Thursday, March 30, 2023

take nothing

  






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The birds don't alter space.
They reveal it. The sky
never fills with any
leftover flying. They leave
nothing to trace. It is our own
astonishment collects
in chill air. Be glad.

They equal their due
moment never begging,
and enter ours
without parting day. See
how three birds in a winter tree
make the tree barer.

Two fly away, and new rooms
open in December.
Give up what you guessed
about a whirring heart, the little
beaks and claws, their constant hunger.
We are the nervous ones.

If even one of our violent number
could be gentle
long enough that one of them
found it safe inside
our finally untroubled and untroubling gaze,
who wouldn't hear
what singing completes us?


—Li-Young Lee
praise them
Book of My Nights

 

 

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In my room, the world is beyond my understanding;

But when I walk I see that it consists of three or four 
hills and a cloud.


—Wallace Stevens
Of the Surface of Things, excerpt




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Wednesday, March 29, 2023

this much is true

  






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You know quite well, deep within you,
that there is only a single magic,

a single power, a single salvation...
and that is called loving.


—Herman Hesse


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For small creatures such as we, 
the vastness is bearable only through love.


—Carl Sagan 




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Monday, March 27, 2023

Wednesday, March 22, 2023

listen

  





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The flute of the Infinite is played without ceasing,

and its sound is Love.


—Kabir



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Tuesday, March 21, 2023

teacup talk

 






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Love wants to reach out and manhandle us,
Break all our teacup talk of God.

If you had the courage and
Could give the Beloved His choice, some nights,
He would just drag you around the room
By your hair,
Ripping from your grip all those toys in the world
That bring you no joy.

Love sometimes gets tired of speaking sweetly
And wants to rip to shreds
All your erroneous notions of truth
That make you fight within yourself, dear one,
And with others,
Causing the world to weep
On too many fine days.

God wants to manhandle us,
Lock us inside of a tiny room with Himself
And practice His dropkick.

The Beloved sometimes wants
To do us a great favor:
Hold us upside down
And shake all the nonsense out.

But when we hear
He is in such a “playful drunken mood”
Most everyone I know
Quickly packs their bags and hightails it
Out of town.


—Hafiz
Daniel Ladinsky version



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Friday, March 17, 2023

look deeply

  






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Don't say that I will depart tomorrow— 
even today I am still arriving. 

Look deeply: every second I am arriving 
to be a bud on a Spring branch, 
to be a tiny bird, with still-fragile wings, 
learning to sing in my new nest, 
to be a caterpillar in the heart of a flower, 
to be a jewel hiding itself in a stone. 

I still arrive, in order to laugh and to cry, 
to fear and to hope. 
The rhythm of my heart is the birth and death 
of all that is alive. 

I am a mayfly metamorphosing 
on the surface of the river. 
And I am the bird 
that swoops down to swallow the mayfly. 

I am a frog swimming happily 
in the clear water of a pond. 
And I am the grass-snake 
that silently feeds itself on the frog. 

I am the child in Uganda, all skin and bones, 
my legs as thin a bamboo sticks. 
And I am the arms merchant, 
selling deadly weapons to Uganda. 

I am the twelve-year-old girl, 
refugee on a small boat, 
who throws herself into the ocean 
after being raped by a sea pirate. 
And I am the pirate, 
my heart not yet capable 
of seeing and loving. 

I am a member of the politburo, 
with plenty of power in my hands. 
And I am the man who has to pay 
his "debt of blood" to my people, 
dying slowly in a forced labor camp. 

My joy is like Spring, so warm 
it makes flowers bloom all over the Earth. 
My pain is like a river of tears, 
so vast it fills the four oceans. 

Please call me by my true names, 
so I can hear all my cries and laughter at once, 
so I can see that my joy and pain are one. 
Please call me by my true names, 
so I can wake up 
and the door of my heart 
could be left open, 

the door of compassion.


—Thich Nhat Hanh
Please Call Me By My True Name





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Tuesday, March 14, 2023

one is the other and is neither







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The water hollowed the stone,
the wind dispersed the water,
the stone stopped the wind.
Water and wind and stone.

The wind sculpted the stone,
the stone is a cup of water,
The water runs off and is wind.
Stone and wind and water.

The wind sings in its turnings,
the water murmurs as it goes,
the motionless stone is quiet.
Wind and water and stone.

One is the other and is neither:
among their empty names
they pass and disappear,
water and stone and wind.


—Octavio Paz 


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Monday, March 13, 2023

blossoming tree image

 













listen

 





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I said to the almond tree, ‘Sister, speak to me of God.’

And the almond tree blossomed.


—Nikos Kazantzakis 



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