Friday, July 1, 2016

the keeper of fragile things






.


Cease trembling and shaking and gasping
and cursing and find again your core which I am. 
Rest from twistedness, distortion, deformations. 

For an hour you will be me; that is, the other
half of yourself. The half you lost. 

What you burnt, broke, and tore is still in my hands: I am the keeper of fragile things
and I have kept of you what is indissoluble.


–Anaïs Nin


.





look






.


There is no universe without perception. Consciousness and the cosmos are correlative. They are one and the same.

Reality is a swirl of information in the mind. This means that absolutely everything, from the trees “out there” to our sense of time and perception of distance, is all being continually constructed and perceived by lightning-quick life-based information systems.


—Robert Lanza
Beyond Biocentrism: Rethinking Time, Space, Consciousness, and the Illusion of Death








something





.



We commonly speak as though a single 'thing' could 'have' some characteristic. A stone, we say, is 'hard,' 'small,' 'heavy,' 'yellow,' 'dense,' etc.

That is how our language is made: 'The stone is hard.' And so on. And that way of talking is good enough for the marketplace: 'That is a new brand.' 'The potatoes are rotten.' 'The container is damaged.' ... And so on.

But this way of talking is not good enough in science or epistemology. To think straight, it is advisable to expect all qualities and attributes, adjectives, and so on to refer to at least two sets of interactions in time. ...

Language continually asserts by the syntax of subject and predicate that 'things' somehow 'have' qualities and attributes. A more precise way of talking would insist that the 'things' are produced, are seen as separate from other 'things,' and are made 'real' by their internal relations and by their behavior in relationship with other things and with the speaker.

It is necessary to be quite clear about the universal truth that whatever 'things' may be in their pleromatic and thingish world, they can only enter the world of communication and meaning by their names, their qualities and their attributes (i.e., by reports of their internal and external relations and interactions).



–Gregory Bateson (1904 - 1980)
Mind and Nature: A Necessary Unity







rest in inaction




.


You have only to rest in inaction and things will transform themselves. Smash your form and body, spit out hearing and eyesight, forget you are a thing among other things, and you may join in great unity with the deep and boundless.

Chuang Tzu
(4th Century B.C.)

all things




 .


Everything is natural. The light on your fingertips is starlight. Life begins with coiling — molecules and nebulae. Cruelty, selfishness, and vanity are boring. Each self is many selves. Reason is beauty. Light and darkness are arbitrary divisions.
Cleanliness is as undefinable and as natural as filth. The physiological body is pure spirit. Monotony is madness. The frontier is both outside and inside. The universe is the messiah. The senses are gods and goddesses. Where the body is — there are all things.

–Michael McClure

.




Tuesday, June 28, 2016

imagine






.


Imagine if all the tumult of the body were to quiet down,
along with our busy thoughts.
 
Imagine if all things that are perishable grew still.
 
And imagine if that moment were to go on and on,
leaving behind all other sights and sounds but this one vision which ravishes and absorbs and fixes the beholder
in joy,
 
so that the rest of eternal life were like that moment of
illumination, which leaves us
breathless.


–Saint Augustine


.







Monday, June 27, 2016

observation






.


The day is coming when a single carrot, freshly observed,
will set off a revolution.



—Paul Cezanne


.






The only things we can ever perceive…are our perceptions. –George Berkeley




.


In reality, time and space exist in you; you do not exist in them. They are modes of perception, but they are not the only ones. Time and space are like words written on paper; the paper is real, the words merely a convention.

–Sri Nisargadatta Maharaj


.




 

Never lose hope, my heart, miracles dwell in the invisible. –Rumi





.
 

To begin to understand the gorgeous fever that is consciousness, we must try to understand the senses - how they evolved, how they can be extended, what their limits are, to which ones we have attached taboos, and what they can teach us about the ravishing world we have the privilege to inhabit.


–Diane Ackerman

A Natural History of the Senses







doorways

 


.


Scattered through the ordinary world there are books and artifacts and perhaps people who are like doorways into impossible realms, of impossible and contradictory truth.

–Jorge Luis Borges


.







You have been visited by the love owl. A special person will come into your life soon ... :-)






ok, put the kettle on






Sunday, June 26, 2016

this is for you






.


I've always loved friends of the Way
Always held them dear
Meeting a stranger with silent springs
Greeting a guest talking zen
Talking about mysteries on a moonlit night
Searching for truth until dawn
When the tracks of our inventions
disappear and we see who we really are.

–Han Shan (Cold Mountain)


.
rttc
.








rainbows and bridges





.


How charming it is that there are words and sounds: are not words and sounds rainbows and illusive bridges between things eternally separated?

–Friedrich Nietzsche


.






a sweet question






.



The moon came to me last night
With a sweet question.

She said,
“The sun has been my faithful lover
For millions of years.

Whenever I offer my body to him
Brilliant light pours from his heart.

Thousands then notice my happiness
And delight in pointing
toward my beauty.

Hafiz,
Is it true that our destiny
Is to turn into Light
Itself?”

And I replied,
"Dear moon,
Now that your love is maturing,
We need to sit together
Close like this more often

So I might instruct you
How to become
Who you
Are!"


–Hafiz



.








you know ...






.


I have been loving you a little more every minute since this morning.

–Victor Hugo


.





in fact





.


In fact, my soul and yours are the same.

You appear in me, I appear in you.

We hide in each other.



–Rumi

.






