Sunday, August 21, 2016
Saturday, August 13, 2016
stand with your lover on the ending earth-
and while a (huge by which huger than
huge) whoing sea leaps to greenly hurl snow,
suppose we could not love, dear; imagine
ourselves like living neither nor dead these
(or many thousands hearts which don't and dream
or many million minds which sleep and move)
blind sand, at pitiless the mercy of
time time time time time
how fortunate are you and I, whose home
is timelessness: we who have wandered down
from fragrant mountains of eternal now
to frolic in such mysteries as birth
and death a day (or maybe even less)
–E. E. Cummings
Friday, August 12, 2016
in time of daffodils(who know
the goal of living is to grow)
forgetting why,remembering how
in time of lilacs who proclaim
the aim of walking is to dream
remembering so(forgetting seem)
in time of roses(who amaze
our now and here with paradise)
forgetting if,remembering yes
in time of all sweet things beyond
whatever mind may comprehend,
remember seek(forgetting find)
and in a mystery to be
(when time from time shall set us free)
forgetting me, remember me
–E. E. Cummings
from Selected Poems
Tuesday, August 2, 2016
Now i lay(with everywhere around)me
(the great dim deep sound
of rain;and of always and of nowhere)and
what a gently welcoming darkestness--now i lay me down(in a most steep
more than music)feeling that sunlight is
(life and day are)only loaned:whereas
night is given(night and death and the rainare given;and given is how beautifully snow)now i lay me down to dream of(nothing
i or any somebody or you
can begin to begin to imagine)something which nobody may keep.
now i lay me down to dream of Spring
–E. E. Cummings
Sunday, July 24, 2016
Saturday, July 23, 2016
With all its eyes, the natural world looks out into the Open.
Only our eyes are turned backward, and surround plant, animal, child like traps, as they emerge into their freedom.
We know what is really out there only from the animal's gaze; for we take the very young child and force it around, so that it sees objects - not the Open, which is so deep in animals' faces. Free from death.
We, only, can see death; the free animal has its decline in back of it, forever, and God in front, and when it moves, it moves already in eternity, like a fountain.
Never, not for a single day, do we have before us that pure space into which flowers endlessly open. Always there is World and never Nowhere without the No: that pure unseparated element which one breathes without desire and endlessly knows.
A child may wander there for hours, through the timeless stillness, may get lost in it and be shaken back. Or someone dies and is it.For, nearing death, one doesn't see death; but stares beyond, perhaps with an animal's vast gaze.
Lovers, if the beloved were not there blocking the view, are close to it, and marvel...As if by some mistake, it opens for them behind each other... But neither can move past the other, and it changes back to World. Forever turned toward objects, we see in them the mere reflection of the realm of freedom, which we have dimmed.
Or when some animal mutely, serenely, looks us through and through. That is what fate means: to be opposite, to be opposite and nothing else, forever.
–Rainer Mara Rilke
Wednesday, July 20, 2016
As a caterpillar, having come to the end of
one blade of grass, draws itself together and
reaches out for the next,
so the Self, havingcome to the end of one life and dispelledall ignorance, gathers in his faculties andreaches out from the old body to a new.
–The Brihadaranyaka Upanishad