੈ ਨ ਭਾਈ ॥੧॥
चउगिरद हमारै राम कार दुखु लगै न भाई ॥१॥
Cẖaugiraḏ hamārai rām kār ḏukẖ lagai na bẖāī. ||1||
On all four sides I am surrounded by the Lord's Circle of Protection; pain does not afflict me, O Siblings of Destiny. ||1||

ਸਤਿਗੁਰੁ ਪੂਰਾ ਭੇਟਿਆ ਜਿਨਿ ਬਣਤ ਬਣਾਈ ॥
सतिगुरु पूरा भेटिआ जिनि बणत बणाई ॥
Saṯgur pūrā bẖetiā jin baṇaṯ baṇāī.
I have met the Perfect True Guru, who has done this deed.

ਰਾਮ ਨਾਮੁ ਅਉਖਧੁ ਦੀਆ ਏਕਾ ਲਿਵ ਲਾਈ ॥੧॥ ਰਹਾਉ ॥
राम नामु अउखधु दीआ एका लिव लाई ॥१॥ रहाउ ॥
Rām nām aukẖaḏẖ ḏīā ekā liv lāī. ||1|| rahā▫o.
He has given me the medicine of the Lord's Name, and I enshrine love for the One Lord. ||1||Pause||

ਰਾਖਿ ਲੀਏ ਤਿਨਿ ਰਖਨਹਾਰਿ ਸਭ ਬਿਆਧਿ ਮਿਟਾਈ ॥
राखि लीए तिनि रखनहारि सभ बिआधि मिटाई ॥
Rākẖ līe ṯin rakẖaṇhār sabẖ biāḏẖ mitāī.
The Savior Lord has saved me, and eradicated all my sickness.

ਕਹੁ ਨਾਨਕ ਕਿਰਪਾ ਭਈ ਪ੍ਰਭ ਭਏ ਸਹਾਈ ॥੨॥੧੫॥੭੯॥
कहु नानक किरपा भई प्रभ भए सहाई ॥२॥१५॥७९॥
Kaho Nānak kirpā bẖaī parabẖ bẖae sahāī. ||2||15||79||
Says Nanak, God has showered me with His Mercy; He has become my help and support. ||2||15||79||


SoundCloud: 

Shivpreet Singh · Taati Vao Na Lagai

If you want to sing, sing your best heart out. Not someone else's heart. Your own heart. Otherwise it will look fake as it should. Select a scale that is your own, not your favorite singers'. Choose variations that come naturally to you.  Sing simply like Ajahn meditates. Sing easily like Anthony Hopkins acts. Sing beautifully like John Keats poetries. In your own peculiar way. The sweetest. In sehaj. Effortless. 

Ajahn Chah (1918 - 1992) Buddhist teacher from Thailand on life: 

Do not try to become anything.
Do not make yourself into anything.
Do not be a meditator.
Do not become enlightened.
When you sit, let it be.
What you walk, let it be.
Grasp at nothing.
Resist nothing.


Anthony Hopkin on how he can effortlessly act difficult parts in an interview in the New Yorker Magazine (February 2021): 

"As the years have gone by, I’ve found it easier to act. When you’re younger, you want to become “it.” We used to have a forum out here for young actors, and all I could say to them was, “Just keep it as simple as you can. But if you have to do Stanislavski on it, if you have to do Lee Strasberg, fine. There’s nothing wrong with that.” I was trained in that way myself, in Method. As the years have gone by, I’ve incorporated into my skill set a fast means of doing it. That is, to keep it simple, keep it relaxed, and know the text. Once you learn the text, it’s like getting into a car after years of experience. It’s automatic.


John Keats on Poetry: 

"... if poetry comes not as naturally as the leaves to a tree, it had better not come at all."


Life ebbs ... Life flows. Just allow everything to rise and fall back into silence. Trust this Universe and wait for your destiny. Is there nothing else to do other than waiting? And don't get bored while waiting. Sing!




"Jaisi Main Aveh" is one of the four poems included in what is called "Babarvani" describing the four invasions by Mughal Emperor Babar (1483-1530).  While three of these poems are in Raag Asa (the color of Hope), this poem is in Raag Tilang (the color of Mideast).


