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#2642 - Wednesday, November 15, 2006 - Editor: Gloria Lee

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  • Gloria Lee
    #2642 - Wednesday, November 15, 2006 - Editor: Gloria Lee The Nondual Highlights Listen to the sound of water. Listen to the water running through chasms and
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      #2642 - Wednesday, November 15, 2006 - Editor: Gloria Lee

      The Nondual Highlights
      Listen to the sound of water.
      Listen to the water running through chasms and rocks.
      It is the minor streams that make a loud noise;
      the great waters flow silently.

      The hollow resounds and the full is still.
      Foolishness is like a half-filled pot;
      the wise man is a lake full of water.

      -Sutta Nipata


      Gone Again to Gaze on the Cascade

      By Yuan Mei
      (1716 - 1798)

      English version by J. P. Seaton

      A whole life without speaking,
                                              "a thunderous silence"
      that was Wei-ma's Way.
      And here is a place where no monk can preach.
      I understand now what T'ao Ch'ien, enlightened,
      said, he couldn't say.
      It's so clear, here, this water
                                              my teacher.

      -- from A Drifting Boat: Chinese Zen Poetry, Edited by J. P. Seaton / Edited by Dennis Maloney

      Poetry Chaikhana Home

      The sun wasn't up yet; you could see the morning star
        through the trees. There was a silence that was really
        extraordinary. Not the silence between two noises or
        between two notes, but the silence that has no reason
        whatsoever the silence that must have been at the
        beginning of the world. It filled the whole valley and
        the hills.

        The two big owls, calling to each other, never
        disturbed that silence, and a distant dog barking at
        the late moon was part of this immensity. The dew was
        especially heavy, and as the sun came up over the hill
        it was sparkling with many colours and with the glow
        that comes with the sun's first rays.

        "The delicate leaves of the jacaranda were heavy with
        dew, and birds came to have their morning baths,
        fluttering their wings so the dew on those delicate
        leaves filled their feathers. The crows were
        particularly persistent; they would hop from one
        branch to another, pushing their heads through the
        leaves, fluttering their wings, and preening
        themselves. There were about half-a-dozen of them on
        that one heavy branch, and there were many other
        birds, scattered all over the tree, taking their
        morning bath.

        "And this silence spread, and seemed to go beyond the
        hills. There were the usual noises of children
        shouting, and laughter; and the farm began to wake up.

        "It was going to be a cool day, and now the hills were
        taking on the light of the sun. They were very old
        hills probably the oldest in the world with oddly
        shaped rocks that seemed to be carved out with great
        care, balanced one on top of the other; but no wind or
        touch could loosen them from this balance.

        "It was a valley far removed from towns, and the road
        through it led to another village. The road was rough
        and there were no cars or buses to disturb the ancient
        quietness of this valley. There were bullock carts,
        but their movement was a part of the hills. There was
        a dry river bed that only flowed with water after
        heavy rains, and the colour was a mixture of red,
        yellow and brown; and it, too, seemed to move with the
        hills. And the villagers who walked silently by were
        like the rocks.

        "The day wore on and towards the end of the evening,
        as the sun was setting over the western hills, the
        silence came in from afar, over the hills, through the
        trees, covering the little bushes and the ancient
        banyan. And as the stars became brilliant, so the
        silence grew into great intensity; you could hardly
        bear it.

        "The little lamps of the village were put out, and
        with sleep the intensity of that silence grew deeper,
        wider and incredibly over-powering. Even the hills
        became more quiet, for they, too, had stopped their
        whisperings, their movement, and seemed to lose their
        immense weight...

        "Silence has many qualities. There is the silence
        between two noises, the silence between two notes and
        the widening silence in the interval between two
        thoughts. There is that peculiar, quiet, pervading
        silence that comes of an evening in the country; there
        is the silence through which you hear the bark of a
        dog in the distance or the whistle of a train as it
        comes up a steep grade; the silence in a house when
        everybody has gone to sleep, and its peculiar emphasis
        when you wake up in the middle of the night and listen
        to an own hooting in the valley; and there is that
        silence before the owl's mate answers. There is the
        silence of an old deserted house, and the silence of a
        mountain; the silence between two human beings when
        they have seen the same thing, felt the same thing,
        and acted.

        "That night, particularly in that distant valley with
        the most ancient hills with their peculiar shaped
        boulders, the silence was as real as the wall you
        touched. And you looked out of the window at the
        brilliant stars. It was not a self-generated silence;
        it was not that the earth was quiet and the villagers
        asleep but it came from everywhere - from the distant
        stars, from those dark hills and from your own mind
        and heart. This silence seemed to cover everything
        from the tiniest grain of sand in the river-bed -
        which only knew running water when it rained - to the
        tall, spreading banyan tree and a slight breeze that
        was now beginning. There is the silence of the mind
        which is never touched by any noise, by any thought or
        by the passing wind of experience. It is this silence
        that is innocent, and so endless. When there is this
        silence of the mind action springs from it, and this
        action does not cause confusion or misery.

        "The meditation of a mind that is utterly silent is
        the benediction that man is ever seeking. In this
        silence every quality of silence is."

        ~ Jiddu Krishnamurti ~ "The Only Revolution"



        "Silence is our real nature. What we are fundamentally
        is only silence. Silence is free from beginning and
        end. It was before the beginning of all things. It is
        causeless. Its greatness lies in the fact that it
        simple is. In silence all objects have their home
        ground. It is the light that gives objects their shape
        and form. All movement, all activity is harmonized by
        silence.Silence has no opposite in noise. It is beyond
        positive and negative. Silence dissolves all objects.
        It is not related to any counterpart which belongs to
        the mind. Silence has nothing to do with mind. It
        cannot be defined but it can be felt directly because
        it is our nearness. Silence is freedom without
        restriction or centre. It is our wholeness, neither
        inside nor outside the body. Silence is joyful, not
        pleasurable. It is not psychological. It is feeling
        without a feeler. Silence needs no intermediary.
        Silence is holy. It is healing. There is no fear in
        silence. Silence is autonomous like love and beauty.
        It is untouched by time. Silence is meditation, free
        from any intention, free from anyone who meditates.
        Silence is the absence of oneself. Or rather, silence
        is the absence of absence. Sound which comes from
        silence is music. All activity is creative when it
        comes from silence. It is constantly a new beginning.
        Silence precedes speech and poetry and music and all
        art. Silence is the home ground of all creative
        activity. What is truly creative is the word, is
        Truth. Silence is the word. Silence is Truth.The one
        established in silence lives in constant offering, in
        prayer without asking, in thankfulness, in continual
        love. "

        ~ Jean Klein ~


       Pete on Advaita to Zen

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