Suddenly
I remembered,
I could indeed fly.
I showed it
in the middle of the gathering,
where you first looked
astonished at me,
but then
as if you had seen the devil.
I flew away.
In the large apartment then
not without fear
of unrecognized angles.
But at the border of the apartment
and at the same time
in the midst of it,
with both feet yet
in the own home
standing:
a large, powerful,
noble portal.
The doors made of heavy wood
and framed by
hosts of angels
carved in stone
– each angel
a few candles guarding.
I flew up.
To set fire to all
and which burned down
let shine again
by new form.
In the stone arch
sitting,
with the aim and
the strenuous attempt,
to achieve so too
the outermost candles,
suddenly became so heavy,
as if I had forgotten to fly,
for fear of falling down.
Some down there,
on the other site,
notice the solemn lighting
and
looking up to the lights,
which in the middle of the day
and in middle of the night
are shining.
The one is happy
about the festive light,
the other worries
about my strength.
Even
if I should fall
and
become too heavy to fly:
I would come back,
to light too
the last candle.
© Barbara-Paraprem – 2.9.1993
May 21, 2015
May 21, 2015 at 1:47 AM UTC
All suffering comes from the inability to stand pain. As long as these two, suffering and pain, are not distinguished with the razor-sharp sword of wisdom, we will continue to suffer. But it would be incorrect to say, that we are indeed able, but unwilling, because no one likes to suffer. There is a flash of awareness, when we perceive the possibility, yet being able to, in a way, that is given to us. Not from a God outside of us, as if this would play favorites. I can’t describe any way to that place. I just know that it happens sometimes. And this awareness causes immediately complete relief.
© Barbara-Paraprem, 2015
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 9:16 PM UTC
The arrogance of the men and their violence
in all possible forms
– completely everyday or extraordinary,
subtle or extreme,
considered as being normal or abnormal –
depend on this, of course,
that they are either denied or justified
from the perpetrators of the violence themselves.
But also by the women in any way
glossed over, excused or forgiven,
which from childhood to the present day, in Western countries too,
has been brainwashed thoroughly,
which means: shut up, be obedient
and offer no resistance.
© Barbara-Paraprem, 2015
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 9:15 PM UTC
In the heart there is no distance.
The only distance that there is,
is that between heart and head,
says the head, the old fool.
If only he would love himself,
he would be instantly heart.
Is he also condemned
to dwell forever in a foreign land?
He forgot the neck and the breath,
which continuous flows in and out
through the gate in his middle
and flows to the heart,
to the feet,
to the center of the earth,
and back to heaven.
© Barbara-Paraprem, 2015
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 9:12 PM UTC
Even if I search for nothing:
Life is a light,
that shines in the darkness.
But the old fool still defines
gaps, where there are none,
as if he owned himself,
as if he had any substance,
as if he shall pass away someday,
just not now.
What, if right now everything would be fine?
© Barbara-Paraprem, 2015
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 6:22 PM UTC
There is just
nothing
that one could not
complicate
through think
only a little bit.
© Barbara-Paraprem, 2015
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 6:20 PM UTC
Your shadow is a confirmation,
that light has traveled 150 million kilometers,
only to reach the ground exactly where you stand.
© Barbara-Paraprem, 2015
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 6:15 PM UTC
Can anyone pull himself
out of the swamp
by his own tuft?
Can anyone raise himself
from the dead to life?
Can a stone
walk on water,
and not just fly over it or sink,
or a feather
dive to the bottom,
without losing their lightness?
Can an eye
discern the border
between heaven and earth,
or look at itself,
or an ear
hear the silence
and still be ear?
Can there be light
without it’will become dark
at the same time?
Can hands loosen
and be themselve the whole gift?
Can feet carry,
as if the earth would be the heaven
and the heaven the earth,
and each beginning an end,
and each end a beginning,
and as if no here or there is,
only here at every place?
Can not life only
be born of itself,
but if it gives birth to,
hasn’t it also to die?
Can the infinitely strong
still be strong,
when far away from any pain,
that pierces marrow and bone?
© Barbara-Paraprem, 2015
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 5:37 PM UTC
In so many forms
I have shown me to you,
and you don’t still
recognize me?
Is a sound arising?
Without doubt he does that.
Has he a beginning and an end?
Even the illusion is insubstantial.
The world appears from resistance.
Where no resistance is,
there is liberation.
© Barbara-Paraprem, 2015
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 12:46 PM UTC
Don’t we encounter the beloved
just everywhere?
‘No, that is not him!’ we say.
Or him over there? ‘Never ever!’
We seem to know exactly
what he looks like
and are slamming in this way, maybe,
one gate of heaven time and again.
We were only mistaken
once again.
How right we are.
© Barbara-Paraprem, 2015
Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 5:09 PM UTC