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#1711 - Tuesday, February 17, 2004

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  • Mark Otter
    Archived issues of the NDHighlights are available online: http://nonduality.com/hlhome.htm Nondual Highlights Issue #1711 Tuesday, February 17, 2004 Editor:
    Message 1 of 1 , Feb 18, 2004
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      Archived issues of the NDHighlights are available online: http://nonduality.com/hlhome.htm

      Nondual Highlights Issue #1711 Tuesday, February 17, 2004 Editor: Mark

      . 
      Earth Prayer

      "Grandfather, Great Spirit, once more behold me on earth and lean to hear my feeble voice. You lived first, and you are older than all need, older than all prayer. All things belong to you -- the two-legged, the four-legged, the wings of the air,and all green things that live.

      "You have set the powers of the four quarters of the earth to cross each other. You have made me cross the good road and road of difficulties, and where they cross, the place is holy. Day in, day out, forevermore, you are the life of things."

      Hey! Lean to hear my feeble voice.
      At the center of the sacred hoop
      You have said that I should make the tree to bloom.

      With tears running, O Great Spirit, my Grandfather,
      With running eyes I must say
      The tree has never bloomed

      Here I stand, and the tree is withered.
      Again, I recall the great vision you gave me.

      It may be that some little root of the sacred tree still lives.
      Nourish it then
      That it may leaf
      And bloom
      And fill with singing birds!

      Hear me, that the people may once again
      Find the good road
      And the shielding tree.

      - Black Elk




      Here's a chance to plant a tree in Brazil: http://www.tree4life.com/ingles/ingles.htm





      Trees are the earth's endless effort to speak to the listening heaven.

      - Rabindranath Tagore


      . Tree of Life, Winged Discs, Omphalos, Arcs & Archetypes



      Once upon a time . . .


      a Thought created a Tone.


      The tone created Keys of Light


      The Keys of Light created Colors in Spectrum.


      Sound, light, and color created patterns geometry.


      The patterns set up a 'Tree of Life' for a Cycle of Time.


      More here: http://www.crystalinks.com/kabala.html



      I like trees because they seem more resigned to the way they have to live than other things do.

      - Willa Cather (1873-1947), O Pioneers 1913


      tree of life webproject: http://tolweb.org/tree/phylogeny.html





      And you, how old are you?
      I asked the maple tree:
      While opening one hand,
      - he started blushing.

      - Georges Bonneau, Le Sensibilite Japonaise, 1935 Dodoitsu


      . 
      A monk asked Joshu, "What is the meaning of Bodidharma's coming to China?"

      Joshu said, "The oak tree in the front garden."

      A monk asked Zhaozhou, "What is the living meaning of Zen?."

      Zhaozhou said, "The cypress tree in the courtyard."

      - Mumonkan, Case 37


      Mumon's Verse for Chao-chou's Oak Tree, Case 37

      Words cannot express things;
      Speech does not convey the spirit.
      Swayed by words, one is lost;
      Blocked by phrases, one is bewildered.

      - Two Zen Classics: Mumonkan & Hekiganroku, p. 110
      Translated with commentaries by Katsuki Sekida

      More here: http://www.gardendigest.com/zen/oaktree.htm




      We are all leaves, flowers and fruits
      On the different religion-branches
      Of the birthless and deathless life-tree.

      - Sri Chinmoy from Seventy-Seven Thousand Service-Trees


      . The Leaf and the Tree


      When will you learn, myself, to be
      a dying leaf on a living tree?
      Budding, swelling, growing strong,
      Wearing green, but not for long,
      Drawing sustenance from air,
      That other leaves, and you not there,
      May bud, and at the autumn's call
      Wearing russet, ready to fall?
      Has not this trunk a deed to do
      Unguessed by small and tremulous you?
      Shall not these branches in the end
      To wisdom and the truth ascend?
      And the great lightning plunging by
      Look sidewise with a golden eye
      To glimpse a tree so tall and proud
      It sheds its leaves upon a cloud?

