tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14295943335271975992012-02-11T18:36:09.222-08:00Love is a place. Through this place of love move (with brightness of peace) all places. ~ E.E. Cummingspacifixehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00238936524220350890noreply@blogger.comBlogger9181100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1429594333527197599.post-15438134147551724132012-02-11T07:30:00.000-08:002012-02-11T07:34:47.629-08:00

. They’re both convinced that a sudden passion joined them. Such certainty is more beautiful, but uncertainty is more beautiful still. Since they’d never met before, they’re sure that there’d been nothing between them. But what’s the word from the streets, staircases, hallways— perhaps they’ve passed by each other a million times? I want to ask them if they don’t remember— a moment face to

pacifixehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00238936524220350890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1429594333527197599.post-5242732103324144952012-02-02T07:48:00.000-08:002012-02-02T07:49:34.918-08:00

 . They made love among the hazel shrubs beneath the suns of dew, entangling in their hair a leafy residue.Heart of the swallow have mercy on them. They knelt down by the lake, combed out the earth and leaves, and fish swam to the water's edge shimmering like stars.Heart of the swallow have mercy on them.The reflections of trees were steaming off the rippling waves. O swallow let this

pacifixehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00238936524220350890noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1429594333527197599.post-6670970382408510982012-01-28T09:43:00.000-08:002012-01-28T09:44:13.817-08:00

. What was come here to dohaving finished,shelves of the water lie flat. Copper the leaves of the doorsill,yellow and falling.Scarlet the bird that is singing. Vanished the labor, here walls are.Completed the asking.Loosing the birds there is water. Having eaten the pears.Having eatenthe black figs, the white figs. Eaten the apples. Table be strewn.Table be strewn with stems,table

pacifixehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00238936524220350890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1429594333527197599.post-1945853977997288352012-01-28T09:10:00.000-08:002012-01-28T09:11:25.824-08:00

. . via larger loves .

pacifixehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00238936524220350890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1429594333527197599.post-64768145380698917002012-01-28T06:04:00.000-08:002012-01-28T09:17:13.033-08:00

  . The rose is obsolete but each petal ends in an edge, the double facet cementing the grooved columns of air--The edge cuts without cutting meets--nothing--renews itself in metal or porcelain-- whither? It ends-- But if it ends the start is begun so that to engage roses becomes a geometry--Sharper, neater, more cutting figured in majolica-- the broken plate glazed with a rose Somewhere

pacifixehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00238936524220350890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1429594333527197599.post-24324060432906868982012-01-25T07:15:00.000-08:002012-01-25T07:15:45.751-08:00

  . We call it a grain of sand, but it calls itself neither grain nor sand. It does just fine without a name, whether general, particular, permanent, passing, incorrect, or apt. Our glance, our touch mean nothing to it. It doesn’t feel itself seen and touched. And that it fell on the windowsill is only our experience, not its. For it, it is no different from falling on anything else with no

pacifixehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00238936524220350890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1429594333527197599.post-64128938779372210922012-01-24T10:51:00.000-08:002012-01-24T11:10:03.947-08:00

. . via larger loves .

pacifixehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00238936524220350890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1429594333527197599.post-24010321764004647882012-01-24T06:21:00.000-08:002012-01-24T06:21:32.012-08:00

   " You begin this way: this is your hand, this is your eye, that is a fish, blue and flat on the paper, almost the shape of an eye. This is your mouth, this is an O or a moon, whichever you like. This is yellow. Outside the window is the rain, green because it is summer, and beyond that the trees and then the world, which is round and has only the colors of these nine crayons. This is the

pacifixehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00238936524220350890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1429594333527197599.post-63376407684830748112012-01-23T11:55:00.000-08:002012-02-02T08:53:42.618-08:00

 Oscar Kokoschka     Sleeping Woman     1917 . Physics says: go to sleep. Of course you're tired. Every atom in you has been dancing the shimmy in silver shoes nonstop from mitosis to now. Quit tapping your feet. They'll dance inside themselves without you. Go to sleep. Geology says: it will be all right. Slow inch by inch America is giving itself to the ocean. Go to sleep. Let darkness lap

pacifixehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00238936524220350890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1429594333527197599.post-89048252641231991052012-01-23T09:09:00.000-08:002012-01-23T09:09:12.719-08:00

. Tonight snow-haze, moonlight. The moonlight jellyfish itself is floating before us. Our smiles on the way home. Bewitched avenue. ~ Tomas Gösta Tranströmer from Six Winters . image via larger loves .

pacifixehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00238936524220350890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1429594333527197599.post-62284818901165058732012-01-22T13:13:00.000-08:002012-01-22T13:14:56.300-08:00

. From youI don't want anything newno more giftsnor the scent of landscapesrising to fill us, no bouquets of insightleft by my headin the tenderness of morning, no intoxication of thoughts that open horizonswhere rooms are low,nor the sever of springunder the grid of old worldsthat has set on our skin,nor my favourite blue,the cobalt colour of silence. No.All I wantis your two

pacifixehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00238936524220350890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1429594333527197599.post-73335475412859215742012-01-22T10:30:00.000-08:002012-01-22T10:30:59.273-08:00

 . The purpose of poetry is to remind us how difficult it is to remain just one person, for our house is open, there are no keys in the doors, and invisible guests come in and out at will. ~ Czeslaw Milosz, from Ars Poetica . via journal of a nobodyimage via VIVRE ? .

pacifixehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00238936524220350890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1429594333527197599.post-47084427386713470582012-01-22T10:20:00.000-08:002012-01-22T10:20:49.718-08:00

  . II I watch through the window.The rain rains in poems sung for the thousandth time.The snow snows in poems sung for the thousandth time.I go outside.There’s nothing poetic about the wind.It just makes my trousers flap,Strikes my face and confuses my thoughts,Which pretty well confirmsMy theoretical deliberations:Poetry and meteorologyHave over time come to quarrel with each other,And now’s

pacifixehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00238936524220350890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1429594333527197599.post-83843656081035886352012-01-20T10:56:00.000-08:002012-01-20T10:57:40.525-08:00

  * the names are written on signs/the growth is tall and thick in the garden everything finds its name/full with held breath and rustling what shall I say in a garden where everything has a name nothing? * yet another question: what can I say? justice requires imagination/requires ornament/profusion/poetry/not exposure/thus truth becomes profusion/it merely states what is there one

pacifixehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00238936524220350890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1429594333527197599.post-86522437148372938622012-01-19T11:23:00.000-08:002012-01-19T11:23:16.608-08:00

     . These things are holy: that I might find myself where you are, that I might breathe the air you breathed, and that your heart be set like mine.  I touch them hallowed until you take me where sundown cannot find us. ~ Emily Dickinson from ‘Master’ letter 3, summer 1861 . via journal of a nobodyimage via the animal blog .

pacifixehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00238936524220350890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1429594333527197599.post-36952305886752904822012-01-18T09:41:00.000-08:002012-01-20T11:34:26.512-08:00

. Some black ducks were shrugged up on the shore. It was snowing hard, from the east, and the sea was in disorder. Then some sanderlings, five inches long with beaks like wire, flew in, snowflakes on their backs, and settled in a row behind the ducks -- whose backs were also covered with snow -- so close they were all but touching, they were all but under the roof

pacifixehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00238936524220350890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1429594333527197599.post-3036180644758072952012-01-16T10:53:00.000-08:002012-01-16T10:53:14.862-08:00

 . This is how the wind shifts: Like the thoughts of an old human, Who still thinks eagerly And despairingly. The wind shifts like this: Like a human without illusions, Who still feels irrational things within her. The wind shifts like this: Like humans approaching proudly, Like humans approaching angrily. This is how the wind shifts: Like a human, heavy and heavy, Who does not care. ~

pacifixehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00238936524220350890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1429594333527197599.post-67629583766171046502012-01-16T10:42:00.000-08:002012-01-16T10:43:37.068-08:00

. One must have a mind of winterTo regard the frost and the boughsOf the pine-trees crusted with snow; And have been cold a long timeTo behold the junipers shagged with ice,The spruces rough in the distant glitter Of the January sun; and not to thinkOf any misery in the sound of the wind,In the sound of a few leaves, Which is the sound of the landFull of the same windThat is blowing in the

pacifixehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00238936524220350890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1429594333527197599.post-44338783989945638102012-01-11T13:37:00.000-08:002012-01-11T13:57:59.178-08:00

. Your love should never be offered to the mouth of a stranger, Only to someone Who has the valor and daring To cut pieces of their soul off with a knife Then weave them into a blanket To protect you. ~ Hafiz . via saturn rising image via to wake, to see .

pacifixehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00238936524220350890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1429594333527197599.post-63194055071681976042012-01-11T09:27:00.000-08:002012-01-11T09:27:16.313-08:00

. . via datura .

pacifixehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00238936524220350890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1429594333527197599.post-82469763934378172312012-01-11T07:16:00.000-08:002012-01-11T07:16:37.112-08:00