 

Read More: Complete Babarvani


Babar and Guru Nanak in 1520-1521

Before we go into the shabad, let's consider the historical background based on what I have gathered from several sources including Babar's Autobiography in the past few days.

The year was 1520.  The season was winter.  Babar made his third invasion into India and easily subdued several cities including Sialkot.  He wanted to do the same with Saidpur, a town of landowners and merchants.  The inhabitants of Saidpur, not knowing Babar's savage intentions, resisted and in his wrath Babar ordered a bloody massacre of city dwellers.

Guru Nanak was traveling back home after his trip to Mecca, and reached Saidpur from Punja Sahib and stayed with disciple and friend Bhai Lalo.  Guru Nanak and Bhai Lalo, along with other older men, women and children were imprisoned by Babar.  Babar had to leave Saidpur because of attacks at his home in Afganisthan.  According to the Puratan Janam Saaki, Guru Nanak and Bhai Lalo were made to carry loads of wealth on their backs for Babar's troops to take away (See Babur's Invasion).

Many of the historical accounts of Babar's third invasion I found were short and colorless. For example, one account mentioned Babar's invasion in the following way:
"There is no doubt, however, that he made an expedition, called the third, in 1520. On this occasion he crossed the Indus, marched into the part known now as the Rawal Pindi division, crossed the Jehlam, reached Sialkot, which he spared, and then marched on Saiyidpur, which he plundered. He was called from this place to Kabul to meet a threatened attack upon that capital."

In comparsion ... Guru Nanak is beautifully descriptive, and he calls the savagery like it is: evil and sinful:

Calling it like it is ... Guru Nanak Style

Guru Nanak's courageous song of truth that describes the condition of Saidpur after it was devastated by Babar's attack in 1521:

Tilang, First Mehl:

Jaisi Main Avai Khasam ki Baani, taisada kari gyaan vey Lalo
As the Word of the divine comes to me, so do I express it, O Lalo

Guru Nanak is going to describe the horrors of Babur's atrocities. He says, look, I'm going to say it like it is. This is not just ordinary "Bani" or ordinary "word," it is "Khasam ki Bani" or the "word of the eternal husband." And what is "khasam" according to Guru Nanak -- it is "satnam" or the truth. So this is the word of truth according to Guru Nanak! Because Khasam can also be defined as "love," one can say that Guru Nanak is saying, "These are not necessarily my words. These are the words that have come to me from my love."

Another interpretation of this line is that Guru Nanak is emphasizing that it is not he who is making any judgements, because in the end whether someone is good or evil, is a judgement.  He says that the source his knowledge (gyaan) is the divine husband (khasam).  He is just imparting what has come to him from the divine.  He is just doing what God willed him to do: sing!

This line reminds me of Bob Dylan's song Blowin in the Wind. In this song that was meant to be a protest against war, Bob Dylan asks several poignant questions. For instance:
How many times can a man turn his head
And pretend that he just doesn't see?
The convenient thing to do is to ignore atrocities.  It saves you from any negative repercussions.  But the right and courageous thing to do is to stand by the truth.  Guru Nanak's poem is especially courageous because it could result in him losing his life; despite this, he choses to write and sing this.

Paap kee janj lai Kabulon Dhaaeiaa Jori Mangai Daan vey Lalo
Bringing the wedding party of sin from Kabul he (Babur) demands land as his wedding gift, O Lalo.

He is saying it like it is.  

The Wedding Metaphor

Wedding are often used as metaphors of death in sufi poetry and gurbani. Just like the bridegroom leaves her temporary house and goes to her husband's house one day, it is inevitable that we all die.  Guru Nanak extends this metaphor chillingly -- the wedding party has come from Kabul and "demands" land.  This sin has come from greed.  Through this poem he slays the greed of acquirers of land and women. The fact that he wanted the land and riches of the people of Saidpur has been corroborated from primary sources.  

The wedding party of sin comes from Kabul.  After Babur's failures in Central Asia he had moved south east to Kabul and established his supremacy.  He was especially punitive to the Afghans, often setting up "pillars of heads" after winning battles; now he brings such horrors to India.  

