Thich Nhat Hanh “The Buddha Is the Sitting Itself”
The silence of the spheres is the music of a wedding feast. The more we persist in misunderstanding the phenomena of life, the more we analyze them out into strange finalities and complex purposes of our own, the more we involve ourselves in sadness, absurdity, and despair.
But it does not matter much, because no despair of ours can alter the reality of things, or stain the joy of the cosmic dance which is always there. Indeed, we are in the midst of it, and it is in the midst of us, for it beats in our very blood, whether we want it to or not. Yet the fact remains that we are invited to forget ourselves on purpose, cast our awful solemnity to the winds and join in the general dance.
|—||Thomas Merton, New Seeds of Contemplation|
I live my life in expanding orbits
in order to take things in.
Perhaps I will not achieve the last
but I will try
I am circling around God, around the ancient tower,
and I’ve been circling for thousands of years.
I still don’t know whether I’m a falcon,
a storm or a great song
|—||Rainer Maria Rilke from The Book of Hours|
There are things you can’t reach. But you can reach out to them, and all day long.
The wind, the bird flying away. The idea of God.
And it can keep you as busy as anything else, and happier.
The snake slides away; the fish jumps, like a little lily, out of the water and back in; the goldfinches sing from the unreachable top of the tree.
I look; morning to night I am never done with looking.
Looking I mean not just standing around, but standing around as though with your arms open.
And thinking; maybe something will come, some shining coil of wind, or a few leaves from any old tree –they are all in this too.
And now I will tell you the truth. Everything in the world comes.
At least, closer.
Like the nibbling, tinsel-eyed fish; the unlooping snake. Like goldfinches, little dolls of gold fluttering around the corner of the sky
of God, the blue air.
|—||Where Does the Temple End, Where Does It Begin? by Mary Oliver|
Ah, not to be cut off,
not through the slightest partition
shut out from the law of the stars.
The inner — what is it?
if not the intensified sky,
hurled through with birds and
deep with the winds of homecoming.