Culture Poetry Taiji

The Song of All the Chakras


What is sand?
Mountains and time
The ongoing meeting of
Matter and weather

Now, for the lapse of a moment
I am the king of the mountain
Standing ever so relatively still
On what’s left of forgotten giants

Enjoying the caressing warmth of the sun
Before we are washed to the sea


A big bang and a seed was planted
An explosion followed by implosion
The first chapter of my story of creation
Took place in a volcano’s seat
So my source is liquid
Melted, melting stone in motion
Dependent on the burning fire
Not to turn into concrete
I try to keep the air channels open
I fight to keep the wood supply sufficient
I dance to enjoy the abundance
Of lust and trembling heat


The sun breaks the horizon
In an overwhelming moment of light
The tiger stretches its’ body out
To wipe off the dull of the night
Prepared for whatever the day will bring
Of pleasures, of patience and fight

So soft a being
And still so tense
Aware and awake in every sense
No stress, no hurry, no worry, no strive
But ready to do
What it takes to survive


I carry a precious bird in a cage
And the bird is carrying me
Both safe and protected by the ribs
And capable of being free
The more at home it feels within
The further it’s able to fly away
´Cause happiness makes my little bird sing
Tunes that caress what they meet on their way
And for every soul that is able to listen
The air is humming with songs from the hearts
No need to feel lonely in the midst of creation
Inside your chest
Is where freedom starts


Hey, hey
Here I am
Here I stand

Drinking of the wholly grail
Singing without fear to fail
From my centre reaching out
Free to cry, to scream and shout
Express anger and sorrow without being violent
Or choose to remain receptive and silent

Let my lips run over with joysparkling laughter
By oration and song praise the world as it is
My hands give wings and support, and everything’s merging
As my love for life is shared in a kiss


The water’s surface
Clear as a mirror
Quiet and still. Then a drop breaks the spell
Rings in the water. A moment of movement
A tone as crisp as a silverbell
Mist dissolves, curtains are lifted
Clouds drift away and the moon appears
The air is so clean that I find myself listening
To transparent harp sounds and angels’ tears
The way pointed out by a star so bright
A crystal ball beam-glowing in the night
Images come, and images go
Points of views in eternity flow


The energy source that once said ‘be light’
Can never be grasped or defined
All I can do is try to be open
For the golden bliss of the divine

The universe, so vast and endless
Is loaded with power and light
Stars and planets, and the space between them
Float shimmering on through the night

Through a soft spot in a solid skull grace gave me
Access to this abundance of love
When connection is made and the tunnel is open
It floats steadily in from above

This was a present from a friend – what a nice present! 🙂

Culture Poetry

Soleil et Chair

Le Soleil, le foyer de tendresse et de vie,
Verse l’amour brûlant à la terre ravie,
Et, quand on est couché sur la vallée, on sent
Que la terre est nubile et déborde de sang ;
Que son immense sein, soulevé par une âme,
Est d’amour comme Dieu, de chair comme la femme,
Et qu’il renferme, gros de sève et de rayons,
Le grand fourmillement de tous les embryons !

Et tout croît, et tout monte !

From Arthur Rimbaud “Soleil et Chair”


Peace is in every breath I take

Sunshine, Happiness

Flicker and Flutter
the Breeze takes Me
Hither and Dither

I rest in the Arms of the Eternal

Poetry Taiji

The Teaching Just for You

“To approach perfect practice, there is no way other than to accept yourself.”

Shunryu Suzuki


A Celebration to Life

And what I assume you shall assume;
For every atom belonging to me, as good belongs to you.
I loafe and invite my Soul;
I lean and loafe at my ease, observing a spear of summer grass.
Houses and rooms are full of perfumes—the shelves are crowded with perfumes;
I breathe the fragrance myself, and know it and like it;
The distillation would intoxicate me also, but I shall not let it.
The atmosphere is not a perfume—it has no taste of the distillation—it is odorless;
It is for my mouth forever—I am in love with it;
I will go to the bank by the wood, and become undisguised and naked;
I am mad for it to be in contact with me.

Walt Whitman Leaves of Grass

Culture Humor Poetry

Learning is Not the Path

Nansen said: “Mind is not Buddha. Learning is not the path.”

Mumon’s comment: Nansen was getting old and forgot to be ashamed. He spoke out with bad breath and exposed the scandal of his own home. However, there are a few who appreciate his kindness.

When the sky is clear the sun appears,
When the earth is parched rain will fall.
He opened his heart fully and spoke out,
But it was useless to talk to pigs and fish.

Culture Poetry Taiji

Knowing the self is enlightenment


Knowing others is wisdom;
Knowing the self is enlightenment.
Mastering others requires force;
Mastering the self needs strength.
He who knows he has enough is rich.
Perseverance is a sign of willpower.
He who stays where he is endures.
To die but not to perish is to be eternally present.

