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#1771 - Sunday, April 18, 2004

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  • Gloria Lee
    #1771 - Sunday, April 18, 2004 - Editor: Gloria Highlights Home Page and Archive: http://nonduality.com/hlhome.htm Letter to the Editors: Click Reply ,
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      #1771 - Sunday, April 18, 2004 - Editor: Gloria
       
      Highlights Home Page and Archive: http://nonduality.com/hlhome.htm
       
      Letter to the Editors: Click 'Reply', compose your message, and 'Send'. All the editors will see your letter.
       

       
      Not yet having become a Buddha,
      The ancient pine-tree
      Idly dreaming.

      --Issa (1763-1827)


      "On Climbing the Sierra Mountains Again"

      Range after range of mountains
      Year after year after year.
      I am still in love.

      --Gary Snyder


      Morning Zen


      To live a creative life, we must lose our fear of being wrong.
       -Joseph Chilton Pearce

      The problem with people who have no vices is that
      generally  you can be pretty sure they're going to
      have some pretty  annoying virtues.
       - Elizabeth Taylor 


       
       
      Angels

      Who are without mercy,
      Who confide in trumpet flowers,
      Who carry loose change in their pockets,
      Who dress in black velvet,
      Who wince and fidget like bats,
      Who balance their haloes on hatracks,
      Who watch reruns of famine,
      Who powder their noses with pollen,
      Who laugh and unleash earthquakes,
      Who sidle in and out of our dreams
      Like magicians, like childhood friends,
      Who practice their smiles like pirates,
      Who exercise by walking to Zion,
      Who live on the edge of doubt,
      Who cause vertigo but ease migraines,
      Who weep milky tears when troubled,
      Whose night sweats engender the plague,
      Who pinion their arms to chandeliers,
      Who speak in riddles and slant rhymes,
      Who love the weak and foolhardy,
      Who lust for unripe persimmons,
      Who scavenge the fields for lost souls,
      Who hover near lighthouses,
      Who pray at railroad crossings,
      Who supervise the study of rainbows,
      Who cannot blush but try,
      Who curl their hair with corkscrews,
      Who honeymoon with Orion,
      Who are not wise but pure,
      Who behave with impious propriety,
      Who hourly scour our faces with hope,
      Whose own faces glow like radium,
      Whom we've created in our own form,
      Who are without mercy, seek and yearn
      To return us like fossilized roses
      To the wholeness of our original bloom.


      Maurya Simon,   from Ghost Orchid. © Red Hen Press.


       
      Krishnamurti's Notebook
      August 12th 1961, Gstaad
       
       
          Yesterday, walking up the valley, the mountains covered with clouds
       and the stream seemingly more noisy than ever, there was a sense
       of astonishing beauty, not that the meadows and hills and the dark
       pines had changed. Only the light was different, more soft, with a
       clarity that seemed to penetrate everything, leaving no shadow.
       As the road climbed, we were able to look down on a farm, with
       green pasture land around it. It was a green meadow, a rich green
       that is seen nowhere, but that little farmhouse and that green pasture
       contained all the earth and all mankind. There was an absolute finality
       about it; it was the finality of beauty that is not tortured by thought and
       feeling.
       
          The beauty of a picture, a song, a building is put together by man,  to be
       compared, to be criticized, to be added up but this beauty was not the
       handwork of man. All the handwork of man must be denied with a finality
       before this beauty can be. For it needs total innocence, total austerity;
       not the innocence that thought had contrived nor the austerity of sacrifice.
       Only when the brain is free of time, and its responses; utterly still, is there
       that austere innocency. 

           Woke up long before dawn when the air is very still and the earth waiting
       for the sun. Woke up with a clarity that was peculiar and an urgency that
       demanded full attention. The body was completely motionless, an immobility
       that was without strain, without tension. And inside the head a peculiar
       phenomenon was going on. A great wide river was flowing with the pressure
       of immense weight of water, flowing between high, polished granite rock.
       On each side of this great wide river was polished, sparkling granite, on
       which nothing grew, not even a blade of grass; there was nothing but sheer
       polished rock, soaring up beyond measurable eyesight. The river was making
       its way, silently, without a whisper, indifferent, majestic. It was actually taking
       place, it wasn't a dream, a vision nor a symbol to be interpreted. It was there
       taking place, beyond any doubt; it was not a thing of imagination. No thought
       could possibly invent it; it was too immense and real for thought to formulate it. 
       
           The immobility of the body and this great flowing river between the polished
       granite walls of the brain, went on for an hour and a half by the watch. Through
       the open window the eyes could see the coming dawn. There was no mistaking
       the reality of what was taking place. For an hour and a half the whole being was
       attentive, without effort, without wandering off. And all of a sudden it stopped
       and the day began. 

      This morning, that benediction filled the room. It was raining hard but
      there would be blue sky later.



      One glance at the morning star,
      And the snow got even whiter.
      The look in his eye
      Chills hair and bones.
      If earth itself hadn’t
      Experienced this instant,
      Old Shakyamuni never would have happened.

