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Jerry Katz
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#1618 - Sunday, November 16, 2003 - Editor: Gloria  

A hundred times every day I remind myself that my inner and outer life are based on the labor of others, living and dead, and that I must exert myself in order to give in the same measure as I have received and am receiving.  -Albert Einstein

William Blake Whirlwind of Lovers (Illustration to Dante's Inferno)
Birmingham Art Gallery

The Divine Image

To Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love,
All pray in their distress:
And to these virtues of delight
Return their thankfulness.

For Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love,
Is God, our father dear:
And Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love,
Is Man, his child and care.

For Mercy has a human heart,
Pity, a human face:
And Love, the human form divine,
And Peace, the human dress.

Then every man of every clime,
That prays in his distress,
Prays to the human form divine,
Love, Mercy, Pity, Peace.

And all must love the human form,
In heathen, Turk, or Jew.
Where Mercy, Love, & Pity dwell,
There God is dwelling too.
Glad Day 


The Ancient of Days
1794; Relief etching with watercolor, 23.3 x 16.8 cm; British Museum, London


Daily Dharma

"Today we have little choice but to assimilate all we
experience into our spiritual lives; it is all grist for the
mill, manure on fertile fields of spiritual flowers. The
sacred and the mundane are inseparable. Your life is your
path. It's not helpful to wait until you have more time for
meditation or contemplation, because it may never happen."
~Lama Surya Das

Gill Eardley ~ Allspirit Inspiration

~ You, you only, exist ~
Rainer Maria Rilke

You, you only, exist.
*We* pass away, till at last,
our passing is so immense
that you arise: beautiful moment,
in all your suddenness,
arising in love, or enchanted
in the contraction of work.

To you I belong, however time may
wear me away. From you to you
I go commanded. In between
the garland is hanging in chance; but if you
take it up and up and up: look:
all becomes festival!

Translated by Stephen Mitchell


~ Some Questions You Might Ask ~
Mary Oliver

Is the soul solid, like iron?
Or is it tender and breakable, like
the wings of a moth in the beak of the owl?
Who has it, and who doesn't?
I keep looking around me.
The face of the moose is as sad
as the face of Jesus.
The swan opens her white wings slowly.
In the fall, the black bear carries leaves into the darkness.
One question leads to another.
Does it have a shape? Like an iceberg?
Like the eye of a hummingbird?
Does it have one lung, like the snake and the scallop?
Why should I have it, and not the anteater
who loves her children?
Why should I have it, and not the camel?
Come to think of it, what about the maple trees?
What about the blue iris?
What about all the little stones, sitting alone in the moonlight?
What about roses, and lemons, and their shining leaves?
What about the grass?

Sam Pasiencier ~ NDS

Does the Koala have Buddha nature?

This is the happiest looking creature I have seen for some time.

  It could be the Eucalyptus leaves they are always chewing. It could be the Buddha nature. Then again maybe the Koala just isn't there...If there were a G_d he must have been in a good mood when he made this creature.  

For more information you may join the new list [email protected]  

Hi fellow Salonies it is good to be away, it is good to be back.  

cheers from sam

Mary Bianco ~ NDSN  

Spiritual photography Photographer captures beauty of the North

"I always remember when we came back to the airport at Resolute Bay. We were back in the land of sound systems and radios. The noises seemed so strange to our ears after being isolated for a time. So much of the Arctic was calm, quiet and serene."

There was an awakening of sorts within Dommasch, too, because on his trips to the Arctic grew an appreciation of how the First Nations people were in tune with nature.

"I experienced the might of the creator, whoever it might be, a closer connection to the Natives, the knowledge that a greater sensitivity in an art form which I already considered an amazing gift. 

Alan Larus photo:    

- Journeys on Mind Mountain

On That Side, beyond the clouds,
The mountain is blue-green as jade
The white clouds on the mountain
Are whiter than white
From the spring on the mountain,
Drop after drop
Who knows how to see the face
In the white clouds?
Clear skies and rain have their times,
They’re like lightening
Who knows how to listen to the
Sound of this spring?
It flows on without stopping
Through thousands
And thousands of turns
The moment before thought is
Already wrong
To try to say anything further
Is embarrassing.

- T’aego (1301-1382)

Chris ~ Look for  Yourself  

"aah, give us a break"  

Break for story.

So, in 1978, i was painting buildings in San Francisco. I met this guy
'Ed the Red', (red beard), through a tattoo artist amigo of a lady I was
living with. Ed painted frames and gas tanks at Frisco Choppers, and
used to ride with the Hells Angels on weekends. He had a '48 hawg with a
suicide clutch and about a 4 inch sissy bar which was not a whole lot of
help if you were riding behind Ed.

So Ed had rigging, rope falls, and his brother managed a paint store,
and he was a pretty good painter, so I met this other guy, Wayne, who
was a former Warlord of the Wah Ching. Wayne was an interesting guy. A
year or two earlier, he was in the joint looking at 25 to life for
conspiracy, bombmaking and stuff. He had been in for around a year when
he had a Satori, and then somebody discovered a technicality in his
case, and he was cut loose, and did not seem to be about to repeat his
youthful mistake. Maybe the authorities perceived something.

So Wayne's father had some big wooden buildings in Chinatown, and I got
Ed, and we went to work on them.

So the day would start like, call Ed, wake him up. 15 minutes later,
call Ed, wake him up again. Then, wait for Ed. Maybe a half hour, Ed
shows up. Give Ed coffee. Now he is awake.

Then ride to Chinatown on the back of Ed's chopper.

Now I am not going to put my arms around Ed, nor will I rest my dainty
cheek upon his brawny shoulder, not even in San Francisco. Not ever. Not

And so, I have to take this ride every morning with my arms crossed in
front of me like a wooden Indian in front of a cigar store, with a few
inches of support for the very lower spine in case Ed decides to pop the

And he sometimes gets up to 85 in the Stockton tunnel.

Every once in awhile, he pops the clutch, and feels one hand slam down
on the top of his shoulder, in a manly gesture of the impulse that
immediately preceeds terror. (There is no time for terror to register.)

Then he laughs. Haa, Haa, Haaaaaaaa.

So anyhow, that is how I used to go to work in the morning in 1978.

Well, Ed had a tattoo on one oversized bicep. It was 'Tweety Bird' the
Walt Disney nemises of Sylvester the Cat. And there was a caption.

"Who me?"

So, Ramana Maharshi said 'Nan Yar?' He never said "Who Am I?". That is a
bunch of bullshit made up by pandits and european seekers.

No wonder I never got it.

What most likely happened is, he saw the pandits and european seekers
scrambling all over Arunachala, and they converged on him with great
excitement, surrounding him and asking him all kinds of questions,
and he said the first thing that anybody would say under those
i.e. "Who me?"

And the rest, as they say, is history.


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Nonduality: The Varieties of Expression Home

Jerry Katz
photography & writings

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