a floating cloud

Coming empty handed, 

going empty handed -

 that is human.

 

When you are born, where do you come from?

When you die, where do you go?

 

Life is like a floating cloud which appears.

Death is like a floating cloud which disappears.

The floating cloud itself originally does not exist.

 

Life and death, coming and going, are also like that.

 

But there is one thing which always remains clear.

It is pure and clear, not depending on life and death.

 

What then is the one pure and clear thing?

~ Zen Master Seung Sahn

it's compassion

In contemplative practice, you refuse to identify with any one side, 

while still maintaining your intelligence.  

 
You hold the creative tension of every seeming conflict and 
go beyond words to pure, open-ended experience, 
which has the potential to unify many seeming contradictions.

 
 Notice how wordy political and academic discourse is, 
and how quiet monks and hermits are.

It really is a different way of knowing,
 and you can tell it by its gratuity,
 its open-endedness, its compassion...

 

 

Fr. Richard Rohr

photo: Dr. and Mrs. King singing in the rain on a march 1965

by Moneta Sleet Jr.

 

 

 

you dark net threading through us

I love you, gentlest of Ways,

who ripened us as we wrestled with you.

You, the great homesickness we could never shake off,

you, the forest that always surrounded us,

you, the song we sang in every silence,

you dark net threading through us,

You began yourself so greatly

on that day when you began us -

and we have so ripened in your sunlight,

spreading far and firmly planted -

that now in all people, angels, madonnas,

you can decide: the work is done.

Let your hand rest on the rim of Heaven now

and mutely bear the darkness we bring over you.

~ Rainer Maria Rilke

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the rest between two notes

My life is not this steeply sloping hour,
in which you see me hurrying.

Much stands behind me: I stand before it like a tree:
I am only one of my many mouths
and at that, the one that will be still the soonest.

I am the rest between two notes,
which are somehow always in discord
because deaths note wants to climb over-
but in the dark interval, reconciled,

They stay here trembling.
And the song goes on, beautiful.



~ Rainer Maria Rilke

thoughts of a solitary farmhouse

 

 

 

 

 

And not to feel bad about dying.
Not to take it so personally -

it is only
the force we exert all our lives

to exclude death from our thoughts
that confronts us, when it does arrive,

as the horror of being excluded -
something like that, the Canadian wind

coming in off Lake Erie
rattling the windows, horizontal snow

appearing out of nowhere
across the black highway and fields
like billions of white bees.

 

 

 

 
- Franz Wright

from Ill Lit: Selected and New Poems

photo by Ed Varsson

with thanks to whiskey river 

the artificial structure

 

 

 

The mind tries to live by the artificial structure of the world, 

but the body will have none of it, holding to primeval forces.  

People try to be all mind...

this has gone so far that now... 

the earth itself is but an idea.  

As animal, man has suffered from this and degenerated... 

The only hope and consolation is the perception of beauty, 

the revelation today of that which was God.

 

 

 

 

~ Harlan Hubbard

from his journal, written in 1937 

Quoted here from "Harlan Hubbard - Live and Work"

by Wendell Berry

.

 

 

 

It needs forever to be in all its times and aspects and acts

 

 

Anna: There you are, Harlan.  I've called and called.  What are you doing?

Harlan: Looking.

Anna: At what?

Harlan: The river.

Anna: You've never seen enough, have you,  of that river you looked at all your life?

Harlan: It never does anything twice.   It needs forever to be in all its times and aspects and acts.  To know it in time is only to begin to know it.  To paint it, you must show it as less than it is.  That is why as a painter I never was at rest.  Now I look and do not paint.  This is the heaven of a painter - only to look, to see without limit.  It's as if a poet finally were free to say only the simplest things.

 

For a moment they are still again, both continuing to look, in  opposite directions, at the river.

 

 

 

 

~ Wendell Berry

excerpt from "Sonata at Payne Hollow"

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the wild rose

 

 

 

Sometimes hidden from me

in daily custom and in trust,

so that I live by you unaware

as by the beating of my heart,

 

suddenly you flare in my sight,

a wild rose blooming at the edge

of thicket, grace and light

 

where yesterday was only a shade,

and once more I am blessed, choosing

again what I chose before.

 

 

 

 

Wendell Berry

 

 

 

 

three questions

 

 

~ Leo Tolstoy

 

 

 

These teachings are like a raft

 

 

 

 

 

These teachings are like a raft, 

to be abandoned once you have crossed the flood. 

 

Since you should abandon even good states of mind generated by these teachings,

 How much more so should you abandon bad states of mind! 

 

 

Conquer the angry man by love.

 Conquer the ill-natured man by goodness. 

Conquer the miser with generosity.

 Conquer the liar with truth.

 

 

 

 

 ~  The Dhammapada

 

 

 

 

a flowing event

A living body is not a fixed thing but a flowing event, 

like a flame or a whirlpool: the shape alone is stable, 

for the substance is a stream of energy going in at one end and out at the other.

