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#1761 - Thursday, April 8, 2004 - Editor: joyce (know_mystery)
Photo: Alan Larus ~ TrueVision
music: hope.mid from http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Panhala/
Bill Kelley ~ DailyDharma archives
great sea stirs me.
The great sea sets me adrift,
It sways me like the weed on a river-stone.
sky's height stirs me.
The strong wind blows through my mind.
It carries me with it,
And moves my soul with joy.
~ an Inuit Shaman ~
From the journal, "Heron Dance," published by Heron Dance
Kristi Shelloner ~ NondualitySalon archives
The Peace of Wild Things
despair grows in me
and I wake in the middle of the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting for their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free
~ Wendell Berry ~
Lisbeth ~ Monks_Mystics
stands in the blue estuary,
~ Jan van den Pol ~
Skye Chambers/Andrew McNabb ~
Shojiro has just told me that when Fukuoka was a young man
he was a scientist (microbiologist) working for the Tokyo
quarantine when he discovered he had a illness something
like pneumonia which nearly killed him. During the illness
he thought he experienced something like *all that is*
"I was finally released from the hospital, but I could not pull myself out of my
depression. In what had I placed my confidence until then? I had been
unconcerned and content, but what was the nature of that complasensy?
I was in an agony of doubt about the nature of life and death. I could not sleep,
could not apply myself to my work. In nightly wanderings above the bluff
and beside the harbor, I could find no relief.
One night as I wandered, I collapsed in exhaustion on a hill overlooking the
harbor, finally dozing against the trunk of a large tree I lay there, neither
asleep or awake, until dawn. I can still remember that it was the morning of the 15th of May. In a daze I watched the harbor grow light, seeing the sunrise and yet somehow not seeing it. As the breeze blew up from below the bluff, the morning mist suddenly disappeared. Just at that moment a night heron appeared, gave a sharp cry, and flew away into the distance. I could hear the flapping of its wings. In an instant all my doubts and the gloomy mist of my confusion vanished. Everything I had held in firm conviction, everything upon which I had ordinarily relied was swept away with the wind. I felt that I understood just one thing. Without my thinking about them, words came from my mouth: "In this world there is nothing at all..." I felt that I understood nothing. I could see that all the concepts to which I had been clinging, the very notion of existence itself, were empty fabrications. My spirit became light and clear. I was dancing wildly for joy. I could hear the small birds chirping in the trees, and see the distant waves glistening in the rising sun. The leaves danced green and sparkling. I felt that this was truly heaven on earth. Everything that had possessed me, all my agonies, disappeared like dreams and illusions, and something one might call "true nature" stood revealed.
I think it could safely be said that from the experience of that morning my
life changed completely."
Freyja ~ NondualitySalon archives
Alan Larus ~ TrueVision archives
Blue Heron's Relaxing Front Porch And I just wondered
Is the Blue Heron the bird
I saw this summer,
when I was swimming in the lake.
I did not move at all, it came to look for fish
spotting me just above my head,
and my search engine gives me
Blue Heron Softshell Inn
Blue Heron Pines
Blue Heron Rafting
Blue Heron Environmental Network
Blue Heron Catering
Blue Heron Realty
Blue Heron boating adventure
Blue Heron Guide Service
Blue Heron Kayak Tours
Great Blue Heron Records
and need a Blue Heron Softshell Case
while someone on the radio sings
'what do you do in the bath?'
Finally, number 62, it was
the same bird
and a photo too
~ Alan ~
Mace Mealer ~ Illuminata archives
~ Mace Mealer ~
Panhala ~ Joe Riley
Rises from the Dark, Summer Pond
is the long-necked, long-bodied heron,
always it is a surprise
when her smoke-colored wings
and she turns
from the thick water,
from the black sticks
of the summer pond,
rises into the air
and is gone.
Then, not for the first or the last time,
I take the deep breath
of happiness, and I think
how unlikely it is
that death is a hole in the ground,
that ascension is not possible,
though everything seems so inert, so nailed
back into itself --
the muskrat and his lumpy lodge,
the fallen gate.
And especially it is wonderful
that the summers are long
and the ponds so dark and so many,
and therefore it isn't a miracle
but the common thing,
this trailing of the long legs in the water,
this opening up of the heavy body
into a new life: see how the sudden
gray-blue sheets of her wings
strive toward the wind; see how the clasp of nothing
takes her in.
~ Mary Oliver ~
(What Do We Know:Poems and Prose Poems)
|Photo: Alan Larus ~ TrueVision|
Panhala ~ Joe Riley
This dream the world is having about itself
includes a trace on the plains of the Oregon trail,
a groove in the grass my father showed us all
one day while meadowlarks were trying to tell
something better about to happen.
I dreamed the trace to the mountains, over the hills,
and there a girl who belonged wherever she was.
But then my mother called us back to the car:
she was afraid; she always blamed the place,
the time, anything my father planned.
Now both of my parents, the long line through the plain,
the meadowlarks, the sky, the world's whole dream
remain, and I hear him say while I stand between the two,
helpless, both of them part of me:
"Your job is to find what the world is trying to be."
~ William Stafford ~
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150. Fingers pointing at the moon,
The heron's cry in the snow;
Standing in the moonlight,
How alike we are.
151. Breeze through the reeds,
Birds on the rippling waters,
effortless their coming and going,
Willow shadow on the bank.
152. Incense smell of pines,
Subtle in its inspiration,
Sitting in the smoke shadow,
Dreaming of stillness.
~ By Rev. Tasogare Shinju ~
From "Rememberance of Buddha"
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