Clark Powell is first a poet. An award-winning columnist, he has been published in Southern Living, Yoga International, and regional newspapers. He is the author of Sahaj Marg Companion. Clark has known breakdowns and breakthroughs, long silences and sudden grace. He is still writing.

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Clark Powell

<h4>CLARK POWELL</h4><hr>O Mevlana, friend of the turning stars, you who made longing a language, and silence a home— I come barefoot to your words.My ink has grown weary of meaning; teach it again to dance. Let rhyme lose its vanity and rhythm remember its pulse in the heart.You who spun emptiness into music, whisper to me what you told the reed: that separation is only the first note of union’s long song.I have written of love as if I knew it; now let love write through me, so every line breaks open like a gate to the invisible city.Take my hand, old master of burning; set me alight without ash. Let each poem be a small surrender, a turning toward what never leaves.And when I forget why words exist, remind me: they are footsteps back to the Beloved.<hr>&nbsp;<figure class="image image_resized" style="width:50%;"><img src="https://cdn-prod-static.heartfulness.org/poet_prayer_to_rumi_2_3b113479cb.webp" alt="poet-prayer-to-rumi-2.webp"></figure><h4>DOGEN’S LIFE WORK BLOWS OUT THE WINDOW</h4>It happened in the middle of the nightAfter he just finished inking The last page Of seven years of painting Letter by letter Letters to make words Holding seven years Of writing everything He learned from the old Masters And his own heart —A big wind came down the mountain And blew open the window Above the writing desk And took his pages sailing Away in the night —Dogen awoke to find it all Gone, pages swirling far below In the courtyard, sailing Over the monastery wall Off into the rainy night Seven long years of finished labor Finished.In the morning the monks Came and said, Master! &nbsp;We Will find and fetch As much as we can!Dogen smiled from his window, Looking at the mountain That took away his pages.Why? He said to the monks below, Didn't the wind teach us What we already knew?That the Give-Away Happens to everything We hold dear?Said the monks But Master! &nbsp;These are priceless Teachings — how can you, How can we, just let them go?Dogen, who had been up All night at the window, Smiled again and said, Look how the wind Has published my words On compassion to build bird Nests, given my words About Non-attachment To the trees to leave Them to the leaves That fall to the roots And die with themTo nourish trees to come And may become paper To carry other words Of someone else’s wisdom? Has it not been distributed By nature to Nature?But we have lost your words! Cried the monks. And Dogen placed his hand On his heart and said, The words came from hereAnd still are here. And they will return <a href="https://heartfulness.org/magazine/a-users-guide-to-living-part-4" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">By heart</a> to new words.The monks shook their heads And walked in wonder away. And Dogen smiled And went to sleep.After the long stormy night The ordinary sun lit Another day through a crack In the mountains, A sunrise Dogen never saw.&nbsp;<figure class="image image_resized" style="width:50%;"><img src="https://cdn-prod-static.heartfulness.org/poet_prayer_to_rumi_3_b3c0270295.webp" alt="poet-prayer-to-rumi-3.webp"></figure>&nbsp;