We are traveling in the Minnesota Northwoods this weekend, so this will be a shorter edition. It is surprisingly warm, if you consider 30 degrees to be warm—and for a place that recorded 40-below last week, I do. It’s still snowing, of course, and driving along the country roads is desolate and grey. Here is a picture Ashley took that sums it up.
I’ve never been here in the winter before. We feel like we are in a Coen Brothers movie, keeping an eye out for crazed Scandinavian killers. Or like we are on our way to the Overlook hotel.
I do have a poem for you this week, from Kabir’s Ecstatic Poems, as translated by Robert Bly. Maybe this is a little underwhelming for #50. For me, though, #52 is the real milestone, anyway. And it’s a great poem. Poems like this have a way of breathing warmth and life into anything.
Friend, please tell me what I can do about this world I told to, and keep spinning out!
I gave up sewn clothes, and wore a robe, but I noticed one day the cloth was well woven.
So I bought some burlap, but I still throw it elegantly over my left shoulder.
I pulled back my sexual longings, and now I discover that I’m angry a lot.
I gave up rage, and now I notice that I am greedy all day.
I worked hard at dissolving the greed, and now I am proud of myself.
When the mind wants to break its link with the world, it still holds on to one thing.
Kabir says: Listen my friend, there are very few that find the path!
Please take care, write back if you can—send me any excellent poems you’ve read—and I’ll see you next week.