      - Daito (1282-1334)

       

      After late spring rain
      The falling petals swirl
      Weightlessly; celestial scent
      Covers my patched robe
      A simple vacant mind
      Has no place to go
      Resting on the peak
      I watch the clouds return.

      - Han-shan Te-ch’ing (1546-1623)

       

      Against the gently flowing spring morning
      The arrogant rattle of a passing coach
      Peach blossoms beckon from the distant village
      Willow branches caress the shoulder of the pond

      As bream and carp flash their golden scales
      And mated ducks link embroidered wings
      The poet stares about; this way, then that
      Caught in a web beyond all speaking.

      - Shih-shu (17th century-early 18th)

       

      Just by listening with your eyes
      you can fold back on yourself and
      merge into that primal
      stream of awareness
      like a river is swallowed by the
      immensity of the ocean.
      Only then will you know
      the point to live from.

      - Ji Aoi Isshi


       
      Gill Eardley ~ Allspirit Inspiration
       
      From 'Peace is Every Step'  Thich Nhat Hanh

      Look into Your Hand

      I have a friend who is an artist. Before he left Vietnam forty years ago,
      his mother held his hand and told him, "Whenever you miss me, look
      into your hand, and you will see me immediately."  How penetrating these
      simple, sincere words!

      Over the years, my friend looked into his hand many times.

      The presence of his mother is not just genetic. Her spirit, her hopes, and her
      life are also in him. When he looks into his hand, he can see thousands of
      generations before him and thousands of generations after him. He can see
      that he exists not only in the evolutionary tree branching along the axis of
      time, but also in the network of interdependent relations. He told me that
      he never feels lonely.

      When my niece came to visit me last summer, I offered her "Look into
      Your Hand" as a subject for her meditation. I told her that every pebble,
      every leaf, and every butterfly are present in her hand.



      gill
      Allspirit Website:
      http://www.allspirit.co.uk


      Viorica Weissman ~ MillionPaths
       

       

      Paul Brunton
      an appreciation by John Behague

      There have been many who have influenced me in my lifelong search for the truth, but none more so than Paul Brunton. So many times his thoughts have echoed mine, so many times I have inwardly cried out "yes, yes!" when his words have struck home. I never met him, but felt close to him, having visited the same places, met the same kind of people he met, and experienced similar happenings, but his search was the more successful because he had the courage and determination to venture into the unknown, tear down curtains of superstition, topple idols and scatter sacred cows.

      That may make him appear a giant among men. On the contrary, PB as he like to be called, was small and dapper, spoke softly and slowly, was gentle in this approach and lived quietly and abstemiously. Yet in his spiritual journeying this little man visited the far corners of the world, living with princes, mystics and holy men, staying in palaces and mud huts, and emerging something of a guru himself, with a message of incredible importance and hope for those who cared to read it.

      In this short appreciation I hope to summarize some of his findings and explain his philosophy. Strangely, he wasn't aware of having any mission in life other than the hope of making people aware of the value of their own souls. He had no desire to inflict his beliefs on others. He was no missionary, and didn't seek to convert or compel.

      His main resolve was to be independent of allegiances and authorities, and to rely on his own observations and findings so that he could set down the simple truths of things which had become hidden or distorted over the years. Others would pick them up or discard them as they thought fit. All he hoped was that people would find within themselves what he had found.
       
      .........
      the rest of the article is here:
       


       
      WILL ROGER'S WORDS OF WISDOM 
       
      There are three kinds of men: The ones that learn by reading.  The few
      who learn by observation. The rest of them have to pee  on the electric
      fence and find out for themselves. 
       
      There are 2 theories to arguing with a woman...neither works. 
       
      The quickest way to double your money is to fold it and put it  back in
      your pocket. 
       
      Good judgment comes from experience, and a lot of that comes  from
      bad judgment. 
       
      When you are dissatisfied and would like to go back to youth,  think of
      Algebra. 
       
      Some people try to turn back their odometers. Not me, I want  people
      to know "why" I look this way. I've traveled a long way  and some of
      the roads weren't paved. 
       
      The older we get, the fewer things seem worth waiting in line  for. 
       
      After eating an entire bull, a mountain lion felt so good he  started
      roaring. He kept it up until a hunter came along and  shot him. The
      moral: When you're full of bull, keep your mouth  shut. 

      Catherine de Vinck

      The Womanly Song of God

      I am the woman dancing the wold alive:
      birds on my wrists
      sun-feathers in my hair
      I leap through hoops of atoms;
      under my steps
      plants burst into bloom
      birches tremble in their silver.
      Can you not see the roundness of me:
      curve of the earth
      maternal arms of the sea
      encircling you wetly as you swim?
      I am the birthing woman
      kneeling by the river
      heaving, pushing forth a sacred body
      not mud, not stone: flesh and blood.
      Round, round the wind
      spinning itself wild
      drawing great circles of music
      across the sky.
      Round the gourd full of seed
      round the moon in its ripeness
      round the door through which I come
      stooping into your house.
      I am a God of a thousand names:
      why cannot one of them be
      Woman Singing?

      image: http://www.elemental-art.freeola.com/stonewomen.html

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