Reference: Lao Tzu Tao Te Ching XXXIII ( Trans. Feng & English )

Culture Poetry

Swimming about

One day Chuang Tzu and a friend were walking by a river. “Look at the fish swimming about,” said Chuang Tzu, “They are really enjoying themselves.”

“You are not a fish,” replied the friend, “So you can’t truly know that they are enjoying themselves.”

“You are not me,” said Chuang Tzu. “So how do you know that I do not know that the fish are enjoying themselves?”

Culture Poetry Taiji

The most submissive thing

The most submissive thing in the world can ride roughshod over the hardest in the world – that which is without substance entering that which has no crevices.
That is why I know the benefit of resorting to no action. The teaching that uses no words, the benefit of resorting to no action, these are beyond the understanding of all but a very few in the world.

Lao Tse, Book 2, XLIII
(Translation D.C. Lau Penguin1963)


Eternal Friends

This spring I felt so lucky and blessed. A little sparrow came and sat in my hand and I fed it bread crumbs from my thumb. The tiny bird chewed away, looking at me as we where eternal friends, and it flew away. Minutes went by returning with his wife the 2 teeny sparrows chewed through my hand to my heart. Eventually the small beats flew away. Leaving my heart full of joy. Will I ever meet my friends again?

a tiny bird in a tree

a tiny bird in a hand

a tiny bird in a hand

Culture Poetry

The courage of reading – Michael Faber

I enjoy to have books recommended to me by people I do not necessarily know or even fundamentally agree whit. Sometimes what’s recommended is rubbish and sometimes I am pretty amassed to find out what I have been missing in the world of books.

When I was surfing the english book shelves in the main public library in Copenhagen, prompted in my mind by my own overwhelming ignorance of english written literature, reaching the letter F, I stumbled into a book of an to me unknown writer. To my luck the book was a laminated paperback, so I was able to read the recommendations and quotes from Canongate Books advertising effort on the back side. The publisher had among others picked a quote from the english newspaper Guardian which read: “This is man who could give Conrad a run at writing the perfect sentence… Room will now have to be made for Faber alongside Alasdair Gray, James Kelman, Irwine Welsh and A.L. Kenndy.” So this book went to the digital self-checkout-point in the library and followed me home.

I just finished Michel Faber’s “The Courage Consort” and I liked it. A wonderful tour of fucked up postmodern living in the 21. century, written whit great psychological insight in a wonderful shaped natural language with a refined sense of poetry, irony and humor.

Some people think reading books are a waste of time compared to real life! And they are not entirely wrong, but in the same time they are missing out on the subtle qualities of language, the human mind and simply the unknown. Sometimes you should allow yourself to be dazzled by the lengthy words of another spirit. When the conversation takes place inside your own head you somehow listen more carefully..

By the way have you read a book recently that you want to recommend?

Culture Poetry Private

Finding the way

Going left.. No! Driving right.. No! Thinking of flying straight!


Colored Folks?

When I born, I black,
When I grow up, I black,
When I go in sun, I black,
When I cold, I black,
When I scared, I black,
When I sick, I black,
And when I die, I still black.

You white folks….
When you born, you pink,
When you grow up, you white,
When you go in sun, you red,
When you cold, you blue,
When you scared, you yellow,
When you sick, you green,
When you bruised, you purple,
And when you die, you gray!
So who you calling colored?

(unknown author)


The Tiger

TIGER, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder and what art
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand and what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? What dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And water’d heaven with their tears,
Did He smile His work to see?
Did He who made the lamb make thee?

Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

The Tiger by Willam Blake 1757-1827


Dear spirits of the world,

This beautiful piece of William Blake was once again brought to my attention by a dazzling soul. Burn Tiger, Tiger burn.. let the flames of animal instinct play in tribute to the forces of heaven..

Love Thomas

Culture Poetry

H. S. Thompson sent him self to Paradise

We where somewhere around Barstow on the edge of the dessert when the drugs began to take hold. I remember saying something like “I feel a bit lightheaded; maybe you should drive…” And suddenly there was a terrible roar all around us and the sky was full of what looked like huge bats, all swooping and screeching and diving around the car, which was going about a hundred miles an hour with the top down to Las Vegas. And a voice was screaming: “Holy Jesus! What are these goddamn animals?”

The Author of the brilliant psychedelic classic “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas” Hunter S. Thompson died today.

I vividly remember the journey into Hunter S. Thompsons land of drugs and madness. The atmosphere was cool and fogy. My mind where soon bending and twisting just in order to keep up with the events in the book. Sentences like “The trunk of the car looked like a mobile police narcotics lab.” where after a short while just describing the ordinary. After reading Hunter S. Thompson I felt exhilarated; and in great need of some kind of fix. Sadly I ended up with an emotional cold turkey. But dear reader, surely it’s worthwhile literary acid trip. Peace out brother.

Hunter S Thompson commits suicide BBC 21 February 2005