One historian remarks that Guru Nanak knew about Babur's attack beforehand and came to Saidpur to warn Bhai Lalo of the devastation.  I believe the shabad was written afterwards because of the specific description and the evidence (chakki). 

Saram Dharam Doi Chhap Khaloye Kood Phire Pardhaan vey Lalo
Decency and righteousness are hiding, and falsehood struts around like a leader, O Lalo.

Kajiyan Baamana ki gal Thakki, Agad Padai Saitan vey Lalo
The Qazis and the Brahmins have lost their roles, and Satan now conduct wedding rites, O Lalo.

Normally weddings are decent and righteous affairs; they are celebrations. And normally the pious elevated individuals conduct marriage ceremonies. So that would be the brahman for hindus and the kazi for muslims. But in this case Satan is conducting wedding rites. As we go on in this shabad, the wedding metaphors will continue - especially about singing wedding songs in the end of the shabad.

Toll of War on Women

Musalamaaneeaa parrehi kathaebaa kasatt mehi karehi khudhaae vae laalo
The Muslim women read the Koran, and in their misery, they call upon God, O Lalo.

Jaath sanaathee hor hidhavaaneeaa eaehi bhee laekhai laae vae laalo
The Hindu women of different statuses, as well, have been met with the same fate, O Lalo.

The Muslim women are suffering ... they have no where else to go but God. And Hindu women of all statuses are met with the same fate.  Everyone is suffering.


Zainab Salbi, an Iraqi author, who has written a book on the plight of women in war, claims that things are not different now. She claims that we talk about only one side of war.  We talk about the missiles, the destruction, the valiant warriors, the vanquished ones, troop levels, tactics, dollars and casualties. We treat casualties rather casually. We don't talk about where the social fabric is most torn. We don't talk about the suffering of women, the suffering of children ... they remain the the unspoken sufferers of war. And the fact is that seventy-five percent of the casualties of war are women and children.

It is also possible, that Guru Nanak only mentions women, because he is continuing to use the wedding metaphor, where everyone is the soulbride of the one in power.

Babar - Jabar - Equal Opportunity Savage

It is clear from this description that Babar is indiscriminately killing and torturing people regardless of religion.  He was an equal opportunity savage. History shows that Babar (and for that matter his ancestor Genghiz Khan) was more interested in capturing land and wealth than converting folks to Islam. As an aside, it was much later, after he had conqured Delhi, Babar used Islam to rally his troops to defeating Rajputs of Mewar.

A noted Pakistani Journalist, Mushtak Soofi, describes Babar's intent in his article on Guru Nanak: 
Babar was like a character one finds in one of Bertolt Brecht’s poems; 'where my tank passes is my street/what my gun says is my opinion.'
When Babar decided to savagely kill the people of Saidpur, much of its male population must have been killed in the attack. Guru Nanak only mentions the plight of the Muslim and Hindu women, perhaps because most of the men were dead. But, it is clear that it was the women who suffered the most. 

Guru Nanak And Bhai Lalo Survive

It is interesting that both Guru Nanak and Bhai Lalo survived the attack. It might have been because Guru Nanak was highly regarded (because he was returning from Mecca and was considered a Haji; there weren't too many people in that time and place who had completed the Hajj), or because he was spiritual, because he was a musician (and Babar loved music and musicians), or just because he was old (>50 years old). We don't know this; but it is also possible that Babar only killed folks who were opposing his invasion; he imprisoned the others. According to the puratam janam sakhi over 11,000 people were imprisoned.

Imbued in Red

Khoon kae sohilae gaaveeahi naanak rath kaa kungoo paae vae laalo |1|
Sing the songs of murder, O Nanak, sprinkling kungoo* of blood, O Lalo.

Although kungoo is often translated as "saffron" in most translations of this shabad, this is not accurate. Kungoo is a powdered dye from a variety of millet that was used as make-up by women. I found some references of modern use of this millet for making hair pink (More on Kungoo)! Continuing the extension of this chilling metaphor of death, the poet is also decorated with the kungoo, but its the kungoo of blood and he sings the songs of murder.