. Love seeks no cause beyond itself and no fruit; it is its own fruit, its own enjoyment.  I love because I love; I love in order that I may love.    ~ Saint Bernard . image via journal of a nobody .

pacifixehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00238936524220350890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1429594333527197599.post-71790479167336865602012-01-11T07:09:00.000-08:002012-01-11T07:30:23.641-08:00

. I will love you no matter how many mistakes I make when trying to reduce fractions, and no matter how difficult it is to memorize the periodic table. I will love you as the manatee loves the head of lettuce and as the dark spot loves the leopard, as the leech loves the ankle of a wader and as a corpse loves the beak of the vulture. I will love you as the iceberg loves the ship, and

pacifixehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00238936524220350890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1429594333527197599.post-68072922219553855132012-01-09T11:49:00.000-08:002012-01-09T11:49:04.302-08:00

. These poems, these poems,these poems, she said, are poemswith no love in them. These are the poems of a man   who would leave his wife and child because   they made noise in his study. These are the poems   of a man who would murder his mother to claim   the inheritance. These are the poems of a man   like Plato, she said, meaning something I did not   comprehend but which

pacifixehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00238936524220350890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1429594333527197599.post-35108987502220774342012-01-09T11:30:00.000-08:002012-01-09T16:06:14.752-08:00

. I only wish to love you A storm fills the valley A fish the river I have made you the size of my solitude The whole world to hide in Days and nights to understand To see no more in your eyes Than what I think of you And a world in your image And days and nights ruled by your eyelids. ~Paul Éluard . via artemis dreaming image via to wake, to see   .

pacifixehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00238936524220350890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1429594333527197599.post-45913319635426664052012-01-09T11:05:00.000-08:002012-01-09T11:05:30.700-08:00

. from A Dictionary of Love.  (London : Printed for W. Lane at the Minerva Press, 1795) . via journal of a nobody .

pacifixehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00238936524220350890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1429594333527197599.post-40304879740894026322012-01-08T12:21:00.000-08:002012-01-11T07:40:56.769-08:00

. . I, You, He, She, We I, You, He, She, We I, You, He, She, We In the garden of mystic lovers, I, You, He, She, We These are not true distinctions I, You, He, She,WeThere’s part of us that’s like an itch Call it the animal soul A foolishness that when we’re in it We make hundreds of others around us itchy And there is an intelligent soul With another desire more like sweet basil Or the

pacifixehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00238936524220350890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1429594333527197599.post-6842563426805385422012-01-06T09:56:00.000-08:002012-01-06T09:56:47.424-08:00

. .

pacifixehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00238936524220350890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1429594333527197599.post-11098545827471938442012-01-03T22:01:00.000-08:002012-01-03T22:02:26.979-08:00

. . yes is a pleasant country:if's wintery(my lovely)let's open the yearboth is the very weather(not either)my treasure,when violets appearlove is a deeper seasonthan reason;my sweet one(and april's where we're) ~ E. E. Cummings . image via datura  .

pacifixehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00238936524220350890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1429594333527197599.post-62371173652629504242012-01-02T10:06:00.000-08:002012-01-02T10:06:13.218-08:00

. At our age the imagination across the sorry facts lifts us to make roses stand before thorns. Sure love is cruel and selfish and totally obtuse— at least, blinded by the light, young love is. But we are older, I to love and you to be loved, we have, no matter how, by our wills survived to keep the jeweled prize always at our finger tips. We will it so and so it is past all accident. ~ 

pacifixehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00238936524220350890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1429594333527197599.post-16363073871453930332012-01-02T09:53:00.000-08:002012-01-02T09:56:23.829-08:00

. I have seen the truth It is not as though I had invented it with my mind. I have seen it, SEEN IT, and the living image of it has filled my soul forever…. If in one day, one hour, everything could be arranged at once. THE CHIEF THING IS TO LOVE. ~ Fyodor Dostoyevsky . via datura .

pacifixehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00238936524220350890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1429594333527197599.post-70772343571344833292012-01-01T15:49:00.000-08:002012-01-01T15:49:13.279-08:00

. We’re all just walking each other home.  ~ Ram Das . via journal of a nobodyimage via datura  .

pacifixehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00238936524220350890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1429594333527197599.post-22389205306911042202011-12-31T13:40:00.000-08:002011-12-31T13:42:31.361-08:00

