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#3669 - Monday, September 28, 2009 - Editor: Gloria Lee

The Nonduality Highlights -    

To Be Shown to the Monks at a Certain Temple

By Chiao Jan
(730 - 799)

English version by J. P. Seaton

Not yet to the shore of nondoing,
it's silly to be sad you're not moored yet...
Eastmount's white clouds say
to keep on moving, even
if it's evening, even if it's fall.


-- from The Shambhala Anthology of Chinese Poetry, Edited by J. P. Seaton

Unconscious people read the scriptures
like parrots saying Ram, Ram,
in their cages.

It's all pretend-knowledge.
Read rather, with me, every
living moment as prophecy.

- Lalla
  14th Century North Indian mystic

` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` 

From "Naked Song"
Versions by Coleman Barks
posted to Along THe Way  


the diner

Jul. 23rd, 2005 | 12:33 pm

I’ve just returned from the Double-T diner where I sat at the counter drinking stale black coffee. I was fortunate enough to be joined by Arnie on my right, a 71 year old moon-faced Virginian who is an expert on politics, religion, marriage, and waitresses, and by Samuel on my left, an even older man with coal-black skin and a beaming jack-o-lantern smile.

Between the two of them, I learned why the world is as deeply screwed up as it is and precisely what needs to be done about it (did you know, for instance, that the solution to any problem can be found in the book of Ezekial?). I was given the sort of advice on choosing a wife that you just can’t buy from any therapist. I also learned the history of our waitress, Ida, and how to make her laugh so that you can watch her eyes squint with pleasure until you can’t help but laugh along with her.

I’ve been at this counter many times before, sitting alone with the latest issue of The New Yorker, sipping coffee and keeping my eyes down; if someone sits next to me, I ignore them as politely as I can. But this morning I looked up, and discovered that the entire place was shimmering with light. The paper napkin dispenser, the stacks of coffee-stained cups and saucers, the cart of bused silverware and crumpled sugar packets, the loose change sitting idly on the faux-granite counter—all of it alive and vibrant; all of it singing its heart out for anyone with ears to hear.

And I got to meet these two old sages, either of whom could have been my father, and listen to their sutras. I got to see the creases on their faces and hands, the worn pathways of so many forgotten journeys. I got to shake those hands, strong hands that have touched and held so much, that have built ingenious devices, folded newspapers, signed checks, wiped away tears; I got to shake hands with these men and feel as if we were pals forever.

I didn’t know any of this before leaving my house. I knew only that I was hungry. I just didn’t have any idea what it was I hungered for.

Now I know.  

--Dan Honemann   posted to Wisdom-l by Mark Scorelle  

Just Thinking
Got up on a cool morning. Leaned out a window.
No cloud, no wind. Air
that flowers held
for awhile. Some dove somewhere.
Been on probation most of my life. And
the rest of my life been condemned.
So these moments
count for a lot—peace, you know.
Let the bucket of memory down into the well,
bring it up. Cool, cool
minutes. No one
stirring, no plans. Just being there.
This is what the whole thing is about. 
~    ~   ~
When I Met My Muse
I glanced at her and took my glasses
off—they were still singing. They
like a locust on the coffee table and then
ceased. Her voice belled
forth, and the
sunlight bent. I felt the ceiling arch, and
knew that nails
up there took a new grip
on whatever they touched. "I am your own
way of
looking at things," she said. "When
you allow me to live with you,
glance at the world around you will be
a sort of salvation." And I
took her hand.            

--William Stafford   posted to Daily Dharma by Amrita Nadi

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