Guest guest Posted February 7, 2006 Report Share Posted February 7, 2006 On Feb 6, 2006, at 1:01 PM, NondualitySalon wrote: > Editor: Gloria Lee > > > > Winter, in the eleventh month > Snow falls thick and fast. > A thousand mountains, one color. > People of the world passing this way are few. > Dense grass conceals the door. > All night in silence, a few woodchips burn slowly > As I read the poems of the ancients. > > > Ryokan > > - Taken from " One Robe, One Bowl The Zen Poetry of Ryokan " > > trans. by John Stevens(1981) Weatherhill > > > > > ----- > --------- > > > > Exposed on the cliffs of the heart > > Exposed on the cliffs of the heart. Look, how tiny down there, > look: the last village of words and, higher, > (but how tiny) still one last > farmhouse of feeling. Can you see it? > Exposed on the cliffs of the heart. Stoneground > under your hands. Even here, though, > something can bloom; on a silent cliff-edge > an unknowing plant blooms, singing, into the air. > But the one who knows? Ah, he began to know > and is quiet now, exposed on the cliffs of the heart. > While, with their full awareness, > many sure-footed mountain animals pass > or linger. And the great sheltered bird flies, slowly > circling, around the peak's pure denial.--But > without a shelter, here on the cliffs of the heart... > > > Rainer Maria Rilke > > > (trans. by Stephen Mitchell) > > > > posted by Mazie Lane to Allspirit > > > ----- > --------- > > > > I am in love with the winter sky today; in love with the smudged > charcoal and cool steel > that somehow lend a certain substance...a certain reality. Its soft > light is soothing to the > eyes today. There are colors in the world...but it is as if they wish > to be less obtrusive, > more subtle...easy. Even sound travels through this thickness > differently. It is muffled > and more gentle. Mood is neither buoyant, nor does it sink under this > weight, which is > rather like a gray wool about my shoulders. The whole world feels > somehow soft... > listening...and very present. As the winter sky becomes the night sky > once again, I think: > What sky shall I love tomorrow? > > > posted by Aly to nondualnow > > > > > ----- > --------- > > > > > The clouds that wander through the sky have no roots, no home, > Nor do the distinctive thoughts floating through the mind. > Once the Self-mind is seen, > Discrimination stops. > > -Tilopa, " The Song of Mahamudra " > From " Teachings of the Buddha, " edited by Jack Kornfield, 1993 > Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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