It is interesting to note that Khoon is red.  Kungoo is pink, derived from red. And Lalo, although a person's name, is also derived from red.  Red is the color of blood. It is the color of blood that makes a memory of war so gory. Yet, it is also the color of love. It is the traditional color of a bride's dress.  The redness of Guru Nanak's last line highlights the dichotomy of the world that we live in. This world is full of suffering, yet it is also full of love.  And all us poets of life have a choice.

Guru Nanak Sings His Part 

What does Guru Nanak do despite all the suffering. He is not dejected. He sings! The poet of the soul is ready to die.  He is ready to die a bloody death.  Not just ready, he accepts the bloody death gleefully. He sings the songs of murder. He does what he is here for. He does his part.   In the darkest hours of life, he sees stars; he has optimism. He has hope. He rejoices in His Will.
How can we remove all this dark falsehood? By rejoicing in His Will, says Nanak! (Japji 1)
We live in a time of great confusion and pain. There was uncalled for bloodshed in Paris, Syria and California last year.  Terrorists were killing innocent people for reasons even baser than Babar's. But you shouldn't be discouraged. While you might not be able to fix this, but you should not lose heart. Peace begins with you. Just like Guru Nanak, you have a unique mission. Just like him, you can be singing.  Just like him, you can make a big difference. Just like him, you can truly live.

Martin Luther King once said, "A man dies when he refuses to stand up for that which is right. A man dies when he refuses to stand up for justice. A man dies when he refuses to take a stand for that which is true." To truly live, you have to sing what is right, you have to sing for justice, you have have to sing the truth.  The Guru Nanak within us lives as long as we sing the truth. He sings eternally, 'Akhaan Jeevan Visrai Mar Jaon' ... he sings, "As long as I sing I live; as soon as I forget I die."

Note: This is ongoing research as of December 2018. Please contribute if you can help improve this.

Also spelt: Jaisi Main Avai



The worst loneliness is to not be comfortable with yourself.  - Mark Twain

A man named Sei Weng owned a beautiful mare which was praised far and wide. One day this beautiful horse disappeared. The people of his village offered sympathy to Sei Weng for his great misfortune. Sei Weng said simply, "That's the way it is." 

A few days later the lost mare returned, followed by a beautiful wild stallion. The village congratulated Sei Weng for his good fortune. He said, "That's the way it is."

Some time later, Sei Weng's only son, while riding the stallion, fell off and broke his leg. The village people once again expressed their sympathy at Sei Weng's misfortune. Sei Weng again said, "That's the way it is."

Soon thereafter, war broke out and all the young men of the village except Sei Weng's lame son were drafted and were killed in battle. The village people were amazed as Sei Weng's good luck. His son was the only young man left alive in the village. But Sei Weng kept his same attitude: despite all the turmoil, gains and losses, he gave the same reply, "That's the way it is."

This reminds me of Guru Nanak's first pauri (step) of Japji Sahib, Sochai Soch Na Hovai.

Shivpreet Singh · Punj Pauriyan da Kirtan (19082-11)
The necessity of trees

The frontyard that made me
had medicinal three trees,
one even with my name.

We would pick Eucalyptus leaves
squeeze their refreshing scents out
between cricket games.

Somedays we would renunciate
colgate for the chewable stems
of the neem tree

The long black fruit from
the amaltas tree was great
for the stomach

These trees outside my window
sway the way of the wind,
shiv, make me think.
I started reading a book today on preference of path over destination, and the book started by quoting this Walt Whitman poem.  Like his other poems, I really love what Walt does and how he does it.  A must read:

Song of the Open Road
- Walt Whitman



Continued:

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Song of the Open Road

BY WALT WHITMAN
1
Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road,
Healthy, free, the world before me,
The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose.


Henceforth I ask not good-fortune, I myself am good-fortune,
Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing,
Done with indoor complaints, libraries, querulous criticisms,
Strong and content I travel the open road.


The earth, that is sufficient,
I do not want the constellations any nearer,
I know they are very well where they are,
I know they suffice for those who belong to them.


(Still here I carry my old delicious burdens,
I carry them, men and women, I carry them with me wherever I go,
I swear it is impossible for me to get rid of them,
I am fill’d with them, and I will fill them in return.)