  . The particular mind of the oceanFilling the coastline's longingWith such brief harvestOf elegant, vanishing wavesIs like the mind of timeOpening us shapes of days. As this year draws to its end,We give thanks for the gifts it broughtAnd how they became inlaid withinWhere neither time nor tide can touch them. The days when the veil liftedAnd the soul could see delight;When a quiver

pacifixehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00238936524220350890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1429594333527197599.post-24733919360445017462011-12-31T13:31:00.000-08:002011-12-31T13:32:21.378-08:00

.  ... the beauties of the realm of sense, images and shadow pictures, (are) Fugitives that have entered into Matter – To adore,and to ravish where they are seen. .  . This the spirit that Beauty must ever induce, wonderment and a delicious trouble, longing and love and a trembling that is all delight. For the unseen all this may be felt as for the seen; and this is the Soul's feel for it,

pacifixehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00238936524220350890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1429594333527197599.post-49397386880041736712011-12-29T07:37:00.000-08:002011-12-29T07:37:56.708-08:00

. there is almost nothing that does not signal loneliness,then loveliness, then something connecting all we will become. all around us the luminous passage of the air,the flat, wet gold of the leaves. ~ stanley plumly in passing . via journal of a nobodyimage via  datura .  

pacifixehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00238936524220350890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1429594333527197599.post-59768700676689892142011-12-29T07:17:00.000-08:002011-12-29T07:17:50.462-08:00

. I want a soul mate who can sit me down, shut me up, tell me ten things I don’t already know, and make me laugh.  I don’t care what you look like, just turn me on.  And if you can do that, I will follow you on bloody stumps through the snow.  I will nibble your mukluks with my own teeth. I will do your windows. I will care about your feelings. Just have something in there.  ~

pacifixehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00238936524220350890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1429594333527197599.post-66869301960869666172011-12-29T06:44:00.000-08:002011-12-29T06:45:20.019-08:00

  . You didn’t come into this world. You came out of it,like a wave from the ocean. You are not a stranger here. ~ Alan Watts . via journal of a nobody .

pacifixehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00238936524220350890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1429594333527197599.post-42719228924648950582011-12-28T05:25:00.000-08:002011-12-28T05:25:11.322-08:00

. Sometimes the way in is a song. But there are three ways in the world: dangerous, wounding, and beauty. To enter stone, be water. To rise through hard earth, be plant desiring sunlight, believing in water. To enter fire, be dry. To enter life, be food. ~ Linda Hogan (Rounding the Human Corners) . image: deja vu .

pacifixehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00238936524220350890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1429594333527197599.post-63704168455854916462011-12-28T05:16:00.000-08:002011-12-28T05:17:07.770-08:00

. How something is made fleshno one can say. The buffalo soupbecomes a womanwho sings every day to her horsesor summons another to her private bodysaying, come, touch, this is howit begins, the path of a newly bornwho, salvaged from other lives and worlds,will grow to become a woman, a man,with a heart that never rests,and the gathered berries,the wild grapesenter the body,human winewhich

pacifixehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00238936524220350890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1429594333527197599.post-63938237350322127352011-12-28T04:57:00.000-08:002011-12-28T04:59:59.187-08:00

. The sadness I have caused any faceby letting a stray wordstrike it, any pain I have caused you,what can I do to make us even?Demand a hundred fold of me - I'll pay it. During the day I hold my feet accountableto watch out for wondrous insects and their friends. Why would I want to bring horrorinto their extraordinaryworld? Magnetic fields

pacifixehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00238936524220350890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1429594333527197599.post-71728923040609013632011-12-26T07:40:00.000-08:002011-12-26T09:43:05.568-08:00

   . Years ago I recognized my kinship with all living things, and I made up my mind that I was not one bit better than the meanest on the earth.    I said then and I say now, that while there is a lower class, I am in it; while there is a criminal element, I am of it; while there is a soul in prison, I am not free.   ~ Eugene Debs . image via datura again .

pacifixehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00238936524220350890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1429594333527197599.post-52907120402023203822011-12-26T07:20:00.000-08:002011-12-26T07:25:47.140-08:00

 . This morning as I walked along the lakeshore, I fell in love with a wren and later in the day with a mouse the cat had dropped under the dining room table.  In the shadows of an autumn evening, I fell for a seamstress still at her machine in the tailor’s window, and later for a bowl of broth, steam rising like smoke from a naval battle.  This is the best kind of love, I thought,

pacifixehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00238936524220350890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1429594333527197599.post-36941169633753868402011-12-26T06:39:00.000-08:002011-12-26T06:39:52.781-08:00

. We cannot live only for ourselves. A thousand fibers connect us with our fellow men; and among those fibers, as sympathetic threads, our actions run as causes, and they come back to us as effects. . ~ Herman Melville . image via datura .

pacifixehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00238936524220350890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1429594333527197599.post-6256063391280210002011-12-24T12:39:00.000-08:002011-12-24T12:41:10.188-08:00

.  Ah! would the heart but be a manger for the birth, God would become once more a little child of earth. Immeasurable is the Highest! Who but knows it? And yet a human heart can perfectly enclose it. ~ Angelus Silesius .  image via the animal blog .

pacifixehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00238936524220350890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1429594333527197599.post-43570958916801219092011-12-22T07:15:00.000-08:002011-12-22T07:15:46.837-08:00

. Heart, do not stain my skin With bruises; go about Your simple function. Mind, Sleep now; do not intrude; And do not spy; be kind. Sweet blindness, now begin. Edna St. Vincent Millay .  via journal of a nobody image via datura .

pacifixehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00238936524220350890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1429594333527197599.post-39912976092491267722011-12-21T10:58:00.000-08:002011-12-21T11:01:50.058-08:00

. Yes It could happen any time, tornado,earthquake, Armageddon. It could happen.Or sunshine, love, salvation. It could, you know. That's why we wakeand look out -- no guaranteesin this life. But some bonuses, like morning,like right now, like noon,like evening. ~ William Stafford  .   The Way It Is . via  joe riley image via aristela .

pacifixehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00238936524220350890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1429594333527197599.post-50123160883274192252011-12-13T11:31:00.000-08:002011-12-13T11:31:33.839-08:00

  .   Run like hell my dear From anyone likely To put a sharp knife Into the sacred, tender vision Of your beautiful heart. ~ Hafiz   .   datura, datura, datura   .     

pacifixehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00238936524220350890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1429594333527197599.post-29353294085291266792011-12-12T17:18:00.000-08:002011-12-12T18:07:01.914-08:00

. The stars are like letters which inscribe themselves at every moment in the sky. Everything in the world is full of signs.  All events are coordinated.  All things depend on each other; as has been said: “Everything breathes together." ~ Plotinus (ca. CE 204/5–270) .   Return To The One:Plotinus's Guide to God-Realization .  via the essential datura .  

pacifixehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00238936524220350890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1429594333527197599.post-32424234632235872872011-12-12T06:21:00.000-08:002011-12-12T06:22:06.327-08:00

. When one is united to the core of another, to speak of thatis to breathe the name Hu, empty of self and filledwith love. As the saying goes, The pot drips what is in it. The saffron spice of connecting, laughter.The onion smell of separation, crying. Others have many things and people they love.This is not the way of Friend and friend. ~ Rumi Mathnawi VI: 4020-43Version by Coleman

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. If you listen to your affection or attraction to someone, you can sense that there is more than the two of you there. There is also present a third force - the affection itself as a threshold where your two lives meet and engage each other.This finds primal expression in the notion of the Trinity. The affection between Son and Father is so utterly alive as to be not merely a bond but an

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  . Commonplace miracle: that so many commonplace miracles happen. An ordinary miracle: in the dead of night the barking of invisible dogs. One miracle out of many: a small, airy cloud yet it can block a large and heavy moon. Several miracles in one: an alder tree reflected in the water, and that it's backwards left to right and that it grows there, crown down and never reaches the bottom

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. Words, even if they come from the soul, hide the soul, as fog rising off the sea covers the sea, the coast, the fish, the pearls. It's noble work to build coherent philosophical discourses, but they block out the sun of truth. See God's qualities as an ocean, this world as foam on the purity of that. Brush away and look through the alphabet to essence, as you do the hair covering your

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.  That is why the bird sings its songs into the world as though it were singing into its inner self, that’s why we take a birdsong into our own inner selves so easily,  it seems to us that we translate it fully, with no remainder, into our feelings;  a birdsong can even, for a moment, make the whole world into a sky within us,  because we feel that the bird does not distinguish between its

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. i thank You God for most this amazing day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees and a blue true dream of sky;and for everything which is natural which is infinite which is yes (i who have died am alive again today, and this is the sun's birthday;this is the birth day of life and love and wings:and of the gay great happening illimitably earth) how should tasting touching hearing seeing

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  . I. Dawn. The Hour of Lauds. There is in all visible things an invisible fecundity, a dimmed light, a meek namelessness, a hidden whole- ness. This mysterious Unity and Integrity is Wisdom, the Mother of all, Natura naturans. There is in all things an inexhaustible sweetness and purity, a silence that is a fount of action and joy. It rises up in word- less gentleness and flows out to me

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. via bufflehead

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    . Press down hard on me, break in that I may know the weight of your hand and you, the fullness of my cry. ~ Rainer Maria Rilke .   image via datura .

