Sunday, October 9, 2011

the silence



.
.



How many of your birthdays
I have by now been
glad of!  And all that time
I've been trying to tell you
how with you was born
my truest life and most 
desired, the better man
by your birth I am, however
fallen short. I'll never
get it right by half.
Between us, by now, what
is more telling than the silence
in which once more an old 
redbud simply blooms?
.







~ Wendell Berry
photo by Eliot Porter


Thursday, October 6, 2011

on creativity





.
When I am, as it were, completely myself, entirely alone, and of good cheer - say, traveling in a carriage, or walking after a good meal, or during the night when I cannot sleep; it is on such occasions that my ideas flow best and most abundantly.  Whence and how they come, I know not; nor can I force them...

When I proceed to write, the committing to paper is done quickly enough, for everything is, as I said before, already finished... But why my productions take from my hand that particular form and style that makes them Mozartish, and different from the works of other composers, is probably owing to the same cause which renders my nose so large or so aquiline, or, in short, make it Mozart's, and different from those other people. For I really do not study or aim at originality.


~ Mozart
translation by Edward Holmes

Mozart as a child, painted by Greuze



You will write if you will write without thinking of the result in terms of a result, but think of the writing in terms of discovery, which is to say that creation must take place between the pen and the paper, not before in a thought or afterwards in a recasting.  Yes, before in a thought , but not in careful thinking.  It will come if it is there and if you will let it come, and if you have anything you will get a sudden creative recognition... The great thing is not ever to think about form but let it come.  Does that sound strange from me?  They have accused me of thinking about nothing else.  Do you see the real joke?  It is the critics who have really thought about form always, and I have thought about - writing!


~ Gertrude Stein





The artist is a receptacle of emotions come from no matter where: from the sky, the earth, a piece of paper, a passing figure, a cobweb. This is why one must not discriminate between things.  There is no rank among them.  One must take one's good where one finds it...

When we invented cubism, we had no intention of inventing cubism, but simply of expressing what was in us. Nobody drew up a program of action, and through our friends the poets followed our efforts attentively, they never dictated to us.  The young painter of today often outline a program for themselves to follow and try to do their assignments correctly like well-behaved schoolboys.

The painter passes through states of fullness and emptying.  That is the whole secret of art.


~ Pablo Picasso
translated by Brewster Ghiselin





quotations taken here from Nine Gates - Entering the Mind of Poetry
by Jane Hirshfield




Wednesday, October 5, 2011

the ancient womb







The world rests in the night. 
Trees, mountains, fields, and faces are released from the prison of shape and the burden of exposure. 
Each thing creeps back into its own nature within the shelter of the dark. 
Darkness is the ancient womb. 
Nighttime is womb- time. Our souls come out to play. 
The darkness absolves everything; 
the struggle for identity and impression falls away. 
We rest in the night.






~ John O’Donohue 
from  Anam Cara: A Book of Celtic Wisdom




the unseeable animal










.

My Daughter: "I hope there's an animal
Somewhere that nobody has ever seen.
And I hope nobody ever sees it."

Being, whose flesh dissolves
at our glance, knower
of the secret sums and measures,
you are always here,
dwelling in the oldest sycamores,
visiting the faithful springs
when they are dark and the foxes
have crept to their edges.
I have come upon pools
in streams, places overgrown
with the woods' shadow,
where I knew you had rested,
watching the little fish 
hang still in the flow;
as I approached they seemed
particles of your clear mind
disappearing among the rocks.
I have waked deep in the woods
in the early morning, sure
that while I slept
your gaze passed over me.
That we do not know you
is your perfection
and our hope. The darkness
keeps us near you.





~ Wendell Berry
from The Selected Poems of Wendell Berry





the rain







.


All night the sound had 
come back again, 
and again falls 
this quiet, persistent rain. 

What am I to myself 
that must be remembered, 
insisted upon 
so often? Is it 

that never the ease, 
even the hardness, 
of rain falling 
will have for me 

something other than this, 
something not so insistent— 
am I to be locked in this 
final uneasiness. 

Love, if you love me, 
lie next to me. 
Be for me, like rain, 
the getting out 

of the tiredness, the fatuousness, the semi- 
lust of intentional indifference. 
Be wet 
with a decent happiness.