2
You road I enter upon and look around, I believe you are not all that is here,
I believe that much unseen is also here.


Here the profound lesson of reception, nor preference nor denial,
The black with his woolly head, the felon, the diseas’d, the illiterate person, are not denied;
The birth, the hasting after the physician, the beggar’s tramp, the drunkard’s stagger, the laughing party of mechanics,
The escaped youth, the rich person’s carriage, the fop, the eloping couple,


The early market-man, the hearse, the moving of furniture into the town, the return back from the town,
They pass, I also pass, any thing passes, none can be interdicted,
None but are accepted, none but shall be dear to me.


3
You air that serves me with breath to speak!
You objects that call from diffusion my meanings and give them shape!
You light that wraps me and all things in delicate equable showers!
You paths worn in the irregular hollows by the roadsides!
I believe you are latent with unseen existences, you are so dear to me.


You flagg’d walks of the cities! you strong curbs at the edges!
You ferries! you planks and posts of wharves! you timber-lined sides! you distant ships!


You rows of houses! you window-pierc’d façades! you roofs!
You porches and entrances! you copings and iron guards!
You windows whose transparent shells might expose so much!
You doors and ascending steps! you arches!
You gray stones of interminable pavements! you trodden crossings!
From all that has touch’d you I believe you have imparted to yourselves, and now would impart the same secretly to me,
From the living and the dead you have peopled your impassive surfaces, and the spirits thereof would be evident and amicable with me.


4
The earth expanding right hand and left hand,
The picture alive, every part in its best light,
The music falling in where it is wanted, and stopping where it is not wanted,
The cheerful voice of the public road, the gay fresh sentiment of the road.


O highway I travel, do you say to me Do not leave me?
Do you say Venture not—if you leave me you are lost?
Do you say I am already prepared, I am well-beaten and undenied, adhere to me?


O public road, I say back I am not afraid to leave you, yet I love you,
You express me better than I can express myself,
You shall be more to me than my poem.


I think heroic deeds were all conceiv’d in the open air, and all free poems also,
I think I could stop here myself and do miracles,
I think whatever I shall meet on the road I shall like, and whoever beholds me shall like me,
I think whoever I see must be happy.


5
From this hour I ordain myself loos’d of limits and imaginary lines,
Going where I list, my own master total and absolute,
Listening to others, considering well what they say,
Pausing, searching, receiving, contemplating,
Gently,but with undeniable will, divesting myself of the holds that would hold me.
I inhale great draughts of space,
The east and the west are mine, and the north and the south are mine.


I am larger, better than I thought,
I did not know I held so much goodness.


All seems beautiful to me,
I can repeat over to men and women You have done such good to me I would do the same to you,
I will recruit for myself and you as I go,
I will scatter myself among men and women as I go,
I will toss a new gladness and roughness among them,
Whoever denies me it shall not trouble me,
Whoever accepts me he or she shall be blessed and shall bless me.


6
Now if a thousand perfect men were to appear it would not amaze me,
Now if a thousand beautiful forms of women appear’d it would not astonish me.


Now I see the secret of the making of the best persons,
It is to grow in the open air and to eat and sleep with the earth.


Here a great personal deed has room,
(Such a deed seizes upon the hearts of the whole race of men,
Its effusion of strength and will overwhelms law and mocks all authority and all argument against it.)


Here is the test of wisdom,
Wisdom is not finally tested in schools,
Wisdom cannot be pass’d from one having it to another not having it,
Wisdom is of the soul, is not susceptible of proof, is its own proof,
Applies to all stages and objects and qualities and is content,
Is the certainty of the reality and immortality of things, and the excellence of things;
Something there is in the float of the sight of things that provokes it out of the soul.


Now I re-examine philosophies and religions,
They may prove well in lecture-rooms, yet not prove at all under the spacious clouds and along the landscape and flowing currents.


Here is realization,
Here is a man tallied—he realizes here what he has in him,
The past, the future, majesty, love—if they are vacant of you, you are vacant of them.


