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4716#4716 - Thursday, September 27, 2012 - Editor: Gloria Lee

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  • Gloria Lee
    Sep 27, 2012
      #4716 - Thursday, September 27, 2012 - Editor: Gloria Lee
      Wake up to find out that you are the eyes of the world, Wake now, discover that
      you are the song that the morn-in’ brings.
      Rabjam, Longchen , (Longchenpa) via Gary Falk on Facebook

      "One Tibetan monk... who had spent more than 18 years in a Chinese prison labor
      camp... told me that on a few occasions he really faced some danger. So I asked
      him, 'What danger? What kind of danger?', thinking he would tell me of Chinese
      torture and prison. He replied, 'Many times I was in danger of losing compassion
      for the Chinese.'"
      ~ The Dalai Lama

      During the 1939-1945 World War I was sent away from home to escape the
      devastation caused by the bombing of the City of Liverpool by the German
      I need but take one page, one sunny Sunday morning out of the story that
      unfolded throughout the days of my sojourn with the kindly Sam and Betty
      Armstrong, and compare it with Blake’s lines from his poem,
      “To see a world in a grain of sand
      and a heaven in a wild flower,
      hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
      and eternity in an hour.”
      Looking back in memory I recall that the entire universe was manifested right
      there outside the old oaken doors of that Chapel in a corner of the Welsh
      countryside, the red-flowers, geraniums spread the ground with crimson, their
      heavy aroma permeating the air, I sat amongst them and flew away to unknown
      lands, they carried me to worlds that arose in my imagination and brought me
      back safely. There was an old barn next to the Chapel, its boards grey and
      whitened with the sun’s rays and the winter rain, as one enters the barn there is
      a warm smell in the air, it is everywhere, it is in the sunlight falling through the
      rafters, in the secluded shadows that hide in corners, in the old wood that the
      barn is constructed from . . . horses, it is the smell of horses, unique and not
      unpleasant to the nostrils, if one closes one's eyes and opens one's ears there is
      the sound of quivering breath, at first there is an edginess and caution upon it
      which subsides when one reaches out one's hand and touches the satin-feel of hot
      horse-hide. There was a stream outside the Chapel with lilies in the shallows,
      flag-Iris, reeds, water-weed and a stone built bridge where I would sit for
      eternities gazing at the fish making their way downstream, gliding over the grey,
      black and white pebbles down to the river and on to the sea. And the soil, the
      dank, dark soil, the earth almost black, a handful grasped in ones hand crumbles
      through ones fingers like black gold-dust, the substance of Mother Earth out of
      which I am made, She is what I am composed of and to where I shall return when
      my days are done. Everything was there in that green heaven, God and Her angels
      were there, illimitable beauty and splendour condensed into a single hour on a
      Sunday morning walking through the imagination of a small boy from the grimy
      back-streets of an inner-city plagued by the results of greed, war, turmoil and
      differences of opinion . . . and yet, amongst that particular devastation there can
      be seen glimpses of beauty, acts of kindness, gestures of love and compassion, it
      takes only a moment to stop and look beyond the weeping eyes of sorrow and
      loss, to see behind the tears, for where there is darkness there must needs be
      ~ Tom McFerran

      "If you are happy practicing with the sky,
      Clouds are the sky's magical creations.
      Be the sky itself.
      If you are happy practicing with the sun and moon,
      Planets and stars are their magical creations.
      Be the sun and moon.
      If you are happy practicing with the mountain,
      Grass and trees are the mountain's magical creations.
      Be the mountain itself.
      If you are happy practicing with the ocean,
      Waves are the ocean's magical creations.
      Be the ocean itself.
      If you are happy practicing with mind,
      Thoughts are the mind's magical creations.
      Be mind itself."
      ~ Milarepa
      via Daily Dharma

      Bronze sculptures by UK artist Sukhi Barber who spent twelve years in Kathmandu,
      Nepal studying Buddhist philosophy and lost-wax bronze casting.

      Throw everything away, forget about it all!  You are
      learning too much, remembering too much, trying to hard..
      relax a little bit, give life a chance to flow its own way,
      unassisted by your mind and effort.  Stop directing the
      river’s flow!
                  - Mooji