By itself nothing has existence.
Everything needs its own absence.
To be is to be distinguishable, to be here and not there,
to be now and not then, to be thus and not otherwise.
Like water is shaped by the container, so is everything
determined by conditions (gunas).
—Nisargadatta Maharaj
That winter when this thought came -- how the river
held still every midnight and flowed
backward a minute -- we studied algebra
late in our room fixed up in the barn,
and I would feel the curved relation,
the rafters upside down, and the cows in their life
holding the earth round and ready
to meet itself again when morning came.
At breakfast while my mother stirred the cereal
she said, "You're studying too hard,"
and I would include her face and hands in my glance
and then look past my father's gaze as
he told again our great race through the stars
and how the world can't keep up with our dreams.
—William Stafford
The Way It Is
As I listened from a beach-chair in the shade
To all the noises that my garden made,
It seemed to me only proper that words
Should be withheld from vegetables and birds.
A robin with no Christian name ran through
The Robin-Anthem which was all it knew,
And rustling flowers for some third party waited
To say which pairs, if any, should get mated.
Not one of them was capable of lying,
There was not one which knew that it was dying
Or could have with a rhythm or a rhyme
Assumed responsibility for time.
Let them leave language to their lonely betters
Who count some days and long for certain letters;
We, too, make noises when we laugh or weep:
Words are for those with promises to keep.
—W. H. Auden
.
The conditions of a solitary bird are five:
The first, that it flies to the highest point;
the second, that it does not suffer for company,
not even of its own kind;
the third, that it aims its beak to the skies;
the fourth, that it does not have a definite color;
the fifth, that it sings very softly.
—St. John of the Cross
.
Under the present brutal and primitive conditions on this planet, every person you meet should be regarded as one of the walking wounded.
We have never seen a man or woman not slightly deranged by either anxiety or grief.
We have never seen a totally sane human being.
—Robert Anton Wilson
May you be at peace.May your heart remain open.May you awaken to the light of your own true nature.May you be healed.May you be a source of healing for all beings.—Tibetan Buddhist Prayer
Many historians have remarked on the fact that there are days when everything seems extraordinarily firm, with each part wonderfully fitted to the rest, and the entire course of world history rock-solid.
And, on the contrary, there are days when everything is simply falling apart.
—Yury Tynyanov
Young Vitushishnikov
God is a sound.
The creator of the cosmos is a sound.
Everything begins with the sound.
—Thich Nhat Hanh
If it keeps on rainin', levee's goin' to break
If it keeps on rainin', levee's goin' to break
When the levee breaks, I'll have no place to stay
Mean old levee taught me to weep and moan, Lord
Mean old levee taught me to weep and moan
It's got what it takes to make a mountain man leave his home
Oh well, oh well, oh well
Don't it make you feel bad
When you're tryin' to find your way home
You don't know which way to go?
If you're goin' down south
They got no work to do
If you're going down to Chicago
A-ah, a-ah, a-ah
Cryin' won't help you, prayin' won't do you no good
No, cryin' won't help you, prayin' won't do you no good
When the levee breaks, mama, you got to move, ooh
All last night sat on the levee and moaned
All last night sat on the levee and moaned
Thinkin' 'bout my baby and my happy home
Ah-oh
Ah, ah, ah, ah
Ah, ah, ah, ah
Goin'
I'm goin' to Chicago
Goin' to Chicago
Sorry, but I can't take you, ahhh
Goin' down, goin' down now
Goin' down, goin' down now
Goin' down, goin' down
Goin' down, goin' down
.
Take me to the other side of this night,
where I am you, we are us,
the kingdom where pronouns are intertwined
… and the sea sang with the murmur of light.
—Octavio Paz
.
.
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 every joke is humorous, so don't search
for meaning where there isn't one.
Not every eye can see,
not every sea is full of pearls.
My heart, sing the song of longing,
like nightingale.
The sound of your voice casts a spell
on every stone, on every thorn.