Only the kernel of every object nourishes;
Where is he who tears off the husks for you and me?
Where is he that undoes stratagems and envelopes for you and me?


Here is adhesiveness, it is not previously fashion’d, it is apropos;
Do you know what it is as you pass to be loved by strangers?
Do you know the talk of those turning eye-balls?


7
Here is the efflux of the soul,
The efflux of the soul comes from within through embower’d gates, ever provoking questions,
These yearnings why are they? these thoughts in the darkness why are they?
Why are there men and women that while they are nigh me the sunlight expands my blood?
Why when they leave me do my pennants of joy sink flat and lank?
Why are there trees I never walk under but large and melodious thoughts descend upon me?
(I think they hang there winter and summer on those trees and always drop fruit as I pass;)
What is it I interchange so suddenly with strangers?
What with some driver as I ride on the seat by his side?
What with some fisherman drawing his seine by the shore as I walk by and pause?
What gives me to be free to a woman’s and man’s good-will? what gives them to be free to mine?


8
The efflux of the soul is happiness, here is happiness,
I think it pervades the open air, waiting at all times,
Now it flows unto us, we are rightly charged.


Here rises the fluid and attaching character,
The fluid and attaching character is the freshness and sweetness of man and woman,
(The herbs of the morning sprout no fresher and sweeter every day out of the roots of themselves, than it sprouts fresh and sweet continually out of itself.)


Toward the fluid and attaching character exudes the sweat of the love of young and old,
From it falls distill’d the charm that mocks beauty and attainments,
Toward it heaves the shuddering longing ache of contact.


9
Allons! whoever you are come travel with me!
Traveling with me you find what never tires.


The earth never tires,
The earth is rude, silent, incomprehensible at first, Nature is rude and incomprehensible at first,
Be not discouraged, keep on, there are divine things well envelop’d,
I swear to you there are divine things more beautiful than words can tell.


Allons! we must not stop here,
However sweet these laid-up stores, however convenient this dwelling we cannot remain here,
However shelter’d this port and however calm these waters we must not anchor here,
However welcome the hospitality that surrounds us we are permitted to receive it but a little while.


10
Allons! the inducements shall be greater,
We will sail pathless and wild seas,
We will go where winds blow, waves dash, and the Yankee clipper speeds by under full sail.


Allons! with power, liberty, the earth, the elements,
Health, defiance, gayety, self-esteem, curiosity;
Allons! from all formules!
From your formules, O bat-eyed and materialistic priests.


The stale cadaver blocks up the passage—the burial waits no longer.


Allons! yet take warning!
He traveling with me needs the best blood, thews, endurance,
None may come to the trial till he or she bring courage and health,
Come not here if you have already spent the best of yourself,
Only those may come who come in sweet and determin’d bodies,
No diseas’d person, no rum-drinker or venereal taint is permitted here.


(I and mine do not convince by arguments, similes, rhymes,
We convince by our presence.)


11
Listen! I will be honest with you,
I do not offer the old smooth prizes, but offer rough new prizes,
These are the days that must happen to you:
You shall not heap up what is call’d riches,
You shall scatter with lavish hand all that you earn or achieve,
You but arrive at the city to which you were destin’d, you hardly settle yourself to satisfaction before you are call’d by an irresistible call to depart,
You shall be treated to the ironical smiles and mockings of those who remain behind you,
What beckonings of love you receive you shall only answer with passionate kisses of parting,
You shall not allow the hold of those who spread their reach’d hands toward you.


12
Allons! after the great Companions, and to belong to them!
They too are on the road—they are the swift and majestic men—they are the greatest women,
Enjoyers of calms of seas and storms of seas,
Sailors of many a ship, walkers of many a mile of land,
Habituès of many distant countries, habituès of far-distant dwellings,
Trusters of men and women, observers of cities, solitary toilers,
Pausers and contemplators of tufts, blossoms, shells of the shore,
Dancers at wedding-dances, kissers of brides, tender helpers of children, bearers of children,
Soldiers of revolts, standers by gaping graves, lowerers-down of coffins,
Journeyers over consecutive seasons, over the years, the curious years each emerging from that which preceded it,
Journeyers as with companions, namely their own diverse phases,
Forth-steppers from the latent unrealized baby-days,
Journeyers gayly with their own youth, journeyers with their bearded and well-grain’d manhood,
Journeyers with their womanhood, ample, unsurpass’d, content,
Journeyers with their own sublime old age of manhood or womanhood,
Old age, calm, expanded, broad with the haughty breadth of the universe,
Old age, flowing free with the delicious near-by freedom of death.


