unask

 

 

A break now, for the holiday; the next blog entry will appear on Sunday December 28.

 

 

 

 

Bahiya

 

Bahiya hurried to the city, where he found the Buddha on alms round, moving with great calm, his mind at peace, tranquil and poised with the restrained senses of a Great One.

He approached the Buddha, threw himself to the ground before him with his head to His feet and said, “Teach me the Dhamma, O Blessed One! Teach me the Dhamma, O Holy One, so that it will be for my long-term welfare and bliss.”

The Buddha said, “Well, Bahiya, you should train yourself like this: Whenever you see a form, simply see; whenever you hear a sound, simply hear; whenever you smell an aroma, simply smell; whenever you taste a flavor, simply taste; whenever you feel a sensation, simply feel; whenever a thought arises, let it just be a thought. Then “you” will not exist; whenever “you” do not exist, “you” will not be found in this world, another world or in between. In that selflessness is the end of suffering.”

From the Bahiya Sutra

 

 

 

 

 

poppies in the sun

 

Mad Patsy said, he said to me,
That every morning he could see
An angel walking on the sky;
Across the sunny skies of morn
He threw great handfuls far and nigh
Of poppy seed among the corn;
And then, he said, the angels run
To see the poppies in the sun.

From James Stephens, 'in the poppy field'

 

 

 

 

 

rich fabrics

 

As you set sail for Ithaka
hope for a long journey
full of mystery, full of finding things.
Cyclops, Laistrygonians,
the fury of Poseidon: don't be afraid
they will not harm you, if and only if
your mind is brilliant with delight
as long as joy drives you
and lives in your body and your soul.

Cyclops, Laistrygonians,
the wildness of Poseidon: you won't find them
unless you bring them with you
unless you let them lead you
and light your way.

Hope for a long journey
hope that on many summer mornings
driven by joy, brilliant with delight
you stop at Phoenician trading stations
and buy rich fabrics
jewels, ebony, coral and amber
and learn wisdom from what you buy.

Keep Ithaka always in your mind:
to be there is what you were born for.
Better if you journey for years
so that you are old, when you reach the island
wealthy with what you have learned.

Ithaka gave you the journey
without her, you would not have set forth;
look: she has nothing left to give.

Look: she is poor; look, her barren
undeceiving soil. Wise as you now will be
You will understand, what Ithaka means.

From Constantine Cavafy, Ithaka, tranl. Tom Davis

 

 

 

 

 

scamel

there is a new entry in our scamel blog.

 

 

 

 

a rose

 

A rose by any other name
Would get the blame
For being what it is -
The colour of a kiss,
The shadow of a flame.
A rose may earn another name,
So call it love;
So call it love I will,
And love is like the sea,
Which changes constantly,
And yet is still
The same.

Tanith Lee

 

 

 

 

 

moonlight and beautiful olives

 

This singing
is a kind of dying,
a kind of birth,
a votive candle.
I have a dream-mother
who sings with her guitar,
nursing the bedroom
with moonlight and beautiful olives.
A flute came too,
joining the five strings,
a God finger over the holes.

She sang for my thirst,
mysterious songs of God
that would have laid an army down.
It was as if a morning-glory
had bloomed in her throat
and all that blue
and small pollen
ate into my heart
violent and religious.

Anne Sexton, from 'The Fury Of Guitars And Sopranos'.

 

 

 

 

 

geranium

 

Is there no great love, only tenderness?
Does the sea

Remember the walker upon it?
Meaning leaks from the molecules.
The chimneys of the city breathe, the window sweats,
The children leap in their cots.
The sun blooms, it is a geranium.

Sylvia Plath, from Mystic.

 

 

 

 

 

reflection

 

We are the time. We are the famous
metaphor from Heraclitus the Obscure.

We are the water, not the hard diamond,
the one that is lost, not the one that stands still.

We are the river and we are that Greek
that looks himself into the river. His reflection
changes into the waters of the changing mirror,
into the crystal that changes like the fire.

We are the vain predetermined river,
in his travel to his sea.

The shadows have surrounded him.
Everything said goodbye to us, everything goes away.

Memory does not stamp his own coin.

However, there is something that stays
however, there is something that mourns.

Borges