« 2005-10 | HomePage | 2005-12 »
11/13/2005
Eveninghaiku
Silver shining moon
forest dark and sleeping
owl hunts soundlessly
23:20 Posted in Poetry | Permalink | Comments (0) | Email this
Haiku: fire
Going to the barn
gathering woods, returning
warmth of glowing fire
23:20 Posted in Poetry | Permalink | Comments (0) | Email this
Mating calls
September:
It’s very quiet, very serene, very wonderful. It’s simply a privilege to experience this. Went with a friend to the forest the other day in the evening. Sitting on a little bench near a lake in the woods we listened to the stags all around us roaring in their mating call. This earthly power in their calls, make you silent of awe. Then the civilized full world of people falls away and for a moment you look in the matter that we are all made of: our bodies, our desires and passions: the whole libidinous build up of our existence with all sentient being. It’s there for right before you, same and other in one moment. So it seems that this is what we get when being open as foolish beings: this enormous amplitude of emotions: earthly power and ultimate refinement, deepest sorrow and ecstatic joy, tears and laughs, moving moments and horror, love and pain. So this seems to be what we can eventually accomplish in our foolishness with the help of the other power that is sometimes given to us: seeing this universe as a healing song for the honour of life itself, that loses its contours in the far horizon of the future, past. Our being a little flame that lights up, but then disappears in the sea of tears, that is ultimately the sea of love. And this is sometimes what I don’t experience, when I’m in my narrow minded depressive moods: Pureland Buddhism is the most erotic branch of Buddhism I came across.
18:40 Posted in Impressions & Inspirations | Permalink | Comments (1) | Email this
Interpreting Rilke: The Nightly hours
And this one is inspired by Rilke's yugen.
Nightly hours
When the hours so near
as in your own heart strike
and everything with craving
voices asks:
Are you there?
Then I am not the one,
who in the morning wakes up lightly:
a name is given to me in the night,
that nobody I speak by day,
can call out lightly.
Every door
in me gives in…
And then I know, that it will never pass,
no gesture, no prayer
(therefore this things seem too immovable ) –
my whole childhood stands
always in me.
Never am I alone.
Many who lived before and strived,
wove,
wove,
wove my being.
And when I lay down
and whisper hoarse to you:
Me pain –
do you hear?
Who knows how and where
you will murmur with me.
14:39 Posted in Poetry | Permalink | Comments (0) | Email this
Walking
My gaze is already upon the hill, the sunny one,
at the end of the path which I've only just begun.
We are taken, by that which we cannot grasp
at such great distance, yet so near—
and it changes us, even when we do not reach it,
into something, that, hardly sensing it, we already are;
a sign appears, echoing our own direction . . .
But what we sense is the falling winds.
14:25 Posted in Poetry | Permalink | Comments (0) | Email this
Falling in love with life
Softly falling in love with life
Autumn foolishness
Moss over ruined stone
Like soft skin over the deadly scars
of my heart
Namo Amida Bu.
14:15 Posted in Poetry | Permalink | Comments (0) | Email this