Monday, April 25, 2016

silently if, out of not knowable







.



silently if, out of not knowable
night's utmost nothing,wanders a little guess
(only which is this world)more my life does
not leap than with the mystery your smile
sings or if(spiralling as luminous
they climb oblivion)voices who are dreams,
less into heaven certainly earth swims
than each my deeper death becomes your kiss
losing through you what seemed myself,i find
selves unimaginably mine;beyond
sorrow's own joys and hoping's very fears
yours is the light by which my spirit's born:
yours is the darkness of my soul's return
-you are my sun,my moon,and all my stars


–E. E. Cummings



.








Ars Magnetica





.



From so much loving and journeying, books emerge.
And if they don’t contain kisses or landscapes,
if they don’t contain a man with his hands full,
if they don’t contain a woman in every drop,
hunger, desire, anger, roads,
they are no use as a shield or a bell:
they have no eyes, and won’t be able to open them,
they have the dead sound of precepts.

I loved the entangling of flesh,
and out of blood and love I carved my poems.
In hard earth I brought a rose to flower,
fought over by fire and dew.

That’s how I could keep on singing.


–Pablo Neruda



.











.


Put out my eyes, and I can see you still;
slam my ears to, and I can hear you yet;
and without any feet can go to you;
and tongueless, I can conjure you at will.

Break off my arms, I shall take hold of you
and grasp you with my heart as with a hand;
arrest my heart, my brain will beat as true;
and if you set this brain of mine afire,
upon my blood I then will carry you.



–Rainer Maria Rilke
from The Book of Hours



.







The Over-Soul, excerpt






 .


The heart in thee is the heart of all; not a valve, not a wall, not an intersection is there anywhere in nature, but one blood rolls uninterruptedly an endless circulation through all… as the water of the globe is all one sea, and, truly seen, its tide is one.


–Ralph Waldo Emerson


.





to kiss a forehead is to erase worry





.



To kiss a forehead is to erase worry.
I kiss your forehead.

To kiss the eyes is to lift sleeplessness.
I kiss your eyes.

To kiss the lips is to drink water.
I kiss your lips.

To kiss a forehead is to erase memory.
I kiss your forehead.


–Marina Tsvetaeva



.








Sorrow Arrow, excerpt






 .


You sit in your body, quietly making blood
Wild blood
Bird of the world


–Emily Kendal Frey


.






feast





.



Sons and daughters of the earth, steep yourself in the sea of matter, bathe in its fiery waters, for it is the source of your life and your youthfulness.
You thought you could do without it because the power of thought has been kindled in you? You hoped that the more thoroughly you rejected the tangible, the closer you would be to spirit: that you would be more divine if you lived in the world of pure thought, or at least more angelic if you fled the corporeal? Well, you were like to have perished of hunger.
You must have oil for your limbs, blood for your veins, water for your soul, the world of reality for your intellect: do you not see that the very law of your own nature makes these a necessity for you?


–Pierre Teilhard de Chardin



.







Sunday, April 24, 2016

for the time being





.


Ours is a planet sown in beings. Our generations overlap like shingles. We don't fall in rows like hay, but we fall. Once we get here, we spend forever on the globe, most of it tucked under. While we breathe, we open time like a path in the grass. We open time as a boat's stem slits the crest of the present.
 
Annie Dillard

.






intimate space






 .



What birds plunge through is not the intimate space,
in which you see all Forms intensified.
(In the Open, denied, you would lose yourself,
would disappear into that vastness.)

Space reaches from us and translates Things:
to become the very essence of a tree,
throw inner space around it, from that space
that lives in you. 
Encircle it with restraint.
It has no limits. For the first time, shaped
in your renouncing, it becomes fully tree.


–Rainer Maria Rilke
Gabriel Caffrey translation





.





this is what I believe





.



This is what I believe: That I am I.

That my soul is a dark forest.

That my known self will never be more than a little clearing in the forest.

That gods, strange gods, come forth from the forest into the clearing of my known self, and then go back.

That I must have the courage to let them come and go.



—D. H. Lawrence



.
Photo Beth Moon,
Ancient Trees: Portraits Of Time 

.








Friday, April 22, 2016

when faces called flowers float out of the ground







.



when faces called flowers float out of the ground
and breathing is wishing and wishing is having-
but keeping is downward and doubting and never
-it’s april(yes,april;my darling)it’s spring!
yes the pretty birds frolic as spry as can fly
yes the little fish gambol as glad as can be
(yes the mountains are dancing together)

when every leaf opens without any sound
and wishing is having and having is giving-
but keeping is doting and nothing and nonsense
-alive;we’re alive,dear:it’s(kiss me now)spring!
now the pretty birds hover so she and so he
now the little fish quiver so you and so i
(now the mountains are dancing, the mountains)

when more than was lost has been found has been found
and having is giving and giving is living-
but keeping is darkness and winter and cringing
-it’s spring(all our night becomes day)o,it’s spring!
all the pretty birds dive to the heart of the sky
all the little fish climb through the mind of the sea
(all the mountains are dancing;are dancing)


–E. E. Cummings



.






not to worry





.



Live with skillful nonchalance and ceaseless concern.

–Prajnaparamita Sutra



.






you are that





.



Be a good animal, true to your instincts.

–D. H. Lawrence
The White Peacock



.







something grand

 



.



The sun and stars that float in the open air... the appleshaped earth and we upon it... surely the drift of them is something grand;

I do not know what it is except that it is grand, and that it is happiness,
And that the enclosing purport of us here is not a speculation, or bon-mot or reconnoissance,

And that it is not something which by luck may turn out well for us, and without luck must be a failure for us,

And not something which may yet be retracted in a certain contingency.


–Walt Whitman



.