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#3900 - Friday, May 21, 2010 - Editor: Gloria Lee

Nonduality Highlights

"Any consciousness whatsoever
that is past, future, or present;
internal or external;
blatant or subtle;
common or sublime;
far or near --

every consciousness
is to be seen
as it actually is
with right discernment as:

'This is not mine.
This is not my self.
This is not what I am."  

~Anatta-lakkhana Sutta

Thanks to Bob O'Hearn  


"We must be willing to get rid of the life we've planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us.

he old skin has to be shed before the new one can come."

—Joseph Campbell    

Ascetics wander shrine to shrine,    
looking for what can only come
from visiting the soul.

Study the mystery you embody.
When you look up from that,
the dub grass looks fresher
a little ways off, and even more
green farther on.  Stay here.

                   - Lalla
                     14th Century North Indian mystic

posted to Along The Way    


And the days are not full enough
And the nights are not full enough
And life slips by like a field mouse
Not shaking the grass.

Ezra Pound






The tide rises, the tide falls,
The twilight darkens, the curlew calls;
Along the sea-sands damp and brown
The traveler hastens toward the town,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.

Darkness settles on roofs and walls,
But the sea, the sea in darkness calls;
The little waves, with their soft, white hands
Efface the footprints in the sands,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.

The morning breaks; the steeds in their stalls
Stamp and neigh, as the hostler calls;
The day returns, but nevermore
Returns the traveler to the shore.
And the tide rises, the tide falls.


- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow



From Blossoms



From blossoms comes
this brown paper bag of peaches
we bought from the joy
at the bend in the road where we turned toward
signs painted Peaches.

From laden boughs, from hands,
from sweet fellowship in the bins,
comes nectar at the roadside, succulent
peaches we devour, dusty skin and all,
comes the familiar dust of summer, dust we eat.

O, to take what we love inside,
to carry within us an orchard, to eat
not only the skin, but the shade,
not only the sugar, but the days, to hold
the fruit in our hands, adore it, then bite into
the round jubilance of peach.

There are days we live
as if death were nowhere
in the background; from joy
to joy to joy, from wing to wing,
from blossom to blossom
to impossible blossom,
to sweet impossible blossom.

Li-Young Lee


Photos by Alan Larus

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