First, lay down your head,
then one by one
let go of all distractions.
Embrace the light and let it guide you
beyond the winds of desire.
There you will find a spring and
nourished by its sweet waters
like a tree you will bear fruit forever.
—Rumi
.
How astonishing it is that language can almost mean,
and frightening that it does not quite.
What we feel most has no name but amber, archers,
cinnamon, horses and birds.
—Jack Gilbert
when practicing deeply the Prajna Paramitaperceives that all five skandhas are emptyand is saved from all suffering and distress.
Shariputra,form does not differ from emptiness,emptiness does not differ from form.
That which is form is emptiness,that which is emptiness form.The same is true of feelings,perceptions, impulses, consciousness.
Shariputra,all dharmas are marked with emptiness;they do not appear or disappear,are not tainted or pure,do not increase or decrease.
Therefore, in emptiness no form, no feelings,perceptions, impulses, consciousness.
No eyes, no ears, no nose, no tongue, no body, no mind;no color, no sound, no smell, no taste, no touch,no object of mind; no realm of eyesand so forth until no realm of mind consciousness.No ignorance and also no extinction of it,and so forth until no old age and deathand also no extinction of them.
No suffering, no origination,no stopping, no path, no cognition,also no attainment with nothing to attain.
The Bodhisattva depends on Prajna Paramitaand the mind is no hindrance;without any hindrance no fears exist.
Heart SutraAvalokitesvara Bodhisattva
Heart Sutra Chant
ma ka han nya ha ra mi ta shin gyo
kan ji zai bo sa gyo jin han nya ha ra mi ta jisho ken go on kai ku do is-sai ku yakusha ri shi shiki fu i ku ku fu i shikishiki soku ze ku ku soku ze shikiju so gyo shiki yaku bu nyo ze sha ri shize sho ho ku so fu sho fu metsufu ku fu jo fu zo fu gen ze ko ku chu mu shikimu ju so gyo shiki mu gen ni bi ze-shin nimu shiki sho ko mi soku ho mu gen kai
nai shi mu i shiki kai mu mu myo
yaku mu mu myo jin nai shi mu ro shi
yaku mu ro shi jin mu ku shu metsu do
mu chi yaku mu toku I mu sho toku ko
bo dai sat-ta e han nya ha ra mi ta ko
shin mu kei ge mu ke ge ko
mu u ku fu on ri is-sai ten do mu so
ku gyo ne han san ze sho butsu
e han-nya ha ra mi ta ko
toku a noku ta ra san myaku san bo dai
ko chi hannya ha ra mi ta
ze dai jin shu ze dai myo shu
ze mu jo shu ze mu to do shu
no jo is-sai ku shin jitsu fu ko
ko setsu han nya hara mi ta shu
soku setsu shu watsu
gya tei gya tei hara gya tei hara so gya tei
bo ji so wa ka hannya shin gyo
Paradise is having a connection — roots in the garden, stem from the branch, current to the light.
To be unaware of the connection is to have one’s heart in the wrong place — far out in the fruit instead of within, in the tree.
—Alan Watts.
.I thought that the world was a vast system of signs, a conversation between giant beings.
My actions, the cricket's saw, the star's blink, were nothing but pauses and syllables, scattered phrases from that dialogue.
What word could it be, of which I was only a syllable?
Who speaks the word?
To whom is it spoken?
—Octavio Paz
The Blue Bouquet, excerpt
Eliot Weinberger version
.
Tidal movements, lunar phases, blood temperatures, diseases in general, everything, in fine, in nature’s vast workshop from the extinction of some remote sun to the blossoming of one of the countless flowers which beautify our public parks is subject to a law of numeration as yet unascertained.—James Joyce
Ulysses
You wear coarse wool, but you're a king,
as the soul's energy hides, as love
remembers. You enter this room in a human
shape and as the atmosphere we breathe.
