#4859 - Monday, March 4, 2013 - Editor: Gloria Lee
The analysis of pointers is pointless.
"You're either attaching to your thoughts or inquiring. There's no
photo by Yasar Koç
All of the "words of wisdom" are in your own heart,
so why waste time
listening to someone else speak them?
The Buddhadharma is the same.
principles in the sutras come from our own hearts.
The wisdom and happiness
of all buddhas comes from our own minds.
~ Heng Ch'au
Do not fight against pain; do not fight against irritation or jealousy.
Embrace them with great tenderness, as though you were embracing a little
Your anger is yourself, and you should not be violent toward it.
The same thing goes for all of your emotions.
~ Thich Nhat Hanh
I love the dark hours of my being.
deepens into them.
There I can find, as in old letters,
the days of my
life, already lived,
and held like a legend, and understood.
Then the knowing comes: I can open
life that's wide and timeless.
Rilke's Book of Hours, Love Poems to God
translated by Anita
Barrows and Joanna Macy
Alan Larus Photography
I live in town without all that racket
horses and carts stir up,
and you wonder how could that be
Wherever the mind dwells apart is itself a
picking chrysanthemums at my east fence,
far off, I see
mountain air lovely at dusk, birds in flight
All this means something, something
Whenever I start explaining it, Ive forgotten the
old tracks are lost,
new country is revealed
with its wonders!
Thanks and goodbye everybody, take care.
sixth dynasties period
At some point along the way, there is a surrender of interpretation, of
figure it out, of mentalizing things to a fine powder. At some
point, there is a
moment of realization that there is wonder and joy and
beauty and love in this world
that doesn't need understanding, but instead
seeks just a bit of space to be.
~ Jeff Anderson
Rest nakedly in truly not knowing.
Until now we have opted for trusting
minds, images and ideas,
rather than trusting the spaciousness
What an opportunity is available now
the unknown spaciousness of the heart.
There is a gift which can never be
I could give you a dried flower to keep forever
in your scrapbook of ideas,
or I could show you a field where one fleetingly
dances with the wind...
but can never be yours to hold.
Truth always dies before it can be spoken,
rather than become a withered and eternal lie.
This moment is the field
in which it plays in ever-changing forms...
alive, uncatchable and
You are this wind, this field,
and this truth...
this gift unowned, unheld,
~ Peter Baker
George Jisho Robertson Photography