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Earth Prayers

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  • luther smith
    Clouds are flowing in the river, waves are flying in the sky. Life is laughing in a pebble. Does a pebble ever die? Flowers grow out of garbage, such a miracle
    Message 1 of 11 , Nov 2, 2006
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      Clouds are flowing in the river, waves are flying in the sky.
      Life is laughing in a pebble. Does a pebble ever die?

      Flowers grow out of garbage, such a miracle to see.
      What seems dead and what seems dying makes for butterflies
      to be.

      Life is laughing in a pebble, flowers bathe in morning dew.
      Dust is dancing in my footsteps and I wonder who is who.

      Clouds are flowing in the river, clouds are drifting in my tea,
      On a never-ending journey, what a miracle to be!



      By
      Eveline
      Beumkes
    • sole_magick
      A beautiful poem, Luther. Thanks for posting. Nancy luther smith wrote: Clouds are flowing in the river, waves are flying in the sky.
      Message 2 of 11 , Nov 2, 2006
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        A beautiful poem, Luther.  Thanks for posting.
         
        Nancy


        luther smith <luthersmth@...> wrote:
        Clouds are flowing in the river, waves are flying in the sky.
        Life is laughing in a pebble. Does a pebble ever die?

        Flowers grow out of garbage, such a miracle to see.
        What seems dead and what seems dying makes for butterflies
        to be.

        Life is laughing in a pebble, flowers bathe in morning dew.
        Dust is dancing in my footsteps and I wonder who is who.

        Clouds are flowing in the river, clouds are drifting in my tea,
        On a never-ending journey, what a miracle to be!

        By
        Eveline
        Beumkes


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      • n.m.rai
        Luther, I love life is laughing in a pebble !!!!! A delightful image. nm
        Message 3 of 11 , Nov 3, 2006
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          Luther,

          I love "life is laughing in a pebble"!!!!! A delightful image.

          nm
        • luther smith
          The force that through the green fuse drivee the flower Drives my green age; that blasts the roots of trees Is my destroyer. And I am dumb to tell the crooked
          Message 4 of 11 , Nov 9, 2006
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            The force that through the green fuse drivee the flower
            Drives my green age; that blasts the roots of trees
            Is my destroyer.
            And I am dumb to tell the crooked rose
            My youth is bent by the same wintry fever.

            The force that drives the water through the rocks
            Drives my red blood; that dries the mouthing streams
            Turns mine to wax.
            And I am dumb to mouth unto my veins
            How at the mountain spring the same mouth sucks.

            The hand that whirls the water in the pool
            Stirs the quick sand; that ropes the blowing wind
            Hauls my shroud sail.

            And I am dumb to tell the hanging man
            How of my clay is made the hangman's lime...

            By
            Dylan
            Thomas
          • naga_moon_rai
            Luther Hey, thanks - love Thomas nm
            Message 5 of 11 , Nov 10, 2006
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              Luther

              Hey, thanks - love Thomas

              nm

              --- In VoicesOfThePhilosophersStone@yahoogroups.com, "luther smith" <luthersmth@...>
              wrote:
              >
              > The force that through the green fuse drivee the flower
              > Drives my green age; that blasts the roots of trees
              > Is my destroyer.
              > And I am dumb to tell the crooked rose
              > My youth is bent by the same wintry fever.
              >
              > The force that drives the water through the rocks
              > Drives my red blood; that dries the mouthing streams
              > Turns mine to wax.
              > And I am dumb to mouth unto my veins
              > How at the mountain spring the same mouth sucks.
              >
              > The hand that whirls the water in the pool
              > Stirs the quick sand; that ropes the blowing wind
              > Hauls my shroud sail.
              >
              > And I am dumb to tell the hanging man
              > How of my clay is made the hangman's lime...
              >
              > By
              > Dylan
              > Thomas
              >
            • luther smith
              The man whose mind is rounded out to perfection Knows full well Truth is not cut in half And things do not exist apart from the mind. In the great assembly of
              Message 6 of 11 , Dec 8, 2006
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                The man whose mind is rounded out to perfection
                Knows full well
                Truth is not cut in half
                And things do not exist apart from the mind.
                In the great assembly of the lotus all are present
                Without divisions.
                Grass, trees, the soil on which these grow
                All have the same kinds of atoms.
                Some are barely in motion
                While others make haste along the path, but they
                will all in time.
                Reach the Precious Island of Nirvana
                Who can really maintain
                That things inanimate lack buddhahood?

                By
                Chan-Jan
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