You are the central pole through the nine
levels connecting them and us to absolute
absence. So that we can have what we want,
you give failure and frustration. You want
only the company of the lion and the lion
cub, no wobbly legs. That man there, you
suggest, might remove his head before
entering the temple. Then he could listen
without ears to a voice that says, My
creature. A month of walking the road, you
make that distance in one day. Never mind
gold and silver payments. When you feel
generous, give your head. My beauty,
you have no need for a guide. The one
who follows and the one who leads are
inseparable, as the moon and the circle
around it. An Arab drags his camel town
to town. You go through your troubles
and changing beliefs, both no different from
the moon moving across or basil growing
and getting cut for a bouquet. It doesn't
matter you've been lost. The hoopoe is
still looking for you. It is another
beginning, my friend, this waking in a
morning with no haze, and help coming
without your asking! A glass submerged
is turning inside the wine. With grief
waved away, sweet gratefulness arrives.
—Rumi
Ghazal (Ode) 2935
Coleman Barks, Nevit Ergin version
Oh soul,
you worry too much.
You have seen your own strength.
You have seen your own beauty.
You have seen your golden wings.
Of anything less,
why do you worry?
You are in truth
the soul, of the soul,
of the soul.
—Rumi
I turn within... I am not turning up to the sky - I am not turning anywhere outside of my own being - I am not looking around for holy temples or holy teachers or holy books. I am turning within.
Here am I. The very seat and source of God is within me, the abiding place of God. God is within the inner sanctuary of my own being. I am not seeking for my life, what I shall eat or what I shall drink. I am not seeking for health, employment or opportunities. I am seeking Thy kingdom, Thy grace.
—Joel Goldsmith
Take a plane to London.
From King's Cross take the direct train to York.
Rent a car and drive across the vale to Ripon,
then into the dales toward the valley of the Nidd,
a narrow road with high stone walls on each side,
and soon you'll be on the moors. There's a pub,
The Drovers, where it's warm inside, a tiny room,
you can stand at the counter and drink a pint of Old Peculier.
For a moment everything will be all right. You're back
at a beginning. Soon you'll walk into Yorkshire country,
into dells, farms, into blackberry and cloud country.
You'll walk for hours. You'll walk the freshness
back into your life. This is true. You can do this.
Even now, sitting at your desk, worrying, troubled,
you can gaze across Middlesmoor to Ramsgill,
the copses, the abbeys of slanting light, the fells,
you can look down on that figure walking toward Scar House,
cheeks flushed, curlews rising in front of him, walking,
making his way, working his life, step by step, into grace.
—Joseph Stroud
Of this World
Some gods say, the tiny ones
"I am not here in your vibrant, moist lips
That need to beach themselves upon
The golden shore of a
Naked body."
Some gods say, "I am not
The sacred yearning in the unrequited soul;
I am not the blushing cheek
Of every star and Planet--
I am not the applauding Chef
Of those precious sections that can distill
The whole mind into a perfect wincing jewel, if only
For a moment
Nor do I reside in every pile of sweet warm dung
Born of earth's
Gratuity."
Some gods say, the ones we need to hang,
"Your mouth is not designed to know His,
Love was not born to consume
The luminous
Realms."
Dear ones,
Beware of the tiny gods frightened men
Create
To bring an anesthetic relief
To their sad
Days.
—Hafiz
Ladinsky version
Surrender. Be crumbled, so wild flowers will come up where you are.
You have been stony for too many years.
Try something different.
Surrender.
—Rumi
Be quiet. Ra is in the wind.
He speaks when the earth is silent and he alone existed until he named the names of things.
River, he said, and River lived.
Nile. Mountain. Beetle. Fisherman.
From his tongue springs words of water.
The river quakes with the sound of his voice.
Air escaping from his nose. Breathe deep.
The wind a sigh from his mother.
Such things are made everyday:
Duck, Mandrake, Raisin.
Grape, Pomegranate, Melon.
Cypress, Palm, Osiris.
—The Egyptian Book of the Dead