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. Horseback on Sunday morning, harvest over, we taste persimmon and wild grape, sharp sweet of summer’s end. In time’s maze over the fall fields, we name names that went west from here, names that rest on graves. We open a persimmon seed to find the tree that stands in promise, pale, in the seed’s marrow. Geese appear high over us, pass, and the sky closes. Abandon, as in love or sleep,

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. We sit in this courtyard,two forms, shadow outlines with one soul. Birdsound, leaf moving, early evening star,fragrant damp, and a sweet sickle curve of moon. You and I in a round, unselved idlingin the garden-beauty detail. The raucous parrots laugh,and we laugh inside their laughter, the two of us on a bench in Konya, yet amazingly in Khorasan and Iraq as well. Friends abiding this form,

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   .  You must love in such a way that the person you love feels free. ~ Thich Nhat Hanh . via wait - what?image via bufflehead cabin .

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. —time is a tree(this life one leaf) but love is the sky and i am for you just so long and long enough ~ E.E. Cummingsfreedom is a breakfastfood .   E. E. Cummings: Complete Poems, 1904-1962 . via A la recherche du temps perdu  .  

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. Since, then, the soul is immortal and has been born many times, since it has seen all things both in this world and in the other, there is nothing it has not learnt.  No wonder, then, that it is able to recall to mind goodness and other things, for it knew them beforehand.  For, as all reality is akin and the soul has learnt all things, there is nothing to prevent a man who has

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 . via datura .

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. Old men ought to be explorers here or there does not matter we must be still and still moving into another intensity for a further union, a deeper communion through the dark cold and the empty desolation, the wave cry, the wind cry, the vast waters of the petrel and the porpoise. In my end is my beginning.   ~ T. S. Eliot excerpt from East Coker V Four Quartets . Four

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. Love says “I am everything”.  Wisdom says “I am nothing”. Between the two, my life flows. ~ Nisargadatta Maharaj .  An Extraordinary Absence: Liberation in the Midst of a Very Ordinary Life . via heart spirit mind image via ELEMENOP   .  

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.   Adele Live At The Royal Albert Hall (DVD/CD) . via datura .

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. Inside the huge Romanesque church the tourists jostled in the half darkness, vault gaped behind vault, no complete view.A few candle flames flickered. An angel with no face embraced meand whispered through my whole body:"Don't be ashamed of being human, be proud! Inside you vault opens behind vault endlessly.You will never be complete, that's how it's meant to be." Blind with tearsI

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. A valley and above it forests in autumn colors.A voyager arrives, a map leads him there.Or perhaps memory. Once long ago in the sun,When snow first fell, riding this wayHe felt joy, strong, without reason,Joy of the eyes. Everything was the rhythmOf shifting trees, of a bird in flight,Of a train on the viaduct, a feast in motion.He returns years later, has no demands.He wants only one, most

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. She kept a diary, in which she wrote impulsive thoughts.   Seeing the moon in the sky, her own heart surcharged, she went and wrote:  ‘If I were the moon, I know where I would fall down.’ ~ D. H. Lawrence, The Rainbow .  Works of D. H. Lawrence. (30+ Works) Sons and Lovers, Lady Chatterley's Lover, The Rainbow, Women in Love, The Prussian Officer and Other Stories, The Widowing

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. The sea doesn't let the fish out,nor does it let the creatures of the earth in. Water is the original home of the fish;the weighty animal is of the earth.Nothing we do can change this. The lock of Divine destiny is strong,and the only opener is God:cling to surrender and contentment with God's will. Though the atoms, one by one, should become keys,yet this opening is not effected except by

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  .   Everything is energy and that’s all there is to it.    Match the frequency of the reality you want and you cannot help but get that reality. It can be no other way.   This is not philosophy.   This is physics. ~ Albert Einstein . via datura .  

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. He who has numbered the hairs on your head and knows precisely the finite number of blades of grass in the open field and the grove full of flowers, knows to perfection each little part of you. He knows the elements, how they are composed, how small and perishable they are and we are. He knows our limits, our beginnings and endings, knows days and minutes, counting them forward and back and

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 . We are one, after all, you and I. Together we suffer, together exist, and forever will recreate each other. ~ Pierre Teilhard de Chardin . The Heart of Matter . via artemis dreaming  image via the animal blog  .

