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Issue #2740, Saturday, February
24, 2007, Editor: mark
To write something
and leave it behind us,
It is but a dream.
When we awake we know
There is not even anyone to read it.
- Ikkyu, posted to DailyDharma
Just lying on the couch and being happy.
Only humming a little, the quiet sound in the head.
Trouble is busy elsewhere at the moment, it has
so much to do in the world.
People who might judge are mostly asleep; they can't
monitor you all the time, and sometimes they forget.
When dawn flows over the hedge you can
get up and act busy.
Little corners like this, pieces of Heaven
left lying around, can be picked up and saved.
People wont even see that you have them,
they are so light and easy to hide.
Later in the day you can act like the others.
You can shake your head. You can frown.
- William Stafford, posted to Panhala
We seem not to see that, as we march towards
the next anticipated "spiritual" high, the treasure
that we seek is to be discovered not in where we
are going, but within the simple nature of the very
footsteps that we take. In our rush to find a better
situation in time, we trample over the flower of
beingness that presents itself in every moment.
- Tony Parsons, As It Is - The Open Secret of Spiritual Awakening, posted to AlongTheWay
The penetrating intellect, when separated from its friends,
becomes like an archer whose bow is broken.
When something makes you rejoice in this world,
consider at that moment the parting from it.
Many have been gladdened by what made you glad,
yet in the end like the wind it escaped.
It will escape from you, too: don't set your heart upon it.
Escape from it before it flies from you.
Before the slipping away of your possessions,
say to the form of created things, like Mary,
"I take refuge from you with the Merciful God."*
- Rumi, Mathnawi III: 3693; 3698-3700, version by Camille and Kabir Helminski, Rumi: Jewels of Remembrance
Every natural object
is a conductor of
Divinity .. .
on a mountain top
it is easy to realize that ...
Whatever special nests we make ...
leaves and moss like the marmots and birds
or tents of piled stone ...
We all dwell
in a house of
- John Muir, posted to Mystic_Spirit
All this time
The sun never says to the earth,
With a love like that;
It lights the
- Hafiz, posted to DailyDharma
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