~ Robert Creeley
with thanks to the mark on the wall





Tuesday, October 4, 2011

time and space?






We tend to misunderstand the nature, 
and exaggerate the importance, of "time" and "space."

There are no such "things" (they do not exist in their own right):
 these come into apparent existence, i.e. they "function"
 only as a mechanism whereby events, extended spatially and sequentially, 
may become cognizable. 
 
 They accompany events and render their development realizable.
   In themselves they have no existence whatever.  They are appearances, 
and their apparent existence is deduced from the events they accompany
 and render perceptible.  They are hypothetical,
 like the "ether," symbols, like algebra, psychic inferences to aid 
in the cognizance of the universe we objectify,
 and they neither preexist, nor survive apart from, 
the events they accompany, but are utilized in function
 of each such event as it occurs.

Where there is no event there is no need of "time" or of "space"
 - and in their absence we are no longer in bondage- 
for there is no one to believe that he is bound.

Time is only an inference, devised in an effort to explain growth, 
development, extension and change, which constitute a further direction 
of measurement beyond the three that we know 
and at right-angles to volume; and "past," "present" and "future" 
are inferences derived from this temporal interpretation 
of the further dimension in which extension appears to occur. 
 
 All forms of temporality, therefore, are conceptual and imagined.




~ Wei Wu Wei
from Open Secret





Monday, October 3, 2011

this rain





.


Some Sunday afternoon, it may be,
you are sitting under your porch roof,
looking down through the trees
to the river, watching the rain.  The circles
make by the raindrops' striking
expand, intersect, dissolve,

and suddenly (for you are getting on
now, and much of your life is memory)
the hands of the dead, who have been here
with you, rest upon you tenderly
as the rain rests shining
upon the leaves.  And you think then

(for thought will come) of the strangeness
of the thought of Heaven, for now
you have imagined yourself there,
remembering with longing this 
happiness, this rain.  Sometimes here
we are there, and there is no death.





~ Wendell Berry
from A Timbered Choir
photo by laffy4k






Saturday, October 1, 2011

the great harvest





.

Consider the vast crop is thus annually shed upon the earth.  
This, more than any mere grain or seed, is the great harvest of the year.  
This annual decay and death, this dying by inches, 
before the whole tree at last lies down and turns to soil.  
As trees shed their leaves, so deer their horns, and men their hair or nails.  
The year's great crop.   
I am more interested in it than in the English grass alone or in the corn.  
It prepares the virgin mold for future cornfields on which the earth fattens.  
They teach us how to die.



~ Henry David Thoreau
from his journal entry, 1853




the wren from Carolina





.


Just now the wren from Carolina buzzed
through the neighbor's hedge
a line of grace notes I couldn't even write down
much less sing.

Now he lifts his chestnut colored throat
and delivers such a cantering praise -
for what?
For the early morning, the taste of the spider,

for his small cup of life
that he drinks from every day, knowing it will refill.
All things are inventions of holiness.
Some more rascally than others.

I'm on that list too,
though I don't know exactly where.
But every morning, there's my own cup of gladness,
and there's that wren in the hedge, above me, with his

blazing song.




~ Mary Oliver
from Why I Wake Early




Thursday, September 29, 2011

overtone





.


Some listening were certain they could hear
through the notes summoned from the strings one more
following at a distance low but clear
a resonance never part of the score
not noticed during the rehearsals nor
prayed into the performance and yet here
with the first note it had been waiting for
holding silent the iced minors of fear
the key of grief the mourning from before
the names were read of those no longer there
that sound of what made no sound any more
made up the cords that in a later year
some still believed that they could overhear
echoing music played during a war






~ W.S. Merwin
from The Pupil






the pear




.

November. One pear
sways on the tree past leaves, past reason.
In the nursing home, my friend has fallen.
Chased, he said, from the freckled woods
by angry Thoreau, Coleridge, and Beaumarchais.
Delusion too, it seems, can be well-read.
He is courteous, well-spoken even in dread.
The old fineness in him hangs on
for dear life. "My mind now?
A small ship under the wake of a large.
They force you to walk on your heels here,
the angles matter.  Four or five degrees,
and you're lost." Life is dear to him yet,
though he believes it his own fault he grieves,
his own fault his old friends have turned against him
like crows against an injured of their kind.
There is no kindness here, no flint of mercy.
Descend, descend,
some voice must urge, inside the pear-stem.
The argument goes on, he cannot outrun it.
Dawnlight to dawnlight, I look: it is still there.