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. The small person Builds cages for everyone She Sees. Instead, the sage, Who needs to duck her head, When the moon is low, Can be found dropping keys, all night long For the beautiful, Rowdy, Prisoners. ~ Hafiz .   The Subject Tonight Is Love: 60 Wild and Sweet Poems of Hafiz . via wait - what? .  

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   .  In the green morning I wanted to be a heart. A heart. And in the ripe evening I wanted to be a nightingale. A nightingale. (Soul, turn orange-colored. Soul, turn the color of love.) In the vivid morning I wanted to be myself. A heart. And at the evening's end I wanted to be my voice. A nightingale. Soul, turn orange-colored. Soul, turn the color of love.  ~ Federico García Lorca    .

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 . The sign of God’s love is to bestow three attributes on His lover:  A generosity like that of the sea, a kindness like that of the sun, and, a humility like that of the earth. ~ Bayazid  . Gnosis: Divine Wisdom, A New Translation with Selected Letters . via heart spirit mind image via aristela .

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. .

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. A wine bottle fell from a wagon andbroke open in a field. That night one hundred beetles and all their cousinsGathered and did some serious binge drinking. They even found some seed husks nearbyand began to play them like drums and whirl.This made God very happy. Then the "night candle" rose into the skyand one drunk creature, laying down his instrument,said to his friend — for no

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   .  A soulmate is an ongoing connection with another individual that the soul picks up again in various times and places over lifetimes.  We are attracted to another person at a soul level not just because that person is our unique complement, but because by being with that individual, we are somehow provided with an impetus to become whole ourselves.  ~ Edgar Cayce  .        Edgar Cayce on

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. A man was wandering the marketplace at noon with a candle in his hand, totally ecstatic. "Hey," called a shopkeeper. "Is this a joke? Who are you looking for?" "Someone breathing Huuuuuu, the divine breath." "Well, there are plenty to choose from." "But I want one who can be in anger and desire and still a true human being in the same moment." "A rare thing! But maybe you're searching

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   . How astonishing it is that language can almost mean, and frightening that it does not quite. Love, we say, God, we say, Rome and Michiko, we write, and the words get it all wrong. We say bread and it means according to which nation. French has no word for home, and we have no word for strict pleasure. A people in northern

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 . The power of love received in the body: this was the Festival!  how we stood and faced one another and we took hands and the love came. And all the flowers swarmed about our heads: deep deep the sting goes. Let love be welcomed the moment it seeks us. ~ M.C. Richards . Centering in Pottery, Poetry, and the Person Imagine Inventing Yellow   .    image via the animal

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. Murmuration from Sophie Windsor Clive on Vimeo. .

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. She is sixty. She lives the greatest love of her life.  She walks arm-in-arm with her dear one, her hair streams in the wind.  Her dear one says: "You have hair like pearls."  Her children say: "Old fool."  ~ Anna Swir .

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. The time will comewhen, with elation,you will greet yourself arrivingat your own door, in your own mirror,and each will smile at the other’s welcome, And say, sit here. Eat. You will love again the stranger who was yourself. Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart to itself, to the stranger who has loved you all your life, whom you ignored for another, who knows you by heart. Take down

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. In this world love has no color–yet how deeply my body is stained by yours. ~ Izumi Shikibu .      The Ink Dark Moon: Love Poems by Onono Komachi and Izumi Shikibu, Women of the Ancient Court of Japan  trans. Jane Hirshfield with Mariko Aratani . via datura  .  

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 . I am who I am. A coincidence no less unthinkable than any other. I could have different ancestors, after all. I could have fluttered from another nest or crawled bescaled from another tree. Nature's wardrobe holds a fair supply of costumes: Spider, seagull, fieldmouse. each fits perfectly right off and is dutifully worn into shreds. I didn't get a choice either, but I can't complain

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  Globe  Nasrollah Afjehei (Iranian, B. 1933) signed ‘Afjei’ and signed in Farsi (lower left) oil on canvas 75 1/8 x 75 1/8in. (191 x 191cm.) Painted in 2009 (christies)    Siah Mashgh (Black Homework), 2008 Nasrollah Afjehei   Untitled Nasrollah Afjei Dimensions: 114.2 x 119cm; 45 x 46 7/8 in Medium: Ink on canvas Creation Date: 2008 Wave, 2008 Nasrollah Afjehei UNTITLED (THE

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 . If we communicated with something like music, we would never be misunderstood, because there is nothing in music to understand……  But until we find this new way of speaking, until we can find a nonapproximate vocabulary, nonsense words are the best thing we’ve got.  Ifactifice is one such word.  ~ Jonathan Safran Foer .   Everything Is Illuminated: A Novel  . via to the

