Loading ...
Sorry, an error occurred while loading the content.

Monday, April 1, 2002

Expand Messages
  • Jerry Katz
    Nonduality Salon (/ ) Nondual Highlights The Best of the Internet s Nonduality Email Lists, Forums, Websites, and More Issue #1028 Monday, April 1, 2002
    Message 1 of 1 , Apr 3, 2002
      Nonduality Salon (/ \)

      Nondual Highlights
      The Best of the Internet's Nonduality Email Lists, Forums, Websites, and More

      Issue #1028 Monday, April 1, 2002

      Today's Highlights Compiled, Edited, and Designed
      by Jerry Katz

      Nondual Highlights Home Page: <http://nonduality.com/hlhome.htm>

      from <http://www.bigsnap.com/poems.html#poemsbc>


                                            Today I pass the time reading
                                            a favorite haiku,
                                            saying the few words over and over.

                                            It feels like eating
                                            the same small, perfect grape
                                            again and again.

                                            I walk through the house reciting it
                                            and leave its letters falling
                                            through the air of every room.

                                            I stand by the big silence of the piano and say
                                            I say it in front of a painting of the sea.
                                            I tap out its rhythm on an empty shelf.

                                            I listen to myself saying it,
                                            then I say it without listening,
                                            then I hear it without saying it.

                                            And when the dog looks up at me,
                                            I kneel down on the floor
                                            and whisper it into each of his long white ears.

                                            It's the one about the one-ton
                                            temple bell
                                            with the moth sleeping on its surface,

                                            and every time I say it, I feel the excruciating
                                            pressure of the moth
                                            on the surface of the iron bell.

                                            When I say it at the window,
                                            the bell is the world
                                            and I am the moth resting there.

                                            When I say it at the mirror,
                                            I am the heavy bell
                                            and the moth is life with its papery wings.

                                            And later, when I say it to you in the dark,
                                            you are the bell,
                                            and I am the tongue of the bell, ringing you,

                                            and the moth has flown
                                            from its line
                                            and moves like a hinge in the air above our bed.




      (Note the artist/article link on the above page, as well.)



      Writing to Mark Otter:

      Dear Bodhi,

      If I may be so bold and personal to use that name, I'm not
      sure if you're still pulling my leg or not, but I can believe
      anything, so I will.

      Like this weekend when I was approached while standing in
      the alley waiting for the dogs to finish their business by a man
      asking for money. He told me he and his family had just moved to
      town from Danville, VA, the van had broken down, they had paid
      $175 bux to have it towed, and now he just had $21 to feed him
      and his family (wife and kids) until Monday when the wife began
      work at a Denny's and he began work at a construction company,
      oh and yes, he had been to the missions, but they wanted him to
      walk his kids down the expressway to get them there and he
      wasn't going to do that, and he had blisters on his feet and I
      was only the second person he had approached all evening who
      hadn't run away. Well, for some strange reason, probably simply
      because I wanted to, I believed him. I spent 15 minutes going
      upstairs, getting money, and getting money exchanged across the
      way. By the time I was ready to hand him the bux, suspicion had
      dawned. When I handed it to him, I watched his eyes, hands, and
      postures, listened to his voice as he apologized for asking for
      money, and even asked if he could return it to me sometime.
      Well, the answer to that last question was a definite no. Later,
      I called that Denny's and confirmed what I had come to know.

      Sometimes we just believe what we want to believe.

      Can a person be conned if they know what is going on?
      Conned, of my own free will.


      Anyway, back to dogs. I'm not surprised they're calling you
      Bodhisattva. No offense, it isn't because I know you well and
      have noticed a particular saintly quality about you, it is
      because I have met so many people and dogs named
      Bodhi(sattva)... it must be the place where I live.

      Best, Marksattva,



      I am new to the list, sort of. I have actually been observing
      the dialogue here for quite some time. Initially, I tried to
      discern the different personalities that comprised the list. The
      tendency to do this began to dissolve and the "list" became not
      a conglomeration of personalities but a stream of energy. On
      occassion the stream would quicken, the pace becoming much to
      fast for this novice, but just as suddenly, an impromptu word or
      smile would slow the waters making the flow tranquil again. I
      have enjoyed the scenery and I have learned there is no
      difference between fast/slow, better/worse, you/me. We are all
      part of the stream/energy. So I thought I heard a "Come on in
      the water's just fine."

      Nice to meet you,


      hello lisa,

      nice to meet you too.. like you said.. while the
      stream 'consists' of several waves, it is one whole.. that is
      ever flowing and always refreshing.. once you found the right
      cup, your thirst is ever satisfied.. no matter how the stream


      Exactly Jeroen, I have come to realize and accept that it does
      not matter how the stream flows, sometimes deep, sometimes
      shallow,it is the knowledge that I am just part of the
      energy...the greater whole and it is enough that I can flow
      without resistance (regrets, guilt, shame, needs,
      desires,etc);when one accepts that the beginning and the end are
      the same and there is no where to go and no thing to do then the
      stream becomes endless, timeless and yes always refreshing.

      Nice to meet you also,



      Actually, Jody, there is one piece of impure nonduality
      that exists, and which I have in my personal, private

      It is very valuable, as it is the only piece of its kind in

      All the rest of existence is pure nonduality, as you say :-)

      Darn. I thought I was the only one.

      Oh well...

      No, it's here with me. Did you come over last night and steal
      it, Dan-ji?

      Will the real owner of the last piece of impure non-duality
      please stand up!


      BILLY COLLINS: an encore

                                            On Turning Ten

                                            The whole idea of it makes me feel
                                            like I'm coming down with something,
                                            something worse than any stomach ache
                                            or the headaches I get from reading in bad light--
                                            a kind of measles of the spirit,
                                            a mumps of the psyche,
                                            a disfiguring chicken pox of the soul.

                                            You tell me it is too early to be looking back,
                                            but that is because you have forgotten
                                            the perfect simplicity of being one
                                            and the beautiful complexity introduced by two.
                                            But I can lie on my bed and remember every digit.
                                            At four I was an Arabian wizard.
                                            I could make myself invisible
                                            by drinking a glass of milk a certain way.
                                            At seven I was a soldier, at nine a prince.

                                            But now I am mostly at the window
                                            watching the late afternoon light.
                                            Back then it never fell so solemnly
                                            against the side of my tree house,
                                            and my bicycle never leaned against the garage
                                            as it does today,
                                            all the dark blue speed drained out of it.

                                            This is the beginning of sadness, I say to myself,
                                            as I walk through the universe in my sneakers.
                                            It is time to say good-bye to my imaginary
                                            time to turn the first big number.

                                            It seems only yesterday I used to believe
                                            there was nothing under my skin but light.
                                            If you cut me I could shine.
                                            But now when I fall upon the sidewalks of life,
                                            I skin my knees. I bleed.

                                            --Billy Collins



      from Live Journal

      words cannot fully convey my obsession for this photograph.

      bless your heart jodi cobb whereever thou may be.

      current mood: humidwarm
      current music: car alarms beeping, windowplanes splashed with rain


    Your message has been successfully submitted and would be delivered to recipients shortly.