|Dr. Robert Puff|
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Issue #2384 - Sunday, February 5, 2006 - Editor: Gloria Lee
the eleventh month
Snow falls thick and fast.
A thousand mountains, one color.
People of the world passing this way are few.
Dense grass conceals the door.
All night in silence, a few woodchips burn slowly
As I read the poems of the ancients.
- Taken from "One Robe, One Bowl The Zen Poetry of Ryokan"
trans. by John Stevens(1981) Weatherhill
on the cliffs of the heart
Exposed on the cliffs of the heart. Look, how tiny down there,
look: the last village of words and, higher,
(but how tiny) still one last
farmhouse of feeling. Can you see it?
Exposed on the cliffs of the heart. Stoneground
under your hands. Even here, though,
something can bloom; on a silent cliff-edge
an unknowing plant blooms, singing, into the air.
But the one who knows? Ah, he began to know
and is quiet now, exposed on the cliffs of the heart.
While, with their full awareness,
many sure-footed mountain animals pass
or linger. And the great sheltered bird flies, slowly
circling, around the peak's pure denial.--But
without a shelter, here on the cliffs of the heart...
Rainer Maria Rilke
(trans. by Stephen Mitchell)
posted by Mazie Lane to Allspirit
I am in love with the winter sky today; in love with the smudged charcoal and cool steel that somehow lend a certain substance...a certain reality. Its soft light is soothing to the eyes today. There are colors in the world...but it is as if they wish to be less obtrusive, more subtle...easy. Even sound travels through this thickness differently. It is muffled and more gentle. Mood is neither buoyant, nor does it sink under this weight, which is rather like a gray wool about my shoulders. The whole world feels somehow soft... listening...and very present. As the winter sky becomes the night sky once again, I think: What sky shall I love tomorrow?
by Aly to nondualnow
The clouds that wander through the sky
have no roots, no home,
Nor do the distinctive thoughts floating through the mind.
Once the Self-mind is seen,
-Tilopa, "The Song of Mahamudra"
From "Teachings of the Buddha," edited by Jack Kornfield, 1993
is what remains
after you lose
all your beliefs.
posted to Allspirit
Resistance does not mean walls and
fences, nonresistance does not mean open space. If you can
understand in this way, mind and matter are fundamentally the
From "The Pocket Zen Reader," edited by Thomas Cleary, 1999
Alan Larus writing from: http://www.harshasatsangh.net/blog/
A picture of my friend Steinar last
as we crossed the lake Sandungen( = Sandy child : )
I prefer cross-country skiing.
Most of the winter I ski on the east side of the country.
The hills and mountains are not so steep.
Here it is possible to find a flow deep into the forest,
and there is no shaking of the body as with running.
The right rhythm requires little energy and gives a pleasant heat in the body.
On the west coast the mountains are steep, there are vast areas without people or tracks
and skiing here is a different story : )
From Stranda ( = The beach, it is down below : ) on the west coast.
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