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

#1478 - Monday, June 30, 2003

Expand Messages
  • Jerry Katz
    #1478 - Monday, June 30, 2003 - Editor: Jerry ... Dorianne Laux http://www.webdelsol.com/LITARTS/laux/dl-part2.htm SUNDAY We sit on the lawn, an igloo cooler
    Message 1 of 1 , Jul 1, 2003
    • 0 Attachment
      #1478 - Monday, June 30, 2003 - Editor: Jerry

      Dorianne Laux

      We sit on the lawn, an igloo
      cooler between us. So hot, the sky
      is white. Above gravel rooftops
      a spire, a shimmering cross.
      You pick up the swollen hose, press
      your thick thumb into the silver nozzle.
      A fan of water sprays rainbows
      over the dying lawn. Hummingbirds

      sparkle green. Bellies powdered
      with pollen from the bottle-brush tree.
      The bells of twelve o'clock.
      Our neighbors return from church.

      I bow my head as they ease
      clean cars into neat garages, file
      through screen doors in lace gloves,
      white hats, Bible-black suits.

      The smell of barbeque rises, hellish
      thick and sweet. I envy their weekly
      peace of mind. They know
      where they're going when they die.

      Charcoal fluid cans contract in the sun.
      I want to be Catholic. A Jew. Maybe
      a Methodist. I want to kneel
      for days on rough wood.

      Their kids appear in bright shorts,
      bathing suits, their rubber thongs
      flapping down the hot cement.
      They could be anyone's children;

      they have God inside their tiny bodies.
      My god, look how they float, like birds
      through the scissor-scissor-scissor
      of lawn sprinklers.

      Down the street, a tinny radio bleats.
      The sun bulges above our house
      like an eye. I don't want to die.
      I never want to leave this block.

      I envy everything, all of it. I know
      it's a sin. I love how you can shift
      in your chair, take a deep drink
      of gold beer, curl your toes under, and hum.

      Anthony de Mello, SJ


      "Where shall I look for Enlightenment?"

      " Here."

      " When will it happen?"

      "It is happening right now."

      "Then why don't I experience it?"

      "Because you do not look."

      "What should I look for?"

      "Nothing, just look."

      "At what?"

      "Anything your eyes alight upon."

      "Must I look in a special kind of way?"

      "No. The ordinary way will do."

      "But don't I always look the ordinary way?"

      " No."

      "Why ever not?"

      "Because to look you must be here. You're mostly somewhere else."

