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Loveliest of what I leave behind is the sunlight,

And loveliest after that, the shining stars and the moon’s face,

but also cucumbers that are ripe, and pears, and apples

— Praxilla of Sicyon, 5th century B.C.

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The snowfall is so silent

The snowfall is so silent,

bit by bit, with delicacy

it settles down on the earth

and covers over the fields.

The silent snow comes down

white and weightless;

snowfall makes no noise,

falls as forgetting falls,

flake after flake.

It covers the fields gently

while frost attacks them

with its sudden flashes of white;

covers everything with its pure

and silent covering;

not one thing on the ground

anywhere escapes it.

And wherever it falls it stays,

content and gay,

for snow does not slip off

as rain does,

but it stays and sinks in.

The flakes are skyflowers,

pale lilies from the clouds,

that wither on earth.

They come down blossoming

but then so quickly

they are gone;

they bloom only on the peak,

above the mountains,

and make the earth feel heavier

when they die inside.

Snow, delicate snow,

that falls with such lightness

on the head,

on the feelings,

come and cover over the sadness

that lies always in my reason.

~ Miguel de Unamuno
translated by Robert Bly

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Thought proceeds in a line, while the real world does not. Thought is sequential, successive, one-dimensional, while the real world presents itself as a multidimensional, simultaneous pattern of infinite variety. Thought presents us with the convincing illusion that the world is multiple, separate and independent things existing out there.

As everybody knows, you can’t think of even two or three things at once without being thrown into confusion, and so, to introduce some measure of coherence and order, the thought process, with the help of memory, strings out all the separate bits of attention along a line which it creates for that very purpose. This line of successive bits of narrowed attention is nothing other than time. In other words, time is nothing more than thought’s successive way of viewing the world. But by habitually viewing everything in this linear, successive fashion, we arrive at the conclusion that everything proceeds in a line. Everything, however, does not proceed in a line - it happens simultaneously - every-where-at-once. The sun is shining, your heart is beating, birds are singing, the kids are playing, your lungs are breathing, the dog is barking, the wind is blowing, crickets are chirping - these phenomena do not proceed one after another nor follow one another in time - they are all happening everywhere at once, no before, no after. Reality does not proceed in a line, it does not proceed in time, it has the whole of its existence simultaneously.

The whole notion of succession, of one thing succeeding another thing in time, depends directly upon our process of memory. Memory creates an illusion of the past, and we generate a vivid sense of time and that we are somehow moving through it towards the future. The whole idea of time depends upon the notion that, through memory, we know the actual past. But, strictly speaking, we are never directly aware of a real past at all, we are only aware of a memory-picture of the past, and memory exists only in and as the present.

You are not looking at the real past at all. You are looking at a present trace of the past. From memories you infer that there have been past events, but you know the past only in the present and as part of the present.

In remembering any past event, you are never aware of any actual past at all, but only dim pictures of the past, and those pictures exist only as a present experience.

The same holds true for the future as well, because any thought of the future is nevertheless a present thought. We know the past and the future only in the present and as part of the present. Thus, the only time we are ever aware of is Now. There is only a Now that includes memories and expectations. It is out of this that we conjure up, out of this present moment, the vast illusion called Time.

When memory is no longer imagined to be a real knowledge of the past, but is instead understood to be a present experience, it can been seen that this present moment contains all time and is therefore itself timeless, and that this timeless present is Eternity itself. Eternity exists in its entirety right now. The universe and all things in it are being created Now. God is always creating the world now, this instant, and it is only to creatures of time that the creation presents itself as a series of events, or evolution.

Think of the past - that is a present act; anticipate the future - that is also a present act. Any evidence of a past exists only in the present, and any reason to believe in a future also exists only in the present. When the real past happened, it wasn’t past but present, and when the real future arrives, it won’t be the future, it will be the present. Thus, the only time of which we are ever aware is the present moment, this moment, which contains all time, is itself timeless, which is Eternity. All time is now. Time is a vast illusion. Eternity is not everlasting time but the real, indestructible, timeless present. The present is the only thing that has no end.

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~ Ken Wilber, from ‘The Spectrum of Consciousness’

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It is believed by most

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It is believed by most
that time passes;
in actual fact,
it stays where it is.
This idea of passing may be called time,
but it is an incorrect idea,
for since one sees it only as passing,
one cannot understand that it stays just where it is.

