You create what you resist.
If you want to become whole, let yourself be partial.
If you want to become straight, let yourself be crooked.If you want to become full, let yourself be empty.
If you want to be reborn, let yourself die.
If you want to be given everything, give everything up.
The Master, by residing in the Tao, sets an example for all beings.
The wild warblers are warbling in the jungle
Of life and spring of the lustrious inundations,
Flood on flood, of our returning sun.
Day after day, throughout the winter,We hardened ourselves to live by bluest reasonIn a world of wind and frost,And by will, unshaken and floridIn mornings of angular ice,That passed beyond us through the narrow sky.But what are radiant reason and radiant willTo warblings early in the hilarious treesOf summer, the drunken mother?–Wallace Stevens
Cultivate a work-lust that imagines its haven like your hands at night, dreaming the sun in the sunspot of a breast.
You are fasted now, light-headed, dangerous.
Take off from here.
And don't be so earnest.
A man may go into the field and say his prayer and be aware of God, or, he may be in Church and be aware of God; but, if he is more aware of Him because he is in a quiet place, that is his own deficiency and not due to God, Who is alike present in all things and places, and is willing to give Himself everywhere so far as lies in Him.
He knows God rightly who knows Him everywhere.
Ursula, in a garden, found
A bed of radishes.
She kneeled upon the ground
And gathered them,
With flowers around,
Blue, gold, pink, and green.
She dressed in red and gold brocade
And in the grass an offering made
Of radishes and flowers.
She said, “My dear,
upon your alters
I have placed the marguerites and coquelicot,
Frail as April snow;
But here," she said,
"Where none can see,
I make an offering in the grass
Of radishes and flowers.”
And then she wept
For fear the Lord would not accept.
The good Lord in his garden sought
New leaf and shadowy tinct,
And they were all his thought.
He heard her low accord,
Half prayer and half ditty,
And He felt a subtle quiver,
That was not heavenly love,
This is not writ
In any book.
One went to the door of the Beloved and knocked.
A voice asked, 'Who is there?'
He answered, 'It is I.'
The voice said, 'There is no room for Me and Thee.'
The door was shut.
After a year of solitude and deprivation he returned and knocked. A voice from within asked, 'Who is there?'
The man said, 'It is Thee.'
The door was opened for him.
If you had a temple in the secret spaces of your heart,
What would you worship there?
What would you bring to sacrifice?
What would be behind the curtain in the holy of holies?
what's in the temple? excerpt
other's eyes and in what flowsbetween them then. To see your facein a crowd of others, or alone on afrightening street, I weep for that.Our tears improve the earth. Thetime you scolded me, your gratitude,your laughing, always your qualitiesincrease the soul. Seeing you is awine that does not muddle or numb.We sit inside the cypress shadowwhere amazement and clear thoughttwine their slow growth into us.
"Hope" is the thing with feathers—
That perches in the soul—
And sings the tune without the words—
And never stops—at all—
And sweetest—in the Gale—is heard—
And sore must be the storm—
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm—
I've heard it in the chillest land—
And on the strangest Sea—
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb—of Me.
Though I speak with the tongues of angels,
If I have not love...
My words would resound with but a tinkling cymbal.And though I have the gift of prophesy...
And understand all mysteries...
and all knowledge...And though I have all faith
So that I could remove mountains,
If I have not love...
I am nothing.Love is patient, love is kind;
Love tolerates all things,
Aspires to all things.Love never dies.
While the prophecies shall be done away,
tongues shall be silenced,
knowledge shall fade...
thus then shall linger only
faith, hope, and love...
but the greatest of these...is love.
–1 Corinthians 13
Subhuti was Buddha’s disciple.
He was able to understand the potency of emptiness,
the viewpoint that nothing exists except in its relationship of
subjectivity and objectivity.One day Subhuti, in a mood of sublime emptiness,
was sitting under a tree. Flowers began to fall about him.“We are praising you for your discourse on emptiness,”
the gods whispered to him.“But I have not spoken of emptiness,” said Subhuti.“You have not spoken of emptiness, we have not heard emptiness,”
responded the gods.“This is true emptiness.”And blossoms showered upon Subhuto as rain.
from Zen Flesh, Zen Bones:
Zen and Pre-Zen Writings
collected by Paul Reps, Nyogen Senzaki
I have been astonished that men could die
martyrs for their religion –
I have shuddered at it,
I shudder no more.
I could be martyred for my religion.
Love is my religion
and I could die for that.
I could die for you.
In the point of rest at the center of our being, we encounter a world where all things are at rest in the same way. Then a tree becomes a mystery, a cloud a revelation, each man a cosmos of whose riches we can only catch glimpses. The life of simplicity is simple, but it opens to us a book in which we never get beyond the first syllable.