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. It may be the rock in the field is also a song.And it may be the ears of corn swelling under theirgreen sleevesare also songs. And it may be the river glancing and leaning againstthe dark stone is also a deliberate music.So I will write my poem, but I will leave room for the world. I will write my poem tenderly and simply, butI will leave room for the wind combing the grass,leave room for

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. There is no such thing as a person. There are only restrictions and limitations. The sum total of these defines the person.  You think you know yourself when you know what you are. But you never know who you are. The person merely appears to be, like the space within the pot appears to have the shape and volume and smell of the pot.  See that you are not what you believe yourself to

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 .  The things that change are not our real life. Within us there is another body, another beauty. It belongs to that ray of Light which never changes. We must discover how to mingle with It and become onewith that Unchanging thing. We must realize and understand this treasure of Truth. That is why we have come to the world. Within your heart in a space no bigger than an atom,God has placed

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. . find the other four clips on the You Tube page . more gratitude to the beauty we love .

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 . Enlightenment, for a wave in the ocean, is the moment the wave realizes it is water. ~ Thich Nhat Hanh . via bufflehead cabin .  

pacifixehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00238936524220350890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1429594333527197599.post-86945585353752005092011-10-26T09:03:00.000-07:002011-10-26T09:03:09.540-07:00

. My heart, sit only with those who know and understand you. Sit only under a tree that is full of blossoms. In the bazaar of herbs and potions don't wander aimlessly, find the shop with a potion that is sweet. If you don't have a measure people will rob you in no time. You will take counterfeit coins thinking they are real. Don't fill your bowl with food from every boiling pot you see. Not

pacifixehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00238936524220350890noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1429594333527197599.post-47229413728899164932011-10-25T07:11:00.000-07:002011-10-25T07:11:26.450-07:00

. I cried over beautiful things knowing no beautiful thing lasts. The field of cornflower yellow is a scarf at the neck of the copper sunburned woman, the mother of the year, the taker of seeds. The northwest wind comes and the yellow is torn full of holes, new beautiful things come in the first spit of snow on the northwest wind, and the old things go, not one lasts. ~ Carl Sandburg,

pacifixehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00238936524220350890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1429594333527197599.post-55538456917588325412011-10-24T06:14:00.000-07:002011-10-24T06:14:28.790-07:00

  In 1958 a dam was completed below the great falls of the Columbia River at Celilo, where for thousands of years there had been a town, and, when the salmon came up the river to spawn, a great fishery and meeting place for peoples from all over the region.   . I heard this story.They stood all day with their backs turned.They stood there just above the river all the long day with their backs

pacifixehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00238936524220350890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1429594333527197599.post-32086182296404881562011-10-24T05:31:00.000-07:002011-10-24T05:31:29.791-07:00

. Meditation is old and honorable, so why should I not sit, every morning of my life, on the hillside, looking into the shining world? Because, properly attended to, delight, as well as havoc, is suggestion.  Can one be passionate about the just, the ideal, the sublime, and the holy, and yet commit to no labor in its cause? I don't think so. All summations have a beginning, all effect has

pacifixehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00238936524220350890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1429594333527197599.post-77003902640797951952011-10-23T04:52:00.000-07:002011-10-30T12:00:13.292-07:00

. But as in landlessness alone resides the highest truth, shoreless, indefinite as God –  so better it is to perish in that howling infinite, than be ingloriously dashed upon the lee, even if that were safety! ~ Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick . via bufflehead cabin .

pacifixehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00238936524220350890noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1429594333527197599.post-16455965074976548002011-10-23T04:30:00.000-07:002011-10-23T07:13:15.961-07:00

. The first man who, having enclosed a piece of ground, bethought himself of saying This is mine, and found people simple enough to believe him, was the real founder of civil society.  From how many crimes, wars, and murders, from how many horrors and misfortunes might not any one have saved mankind, by pulling up the stakes, or filling up the ditch, and crying to his fellows:  Beware

pacifixehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00238936524220350890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1429594333527197599.post-28645421769520217152011-10-22T08:23:00.000-07:002011-10-22T08:23:35.414-07:00

 . And if you had no tongue, no celebrating language, you’d do this: cross your hands at the wrist with palms facing towards you; place your crossed wrists over your heart (the middle of your chest, anyway); then move your hands outwards a short distance, and open them towards the object of your love.  It’s just as eloquent as speech. ~  Julian Barnes, A History of the World in 10½

pacifixehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00238936524220350890noreply@blogger.com0