We are particularly and temporarily identifiable wiggles in a stream 

that enters us in the form of light, heat, air, water, milk, bread, fruit, beer, 

beef Stroganoff, caviar, and pate de foie gras. 

It goes out as gas and excrement - 

and also as semen, babies, talk, politics, commerce, 

war, poetry, and music. And philosophy.

~ Alan Watts

a train of discontinuous fragments

.

In listening to my patients tell me thousands of stories, 

as they try to find some peace in the present, 

I have learned this beyond the shadow of a doubt. 

 Rather than behaving sanely, rather than being in touch with our present realities, 

we human beings - all of us, myself included - 

are too often simply run by losses and hardships long gone by,

 and by our stockpiled fears.  

 

Our collective history, our individual lives, our very minds, 

bear unmistakable testimony.


Instead of receding harmlessly into the past, the darkest,

 most frightening events from our childhood and adolescence gain power 

and authority as we grow older.  The memory of such events 

causes us to depart from ourselves, psychologically speaking,

 or to separate one part of our awareness from the others.  

 

What we conceive of as an unbroken thread of consciousness is, 

instead, quite often a train of discontinuous fragments.  

Our awareness is divided.  

And much more commonly that we know, 

even our personalities are fragmented - 

disorganized team efforts trying to cope with the past -

 rather than the sane, unified wholes 

we anticipate in ourselves and in other people...








~ Martha Stout
from The Myth of Sanity, Divided Consciousness and the Promise of Awareness
art by picasso

a multitude of others

From "the incessant workings of his mind and the physical activity
 displayed by the body... nothing of all that is from him, is him."
He, physically and mentally,  is the multitude of others.

On the mental plane, this "multitude of others" includes many beings
 who are his contemporaries: people he consorts with, with whom he chats,
 whose actions he watches. ... the individual absorbs a part of the various energies
 given off by those with whom he is in contact, and these incongruous energies, 
installing themselves in that which he considers his "I",
 form a swarming throng.

To a Westerner, Plato, Zeno, Jesus, Saint Paul, Calvin, Diderot,
 Jean Jacques Rousseau, Christopher Columbus, Marco Polo, 
Napoleon, and many others constitute a diversified crowd,...

 These names are only examples. The guests, whom X shelters
 in his particular guest-house, are not at all the same
 as those who live with Y.

"that which is compound", which is constituted by the combination of elements
 as a house is made up of stones, wood, etc., is only a collection, a group
 and in no way a real "ego".  Thus the individual is empty, 
everything is empty, because one can find nothing in it 
except the parts which constitute it.

 ~ Alexandra David-Neel and Lama Yongden

from The Secret oral teachings in Tibetan Buddhist Sects

art by Picasso

behind recognizable patterns

 

 

The Buddha described what we call “self” as a collection of aggregates -

 elements of mind and body - that function interdependently, 

creating the appearance of a woman or a man. 

 

We then identify with that image or appearance, taking it to be “I” or “mine,”

 imagining it to have some inherent self-existence.

 

 For example we get up in the morning, look in the mirror,

 recognize the reflection, and think, “Yes, that’s me again.” 

We then add all kinds of concepts to this sense of self:

 I’m a woman or a man, I’m a certain age,

 I’m a happy or unhappy person –

the list goes on and on.

When we examine our experience, though,

 we see that there is not some core being to whom experience refers;

 rather it is simply “empty phenomena rolling on.”

 It is “empty” in the sense that there is no one behind 

the arising and changing phenomena to whom they happen. 

 

A rainbow is a good example of this. 

We go out after a rainstorm and feel that moment of delight 

if a rainbow appears in the sky. Mostly, we simply enjoy the sight

 without investigating the real nature of what is happening.

 But when we look more deeply, it becomes clear that there is no “thing” 

called “rainbow” apart from the particular conditions of air and moisture and light. 

 

Our sense of self is like that rainbow - 

an appearance, arising from causes and conditions, 

that we cling to as ourselves, "my identity."

 

 

 

 

 

.- Joseph Goldstein

from  Tricycle

 

 

 

 

let go

Let go 

this 'everywhere' and this 'everything' in exchange for this 

'nowhere' and this 'nothing.' 

Never mind if you cannot fathom this nothing,

for I love it surely so much better. 

 

It is so worthwhile in 

itself that no thinking about it will do it justice. 

One can feel this nothing more easily than see it, 

for it is completely dark and hidden to 

those who have only just begun to look at it. 

 

Yet to speak more accurately, 

it is overwhelming spiritual light that blinds the soul that is experiencing it, 

rather than actual darkness or the absence of physical light. 

 

Who is it then, who is it then, who is calling it 'nothing'? 

Our outer self, to be sure, not our inner. 

Our inner self calls it 'All', 

for through it he is learning the secret of all things, 

physical and spiritual alike, 

without having to consider every single one separately 

on it's own.

 

 

 

~ The Cloud of Unknowing

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