13
Allons! to that which is endless as it was beginningless,
To undergo much, tramps of days, rests of nights,
To merge all in the travel they tend to, and the days and nights they tend to,
Again to merge them in the start of superior journeys,
To see nothing anywhere but what you may reach it and pass it,
To conceive no time, however distant, but what you may reach it and pass it,
To look up or down no road but it stretches and waits for you, however long but it stretches and waits for you,
To see no being, not God’s or any, but you also go thither,
To see no possession but you may possess it, enjoying all without labor or purchase, abstracting the feast yet not abstracting one particle of it,
To take the best of the farmer’s farm and the rich man’s elegant villa, and the chaste blessings of the well-married couple, and the fruits of orchards and flowers of gardens,
To take to your use out of the compact cities as you pass through,
To carry buildings and streets with you afterward wherever you go,
To gather the minds of men out of their brains as you encounter them, to gather the love out of their hearts,
To take your lovers on the road with you, for all that you leave them behind you,
To know the universe itself as a road, as many roads, as roads for traveling souls.


All parts away for the progress of souls,
All religion, all solid things, arts, governments—all that was or is apparent upon this globe or any globe, falls into niches and corners before the procession of souls along the grand roads of the universe.


Of the progress of the souls of men and women along the grand roads of the universe, all other progress is the needed emblem and sustenance.


Forever alive, forever forward,
Stately, solemn, sad, withdrawn, baffled, mad, turbulent, feeble, dissatisfied,
Desperate, proud, fond, sick, accepted by men, rejected by men,
They go! they go! I know that they go, but I know not where they go,
But I know that they go toward the best—toward something great.


Whoever you are, come forth! or man or woman come forth!
You must not stay sleeping and dallying there in the house, though you built it, or though it has been built for you.


Out of the dark confinement! out from behind the screen!
It is useless to protest, I know all and expose it.


Behold through you as bad as the rest,
Through the laughter, dancing, dining, supping, of people,
Inside of dresses and ornaments, inside of those wash’d and trimm’d faces,
Behold a secret silent loathing and despair.


No husband, no wife, no friend, trusted to hear the confession,
Another self, a duplicate of every one, skulking and hiding it goes,
Formless and wordless through the streets of the cities, polite and bland in the parlors,
In the cars of railroads, in steamboats, in the public assembly,
Home to the houses of men and women, at the table, in the bedroom, everywhere,
Smartly attired, countenance smiling, form upright, death under the breast-bones, hell under the skull-bones,
Under the broadcloth and gloves, under the ribbons and artificial flowers,
Keeping fair with the customs, speaking not a syllable of itself,
Speaking of any thing else but never of itself.


14
Allons! through struggles and wars!
The goal that was named cannot be countermanded.


Have the past struggles succeeded?
What has succeeded? yourself? your nation? Nature?
Now understand me well—it is provided in the essence of things that from any fruition of success, no matter what, shall come forth something to make a greater struggle necessary.


My call is the call of battle, I nourish active rebellion,
He going with me must go well arm’d,
He going with me goes often with spare diet, poverty, angry enemies, desertions.


15
Allons! the road is before us!
It is safe—I have tried it—my own feet have tried it well—be not detain’d!


Let the paper remain on the desk unwritten, and the book on the shelf unopen’d!
Let the tools remain in the workshop! let the money remain unearn’d!
Let the school stand! mind not the cry of the teacher!
Let the preacher preach in his pulpit! let the lawyer plead in the court, and the judge expound the law.


Camerado, I give you my hand!
I give you my love more precious than money,
I give you myself before preaching or law;
Will you give me yourself? will you come travel with me?
Shall we stick by each other as long as we live?

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SHIVPREET SINGH

Singing oneness!
- Shivpreet Singh

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