      Sri Sri Ravi Shankar
      Enlightenment is a joke!
      Seekers on the spiritual path are curious to know about
      Enlightenment. What is Enlightenment? I say, ‘‘Enlightenment
      is like a joke!’’ It is like a fish in the ocean searching for
      the ocean.
      Once upon a time, there was a congregation of fish, who got
      together to discuss who among them had seen the ocean. None of
      them could say they had actually seen the ocean. Then one fish
      said, ‘‘I think my great grandfather had seen the ocean!’’ A
      second fish said, ‘‘Yes, yes, I have also heard about this.’’
      A third fish said, ‘‘Yes, certainly, his great grandfather had
      seen the ocean.’’
      So they built a huge temple and made a statue of the great
      grandfather of that particular fish! They said, ‘‘He had seen
      the ocean. He had been connected with the ocean.’’
      Enlightenment is the very core of our being; going to the core
      of our self and living our life from there.
      We all came into this world gifted with innocence, but
      gradually, as we became more intelligent, we lost our
      innocence. We were born with silence and as we grew up, we
      lost the silence and were filled with words. We lived in our
      hearts and as time passed, we moved into our heads.
      Now the reversal of this journey is enlightenment. It is the
      journey from the head back to the heart, from words back to
      silence; getting back to our innocence in spite of our
      intelligence. Although very simple, this is a great
      Knowledge should lead you to that beautiful point of ‘‘I don’t
      know.’’ The purpose of knowledge is ignorance!
      The completion of knowledge will lead you to amazement and
      wonder. It makes you aware of this existence. Mysteries are to
      be lived, not understood. One can live life as fully in its
      completeness, in its totality.
      Enlightenment is that state of being mature and unshakeable
      under any circumstances. Come what may, nothing can rob the
      smile from your heart. Going beyond the limited boundaries,
      and feeling ‘‘all that exists in this universe belongs to
      me,’’ is enlightenment.
      Unenlightenment is easy to define. It is limiting yourself by
      saying, ‘‘I belong to this particular place’’, ‘‘I am from
      that culture’’ or ‘‘I belong to this religion’’.
      It is like children saying, ‘‘My dad is better than your
      dad,’’ or ‘‘My toy is better than your toy.’’ I think most
      people around the world are stuck in that mental age group,
      just the toys have changed. Adults say, ‘‘My country is better
      than your country’’ or ‘‘my religion is better than your
      A Christian will say, ‘‘The Bible is truth,’’ and a Hindu will
      say, ‘‘The Vedas are the truth. They are very ancient.’’
      Muslims will say, ‘‘The Koran is the last word of God.’’ We
      attribute glory to something just because we are from that
      culture, not for what it is.
      If one could take credit for all that exists throughout the
      ages and feel as though ‘‘It belongs to me,’’ then, that is
      maturity. ‘‘This is my wealth because I belong to the
      The Divine, according to time and space, gave different
      knowledge in different places. One becomes the knower of the
      whole universe and can say ‘‘all the beautiful flowers are
      from my garden.’’
      The whole evolution of man is from being somebody to being
      nobody, and from being nobody to being everybody.
      Have you observed that young children have that sense of
      belonging that oneness, that innocence? As we grew up we lost
      that innocence and became more cunning. The innocence of an
      ignorant man has no value, and the cunningness of an
      intelligent man also has no value.
      Enlightenment is a rare combination of innocence and
      intelligence, having words for expression and, at the same
      time, being very silent. In that state, the mind is fully in
      the present moment. Whatever is necessary is revealed to you
      in such a natural and spontaneous way, you just sit and the
      song of the nature flows through you.

      Noon. A stale Saturday. The hills
      rise above the town, nudge houses and shops
      toward the valley, kick the shallow river
      into place. Here, a dog can bark for days

      and no one will care enough
      to toss an empty can or an unread newspaper
      in his direction. No one complains.
      The men stand in loose knots

      outside Ace Hardware, talk a little, stare
      at the blue tools. A few kids
      sulk through the park, the sandbox full
      of hardscrabble, the monkey bars

      too hot to touch. In a town like this
      a woman on the edge of forty
      could drive around in her old car, the back end
      all jingle and rivet, one headlight

      taped in place, the hood held down with greasy rope,
      and no one would notice.
      She could drive up and down the same street
      all day, eating persimmons,

      stopping only for a moment to wonder
      at the wooden Indian on the corner of 6th and B,
      the shop window behind it
      filled with beaten leather, bright woven goods

      from Guatemala, postcards of this town
      before it began to go under, began
      to fade into a likeness of itself.
      She could pull in at the corner store for a soda

      and pause before uncapping it,
      press the cold glass against her cheek,
      roll it under her palm down the length of her neck
      then slip it beneath the V of her blouse

      and let it rest there, where she is hottest.
      She could get back in her car
      and turn the key, bring the engine up
      like a swarm of bottle flies, feel it

      shake like an empty caboose.
      She could twist the radio too high
      and drive like this for the rest of the day--
      the same street, the same hairpin turn

      that knocks the jack in the trunk from one wheel well
      to the other--or she could pass the turn
      and keep going, the cold soda
      wedged between her legs, the bass notes

      throbbing like a vein, out past the closed shops
      and squat houses, the church
      with its bland white arch, toward the hills,
      beyond that shadowy nest of red madrones.

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