~ Jane Hirshfield 
from Come, Thief
art by janis zroback







only a state of being



.



There is in fact only one state, 
not two states such as the conscious and the unconscious there is only a state of being, 
which is consciousness, 
though you may divide it as the conscious and the unconscious. 
But that consciousness is always of the past, never of the present; 
you are conscious only of things that are over. 
You are conscious of what I am trying to convey the second afterwards, are you not? 
You understand it a moment later. 
You are never conscious or aware of the now. 
Watch your own hearts and minds and you will see that 
consciousness is functioning between the past and the future 
and that the present is merely a passage of the past to the future.

If you watch your own mind at work, 
you will see that the movement to the past and to the future is a process in which the present is not. 
Either the past is a means of escape from the present, which may be unpleasant, 
or the future is a hope away from the present. 

So the mind is occupied with the past or with the future and sloughs off the present. 
It either condemns and rejects the fact or accepts and identifies itself with the fact. 
Such a mind is obviously not capable of seeing any fact as a fact. 
That is our state of consciousness, which is conditioned by the past and our thought, 
is the conditioned response to the challenge of a fact; 
the more you respond according to the conditioning of belief, of the past, 
the more there is strengthening of the past.

That strengthening of the past is obviously the continuity of itself, which it calls the future. 
So that is the state of our mind, 
of our consciousness;a pendulum swinging backwards and forwards between the past and the future.







~ J. Krishnamurti
from The Book of Life






Wednesday, September 28, 2011

look at love






.



look at love
how it tangles
with the one fallen in love

look at spirit
how it fuses with earth
giving it new life
why are you so busy
with this or that or good or bad
pay attention to how things blend

why talk about all
the known and the unknown
see how the unknown merges into the known

why think separately
of this life and the next
when one is born from the last

look at your heart and tongue
one feels but deaf and dumb
the other speaks in words and signs

look at water and fire
earth and wind
enemies and friends all at once

the wolf and the lamb
the lion and the deer
far away yet together

look at the unity of this
spring and winter
manifested in the equinox

you too must mingle my friends
since the earth and the sky
are mingled just for you and me

be like sugarcane
sweet yet silent
don't get mixed up with bitter words

my beloved grows right out of my own heart
how much more union can there be






~ Rumi
from Fountain of Fire
translated by Nader Khalili
art by klimt




Monday, September 26, 2011

no entity



.


There is no entity separate from craving; there is only craving, there is no one who craves. 
Craving takes on different masks at different times, depending on its interests.

The memory of these varying interests meets the new, which brings about conflict, 
and so the chooser is born, 
establishing himself as an entity separate and distinct from craving.

But the entity is not different from its qualities. 
The entity who tries to fill or run away from emptiness, incompleteness, loneliness, 
is not different from that which he is avoiding; he is it. 

He cannot run away from himself; all that he can do is to understand himself. 
He is his loneliness, his emptiness; 
and as long as he regards it as something separate from himself;
 he will be in illusion and endless conflict. 
When he directly experiences that he is his own loneliness, 
then only can there be freedom from fear. 

Fear exists only in relationship to an idea, and idea is the response of memory as thought. 
Thought is the result of experience; and though it can ponder over emptiness,
 have sensations with regard to it, it cannot know emptiness directly. 

The word loneliness, with its memories of pain and fear, prevents the experiencing of it afresh. 
The word is memory, and when the word is no longer significant,
then the relationship between the experiencer and the experienced is wholly different; 
then that relationship is direct and not through a word, through memory; 
then the experiencer is the experience, 
which alone brings freedom from fear.






~ J. Krishnamurti
from The Book of Life





Sunday, September 18, 2011

nothing to gain









.

There is nothing to gain. 
Abandon all imaginings and know yourself as you are. 
...

All craving is due to a sense of insufficiency. 
When you know that you lack nothing, 
that all there is, is you and yours, desire ceases.







~ Nisargadatta Maharaj