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#2567 - Monday, August 28, 2006 - Editor: Gloria Lee

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  • Gloria Lee
    #2567 - Monday, August 28, 2006 - Editor: Gloria Lee The Nondual Highlights Archive and Search Engine: http://nonduality.com/hlhome.htm Other than the first
    Message 1 of 1 , Aug 29, 2006
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      #2567 - Monday, August 28, 2006 - Editor: Gloria Lee
       
      The Nondual Highlights

      Archive and Search Engine:
      http://nonduality.com/hlhome.htm 

      Other than the first poem, this issue is a post from Mazie Lane to Garden Mystics.


      Monet

      Unable to get into the Monet show,
      Too many people there, too many cars,
      We spent the Sunday morning at Bowl Pond
      A mile from the Museum, where no one was,
      And walked an hour or so around the rim
      Beside five acres of flowering waterlilies
      Lifting three feet above their floating pads
      Huge yellow flowers heavy on bending stems
      In various phases of array and disarray
      Of Petals packed, unfolded, opening to show
      The meaty orange centers that become,
      When the ruined flags fall away, green shower heads
      Spilling their wealth of seed at summer's end
      Into the filthy water among small fish
      Mud-colored and duck moving explorative
      Through jungle pathways opened among the fronds
      Upon whose surface water drops behave
      Like mercury, collecting in heavy silver coins
      Instead of bubbles; some few redwinged blackbirds
      Whistling above all this once in a while,
      The silence else unbroken all about.


      Howard Nemerov, from The Selected Poems of Howard Nemerov. (Swallow Press)


      Travel Sketches - Basho

       

      From Basho's "The Narrow Road to the Deep North and Other Travel Sketches"
       
       
      Many things of the past
      are brought to my mind,
      as I stand in the garden
      staring at a cherry tree.
       
       
       
       
       
      I paid a visit to the shrine at Ise Yamada.
       
      Not knowing
      the name of the tree,
      I stood in the flood
      of its sweet smell.
       
      It is a bit too cold
      to be naked
      in this stormy wind
      of February.
       
       
       
       
      I met Setsudo, son of Ajiro Minbu.
       
      A young shoot has borne
      beautiful flowers
      growing upon
      an aged plum tree.
       
       
       
       
      I threw away quite a number of things, for I believed in
      traveling light. There were certain things, however, I
      had to carry on my back - such as a raincoat, an overcoat,
      an inkstone, a brush, writing paper, medicine, a lunch basket -
      and these constituted quite a load for me. I made such slow
      progress that I felt deeply depressed as I walked along with
      faltering steps, giving as much power as I could to my
      trembling knees.
       
      Tired of walking
      I put up at an inn,
      embraced comfortably
      by wisteria flowers.
       
       
       
       
      At Nijikko:
       
      One after another
      in silent succession fall
      the flowers of yellow roses -
      the roar of tumbling water.
       
       
       
       
      Dragging my sore heels, I plodded along like Saigyo, all the time with the memory of his suffering at the River Tenryu in my mind, and when I hired a horse, I thought of the famous priest who had experienced the disgrace of being thrown from his horse into a moat. Nevertheless, it was a great pleasure to see the marvellous beauties of nature, rare scenes in the mountains or along the coast, or to visit the sites of temporary abodes of ancient sages where they had spent their secluded lives, or better still, to meet people who had entirely devoted themselves to the search for artistic truth. Since I had nowhere permanent to stay, I had no interest whatever in keeping treasures, and since I was empty-handed, I had no fear of being robbed on the way. I walked at full ease, scorning the pleasure of riding in a palanquin, and filled my hungry stomach with coarse food, shunning the luxury of meant. I bent my steps in whatever direction I wished, having no itinerary to follow. My only mundane concerns were whether the straw sandals were the right size for my feet. Every turn of the road brought me new thoughts and every sunrise gave me fresh emotions. My joy was great when I encountered anyone with the slightest understanding of artistic elegance .... indeed, one of the greatest pleasures of travelling was to find a genius hidden among weeds and bushes, a treasure lost in broken tiles, a mass of gold buried in clay, and when I did find such a person, I always kept a record with the hope that I might be able to show it to my friends.
       
      The day for the spring change of clothing came.
       
      I took a kimono off
      to feel lighter
      only putting it in the load
      on my back.
       
      The moment I descended
      Mount Yoshino,
      I sought to sell
      my cotton-stuffed coat.
                                            Written by Mangiku
       
       
       
       
       
      At a certain man's home in Osaka:
       
      To talk casually
      about an iris flower
      is one of the pleasures
      of the wandering journey.
       
       
       
      ~ Basho, "The Narrow Road To The Deep North And Other Travel Sketches"
       
       
       
       
      Happy Gardening,
       
      Mazie
       
       
       

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