|Dr. Robert Puff|
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#2744 - Wednesday, February 28, 2007 - Editor: Gloria Lee
Just put thoughts to rest
and don't seek outwardly anymore.
When things come up, then give them your attention;
just trust what is functional in you at present,
and you have nothing to be concerned about.
In the case of
archery, the hitter and the hit are no longer two
opposing objects, but are one reality.... Zen is the everyday mind, as
was proclaimed by Baso (Ma-tsu, died 788); this everyday mind is no
more than sleeping when tired, eating when hungry. As soon as we
reflect, deliberate, and conceptualize, the original unconsciousness is
lost and a thought interferes. We no longer eat while eating, we no
longer sleep while sleeping. The arrow is off the string but does not
fly straight to the target, nor does the target stand where it is.
Calculation which is miscalculation sets in.
--D.T. Suzuki, in Eugen
Herrigels Zen and the Art of Archery
Mother of the
I have no desire to exercise power.
I would not even care to be an emperor.
Sweet Mother, please grant me
two simple meals each day
and wealth enough to thatch the palm roof
of my clean earthen house,
where I offer dreaming and waking
as red flowers at your feet
From "Teachings of the Hindu Mystics," by Andrew Harvey
As a blind man
feels when he finds a pearl in a dustbin, so am I amazed
by the miracles of awakening rising in my consciousness. It is the nectar
of immortality that delivers us from death, the treasure that lifts us
from death, the treasure that lifts us above poverty into the wealth of
giving to life, the tree that gives shade to us when we roam about
scorched by life, the bridge that takes us across the stormy river of
life, the cool moon of compassion that calms our mind when it is
agitated, the fun that dispels darkness, the butter made from the milk
of kindness by churning it with the dharma. It is a feast of joy to which
all are invited.
--adapted from the Bodhicharyavatara by Shantideva
Sabbaths 1999, VII
resume the long
lesson: how small a thing
can be pleasing, how little
in this hard world it takes
to satisfy the mind
and bring it to its rest.
the woods this morning is
almost unnaturally still.
Through stalled air, unshadowed
light, a few leaves fall
of their own weight.
is gray. It begins in mist
almost at the ground
and rises forever.
rise in silence almost
natural, but not quite,
almost eternal, but
think I wanted?
what has always been.
Here is what will always
be. Even in me,
the Maker of all this
returns in rest, even
to the slightest of His works,
a yellow leaf slowly
falling, and is pleased.
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