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~ Dogen Zenji

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dying each minute, never accumulating

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To understand the beauty and the extraordinary nature of death, there must be freedom from the known.  In dying to the known is the beginning of the understanding of death, because then the mind is made fresh, new, and there is no fear.  Therefore one can enter into the state called death.  So, from the beginning to the end, life and death are one.  The wise man understands time, thought, and sorrow, and only he can understand death. The mind that is dying each minute, never accumulating, never gathering experience, is innocent, and is therefore in a constant state of love.

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~ J. Krishnamurti, from a talk on July 28th 1964

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a natural action

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"The more you sense the rareness and value of your own life,

the more you realize that how you use it, 

how you manifest it, is all your responsibility. 

We face such a big task so, naturally, 

such a person sits down for a while.

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It's not an intended action, it's a natural action."

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~ Kobun Chino

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To us all towns are one, all men our kin

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To us all towns are one, all men our kin.

Life's good comes not from others' gift, nor ill.

Man's pains and pains' relief are from within.

Death’s no new thing, nor do our blossoms thrill

When joyous life seems like a luscious draught.

When grieved, we patient suffer; for, we deem

This much-praised life of ours a fragile raft

Borne down the waters of some mountain stream

That o’er huge boulders roaring seeks the plain

Tho’ storms with lightning’s flash from darkened skies.

Descend, the raft goes on as fates ordain.

Thus have we seen in visions of the wise !

We marvel not at the greatness of the great;

Still less despise we men of low estate.

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~ Kaniyan Poongundran

(Translated by G.U.Pope)

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How do I love thee?

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How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right.
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints — I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! — and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

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~ Elizabeth Barrett Browning

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Untouchable

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All you want me to bring back is a rock. No gifts,

no fine words - not even these. But you must 

understand I have spent a lifetime making my way 

to the edge of this stream where I sit in the spent

leaves writing what I know cannot be written. As 

twilight thickens over my fingers, I realize these 

words are falling short of the page. At last I see

your stone, luminescent in the gurgling darkness.

Forgive me for returning empty-handed, but if

I touch it now, I may never get home.

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~ Jim Sagel

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I am thinking of the space between the stars

Estrella Fugaz

 

I am thinking of the space between the stars when

a tail of fire abruptly blazes in the San Ildefonso sky.

Just so unpredictably did I tumble from orbit, my

identity engulfed in flames.  Yet, my only wish is to

fall out of myself again and again.

 

****

Runoff

 

Braced against the current, I battle the swollen creek

for a foothold on these ricks polished by the water's

desire for the sea, the same insatiable thirst that

surges though my blood.

 

~ Jim Sagel, from 'unexpected turn'

Always in the big woods

Always in the big woods when you leave familiar ground and step off alone into a new place there will be, along with the feelings of curiosity and excitement, a little nagging of dread. It is the ancient fear of the unknown, and it is your first bond with the wilderness you are going into. What you are doing is exploring. You are undertaking the first experience, not of the place, but of yourself in that place. It is an experience of essential loneliness, for nobody can discover the world for anyone else. It is only after we have discovered it for ourselves that it becomes a common ground and a common bond, and we cease to be alone.

~ Wendell Berry

bamboo

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What exists wants to persist.

Even the knock of bamboo on bamboo

spilled outward continues.

And you who have lived - restless, ambitious, aggrieved.

A Walter,  a Shirley, a Tim.

A Carlos,  a Teisha,  a Haavo.

Do not think it unchanged, this world you are leaving.

~ Jane Hirshfield

from Come, Thief

Old men sleeping in speeding cars

Old men sleeping

in speeding cars,

a hawk on a boulder

dripping with fog,

ten deer

in an autumn meadow,

yellow

aspen,

bishop pines

by the ocean.

These all speak more

as our stiff-

ness re-

laxes

into new birth.

The worth

of things

cracks open

and shows

the intestines.

Glittering

gold

trembling

on darkness.

~ Michael McClure

Quiet minds

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Quiet minds cannot be perplexed or

frightened but go on in fortune or

misfortune at their own private pace,  like

a clock during a thunderstorm.

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~ Robert Louis Stevenson

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sometimes

Sometimes I go about pitying myself,
and all the time.
I am being carried on great winds across the sky.




~ Ojibway


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