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iPeace is deleted from David Califa the end of June. Here you can find a new home.
http://peaceformeandtheworld.ning.com/
You are cordially invited.
Warm regards, Eva
I know this light very well. I live in a town up north called the northern Paris ( Tromsø ) And it it was dancing over our montains some time ago now. I will look up some links for you that I have, and tell you what I know If you like me to. And then I can post it to you after a good night sleep :-)
Thank you for actepting and for your nice comment :-)
Always love
Lene Oline alias Diamant
Chronic poetic - was a boy named Jesus---poética crónica - fue un niño llamado Jesús
Thank you--Namaste
http://www.ipeace.me/xn/detail/2217368:BlogPost:2276341?xg_source=activity
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
Interpreted from a poem by St. Francis of Assisi
Highest, most powerful
and goodly Lord
to you only go
praise and honor, benedictions
of all kinds
and every glory
to you only, Most High
do these belong
no man being worthy
to signify your name
praise my Lord
through all creation—
especially through the lord
my Brother Sun
shining with the gift of day
dispensing to us
bounteous light, beautiful
and resplendent with brightness
to you my Lord
he is most like
in likeness
praise my Lord
through our Sister
the Moon and moving Stars
set heaven high
by your high hand
beautifully arrayed, precious
and most bright
praise my Lord
through my Brother
the Wind
and every breeze
and all degrees
of alternating weather
praise my Lord
through my Sister
Flowing Water
useful she is—
a humble, chaste
and priceless treasure
praise my Lord
through my Brother
Master Fire
who sparkles for us
in the dead of night
his dancing lithe
and bright, joyous
and abounding with power
praise my Lord
through our Sister
Mother Earth
who upholds and nurtures us
bringing forth
reviving fruits, flowers
of many hues
and helpful herbs
praise my Lord
through those who show
forgiveness
through love of you
enduring the painful
perils of time
and harsh adversity
blessed are they
who persevere
in peacefulness
for by you, Most High
are they adorned
praise and bless
my Lord most truly
and render thanks
and service to him
greatly
and with great humility
from HEALING, a Book of Poetry by David Sparenberg
A person living a dream
is not waging a nightmare.
A person playing music
is not committing murder.
A person writing a poem
is not killing anyone.
A person reading a book
is not discharging a weapon.
A person painting a picture
is not spilling blood.
Somebody sculpting stone
is not polluting the earth
with another premature corpse.
To plant a garden
is not to practice rape.
To pray at dawn
is not a crime against creation.
Turn aside and look into your soul.
Not into the darkness
you have inherited from history,
but into the light coming your way
from the love of God. To humbly bow down
in the posture of mystical weeping
is to vanquish the phantoms of hatred and fear.
Everything involves a holiness in the heart;
everyone is involved in making choices.
What a difference
between the pornographers of aggression
and the artists of compassion!
Go to the place
where life embraces otherness;
enter the dialogue of becoming human.
Have you even considered
how healing the wounds of a stranger
creates laughter in children
and orchards in angels?
A person reading these words
feels like a summer cloud
floating without effort on the mirror of a river.
Tell the truth now:
Isn’t that good?
A person
deep into the ecology of blessing
remembers the taste of wild honey
while protesting the politics of war.
Tell the truth
now: Isn’t it better to create
than to destroy?
When the DreamMaker first
introduced the DNA of dreaming
it was called Eden.
Naming took place
in the ecstasy of love.
Now tell the truth:
Isn’t peace the most
precious art?
What is more defining
than the compassion of our vulnerability?
PeaceMaker – tell me:
What is your name?
David Sparenberg
10 March 2009
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