      Here, I think, is the heart's grief:
      The tree, no mightier than the leaf,
      Makes firm its root and spreads its crown
      And stands; but in the end comes down.
      That airy top no boy could climb
      Is trodden in a little time
      By cattle on their way to drink.
      The fluttering thoughts a leaf can think,
      That hears the wind and waits its turn,
      Have taught it all a tree can learn.
      Time can make soft that iron wood.
      The tallest trunk that ever stood,
      In time, without a dream to keep,
      Crawls in beside the root to sleep.

      - Edna St Vincent Millay


      . Why Death is Like the Banana Tree

      God wanted the first man and woman to be able to choose the kind of death they would have. One day he asked, "Would you prefer to die like the moon, or like the banana tree?" The couple did not know what it meant to die like the moon or the banana tree, so God explained, "Each month the moon dies and fades away, but it revives bit by bit to live again. When the banana tree dies, it does not come back, but it leaves behind green shoots so that its offspring can carry on in its place. You may have offspring to take your place, or you may revive each month like the moon. You choose."

      The couple considered the options for some time. If they chose to be childless, they would always be restored to life, like the moon. It would be lonely, however, and they would have no one to help them with their work, no one to teach, to love, or to strive for. They told God they preferred to be fruitful like the banana tree. God granted their wish. They had many fine children and a happy life and then they died. Since then there has been much love and new life on this earth, replenishing generation after generation. But since the first couple chose, each individual's life is brief, and in the end the body withers like a banana tree.


      - A Tale from Madagascar, as Retold by Erica Helm Meade






      . Very Tall Trees

      One day I stood under a very tall tree.
      The leaves were so high I could hardly see them, and I'm certain the leaves couldn't see me.
      "Well," I thought, "I'd like to be higher."
      So I went and got the wheelbarrow, a rickety old box, and a rubber tire.
      It took a lot if thinking to get them arranged just right,
      And they almost reached to the very first branch ... but not quite.
      So then I got a telephone book, the watering can and a chair.
      And when they were all together, I said to myself, "There."
      I said to myself, with one foot in the barrow,
      "I'll just climb up this tree and go visit a sparrow."
      There's no trick to balancing on a rickety old box
      If you know how to rick when the rickety box rocks.
      If Mother could see me, I thought, on this tire,
      "Why, where in the world are you going?" she'd inquire.
      And I practiced my very most I-Don't-Care look
      As I stood on one hand on the telephone book.
      But then, when I got to the watering can,
      It wasn't as easy as when I began.
      I had one foot on the handle, and one on the spout,
      And I wasn't afraid. I was looking about.
      I waved to the birds. I breathed some air,
      And I could have made it up on to the chair,
      When along came the breeze,
      Which tickled my knees,
      And I started to sneeze,
      And kerplunk! I fell down as nice as you please.

      Which is what is the matter with very tall trees.

      - Laura J. Bobrow



      . The Weeping Tree

      When the wild mouths
      of first love promise
      the willow listens.

      The earth tastes of silence
      and grey swings creak
      on butter-soft porches
      phrases sway
      then fall like feathers
      and the willow listens.

      While babies smell of jazz
      their cries like small mice
      in the jasmine silvered nights
      and the lights surrounded by moths
      whose wings flutter
      uncertain on the edges of black
      the willow listens.

      Inside bricked rooms
      when grampa lays
      aside his coffee spoon
      because the moon is made
      of blue cheese
      not green
      the willow listens.

      Sides are chosen
      no matter which
      it's the spirit of the thing
      and still the willow
      with its branches bent
      the tips brushing the grass
      like loving brooms
      listens, listens.

      As time is laid aside
      like pine cones
      that roll on empty roofs
      over evening shutters
      or morning lace
      when the children say
      see, see the willow tree
      the willow still listens
      and weeps.

      - Kathleen Lohr


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