Tuesday, August 4, 2015

insight


 


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The animating process is
The building block upon which
You have been erected.

Even after you have been torn down,
The building block remains.

Centering your attention there is
The direct means to gain
Primordial insight.



–Wu Hsin


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Monday, August 3, 2015

question


 


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What goes on?
That which animated the body
Ceases to do so.
This That is not affected.
The cycle continues.
 
–Wu Hsin



Thursday, July 30, 2015

Obsolete

 




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The rose is obsolete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 the sense
makes copper roses
steel roses--

The rose carried weight of love
but love is at an end--of roses

It is at the edge of the
petal that love waits
Crisp, worked to defeat
laboredness--fragile
plucked, moist, half-raised
cold, precise, touching

What

The place between the petal's
edge and the

From the petal's edge a line starts
that being of steel
infinitely fine, infinitely
rigid penetrates
the Milky Way
without contact--lifting
from it--neither hanging
nor pushing--

The fragility of the flower
unbruised
penetrates space


–William Carlos Williams




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Wednesday, July 29, 2015

telling the bees





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When someone dies you are supposed to tell the bees and invite them to the funeral, give them wine and cake, hang mourning cloth over the hive.

You should tell them other things as well - of a marriage, when you are planning to rob the hive, when you are troubled by your dreams.

Tell and they will listen, tell and they will spread the word with the wind.


–Rima Staines


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Tuesday, July 28, 2015

let me begin again






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Let me begin again as a speck
of dust caught in the night winds
sweeping out to sea. Let me begin
this time knowing the world is
salt water and dark clouds, the world
is grinding and sighing all night, and dawn
comes slowly and changes nothing. Let
me go back to land after a lifetime
of going nowhere. This time lodged
in the feathers of some scavenging gull
white above the black ship that docks
and broods upon the oily waters of
your harbor. This leaking freighter
has brought a hold full of hayforks
from Spain, great jeroboams of dark
Algerian wine, and quill pens that can’t
write English. The sailors have stumbled
off toward the bars of the bright houses.
The captain closes his log and falls asleep.
1/10’28. Tonight I shall enter my life
after being at sea for ages, quietly,
in a hospital named for an automobile.
The one child of millions of children
who has flown alone by the stars
above the black wastes of moonless waters
that stretched forever, who has turned
golden in the full sun of a new day.
A tiny wise child who this time will love
his life because it is like no other.


–Philip Levine


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In the Realm of Hokkaido
Robert van Koesveld

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Monday, July 27, 2015

you know ...




 
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You have been trained since infancy to direct your attention to what is temporary. Had anyone before revealed the Permanent to you, there would be no need to sit with Wu Hsin.

Most people don’t sit because they are afraid of what is revealed.

The individuals fear that they will lose their individuality, their identity. One could say that the love of Being is not yet greater than the love of being somebody … or it could be said that the fear of the not yet known is far greater than the distaste for the known.

Either way, “I’ll pay any price” is suddenly shown to be a hollow offer.
 

When you become clear that you are not this body, but that it is your instrument, then worries about death dissolve.

In essence, death dies.

 

–Wu Hsin


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Sunday, July 26, 2015

all is well




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Death is nothing at all.
I have only slipped away into the next room.
I am I, and you are you.
Whatever we were to each other, that we still are.
Call me by my old familiar name,
speak to me in the easy way which you always used.
Put no difference in your tone,
wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.
Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word that it always was,
let it be spoken without effect,
without the trace of a shadow on it.
Life means all that it ever meant.
It is the same that it ever was;
there is unbroken continuity.
Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?
I am waiting for you, for an interval,
somewhere very near, just round the corner.
And all is well.


–Henry Scott Holland (1847-1918)
Canon of St. Paul's Cathedral, London. UK 





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