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This issue is a Goddess Sandwich.
Mmmmmm. Thin slices of
Thanks to Martha, Gabriel, and Vicki for these contributions.
Zen Judaism (contributed by
* If there is no self,
whose arthritis is this?
* Be here now.
Be someplace else later.
Is that so complicated?
* Drink tea and nourish life.
With the first sip... joy.
With the second... satisfaction.
With the third, peace.
With the fourth, a danish.
* Wherever you go, there you are.
Your luggage is another story.
* Accept misfortune as a blessing.
Do not wish for perfect health
or a life without problems.
What would you talk about?
* The journey of a thousand miles
begins with a single "oy".
* There is no escaping karma.
In a previous life, you never called,
you never wrote, you never visited.
And whose fault was that?
* Zen is not easy.
It takes effort to attain nothingness.
And then what do you have?
* The Tao does not speak.
The Tao does not blame.
The Tao does not take sides.
The Tao has no expectations.
The Tao demands nothing of others.
The Tao is not Jewish.
* Breathe in. Breathe out.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Forget this, and attaining Enlightenment
will be the least of your problems.
* Be patient and achieve all things.
Be impatient and achieve all things faster.
* To Find the Buddha, look within.
Deep inside you are ten thousand flowers.
Each flower blossoms ten thousand times.
Each blossom has ten thousand petals.
You might want to see a specialist.
* To practice Zen and the art of Jewish
motorcycle maintenance, do the following:
get rid of the motorcycle.
What were you thinking?
* Be aware of your body.
Be aware of your perceptions.
Keep in mind that not every physical
sensation is a symptom of terminal illness.
* The Torah says,"Love thy neighbor as thyself.
The Buddha says there is no "self."
So maybe you are off the hook.
* The Buddha taught that one should practice loving
kindness to all sentient beings.
Still, would it kill you to find a nice sentient being
who happens to be Jewish?
(Selection from a work in progress)
Year of the Goddess
One does not often think of the tripartite goddess who gave her name to Ireland - Éire, Banba, Fódla - not to mention other goddesses who have left their trace on the landscape, Danu of the Paps of Danu for instance.
Devotional poetry in India goes by the name of bhakti. In the heel of the hunt, a bhakta does not really adore or pine for any god or goddess; as with Mirabais love affair with Krishna, what is sought is the brightness of eternal brightness, our shared Self.
Some words are shaded in the text to allow for another reading of a line, or a faint echo, a game much cherished by the Celtic poets of of yore.
Ní thagann orm suan
Nuair nach gcodlaíonn Tusa riamh
Cé eile dfhairfeadh do dhúiseacht
Ach an té a dhúisigh mé?
Sleep does not come to me
You never slumber
Who else to keep watch over Your wakefulness
But the one You awakened?
Tostdán amháin a dhéanfaidh cúis
A raghadh go broinn Do thosta
Sularbh ann do na siollaí
Is don rím
Tostdán Do bheith ionam an chéad lá
An mhaidin úd nuair nárbh ann ach Dfholt
Sular fhéachas isteach i Do dhá shúil ghorma
Sular tháinig Dosnasa chun mo bhéil
Only a poem of silence will suffice
To penetrate the womb of Your silence
Before syllables were created
The silent poem of my first being in You
That morning when there was nothing but Your hair
Before I looked into Your blue eyes
Before Your sigh came to my lips
Is Tú an neantóg
Is Tú an chopóg
Is Tú an phian
Is tú an balsam
Is Tú an scáth
Is Tú an ghrian
Is Tú an oíche a chlúdaíonn iad go léir
Is eol Duitse go cruinn
Cathain a stopfaidh na héin dá n-iomann
Is nuair a thosnóidh arís
Mar i gciúnas do chroí
Is Tú a chéadchum na nótaí
You are the nettle
You the dock leaf
You the pain
You the balm
You the shade
You the sun
Night that cloaks all
You know precisely
When birds must cease their hymn
And when it will start all over again:
In the silence of Your heart
The notes were first composed
Ní chuirfidh sé eolas ar Do bhliain
Ná ar mhí seo na gcaisearbhán
Atá chomh buí sin
Gur buí ar feadh na maidine é
Éamh na bhfaoileán
It will never know Your year
Or this month of dandelions
That all morning
Even the cry of seagulls is yellow
Are you allowed more than one leap into the void? Because I am thinking
that one will never be enough. Sometimes I stand right on the very edge
of personal eclipse and take a giant leap. It doesn't take me long to
discover that apparently I am unable to distinguish the void from the
voice in my head. Yadda, yadda, yadda says the would-be jumper.
The void is a terrible place to be, apparently. No one ever returns to
describe it to us. Unless they make a movie about it with Drew
Barrymore, no one will ever know. Some days I am strongly drawn to
jump, hoping to avoid more of me, myself and I--the eternal triangle.
All we do is fight.
The void cannot be reached nor plumbed. Bennifer can't go
there....ever. There are no reruns of the void. No hand-stamping or
thumb-wrestling can ever get you back in. Ooh, I'm scared. What if the
void sneaks up on me while I am asleep or watching Oprah. Will it wait
while I go tinkle? I dare it to do its worst.
I usually blame things on my mother or on the related fact that she did
not send me to kindergarten. All excuses are rejected by the void. It
is kin to her in that respect. I should have done more, Mr.
Void....Mrs. Void, Ms. Void.
Okay, I am running on. But so does the void. I must have the last
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