Faith is the bird that feels the light when the dawn is still dark.
— Rabindranath Tagore
I was not born to be forced. I will breathe after my own fashion.
— Henry David Thoreau
Stone by stone, body by body in the grass:
For this we trade our lone compass,
Become swans instead, adrift in glaze-
Light, kilned in the arms of each other
Into vessel-vassal new. Or shrew,
As the case may be. What would you do?
Listen to the footsteps in the thistles.
Put the kettle on for tea, and whisper it to me.
— Meghan O’Rourke
When the flower blooms, the bees come uninvited.
Subhuti was Buddha’s disciple.
He was able to understand the potency of emptiness,
the viewpoint that nothing exists except in its relationship of
subjectivity and objectivity.
One day Subhuti, in a mood of sublime emptiness,
was sitting under a tree. Flowers began to fall about him.
“We are praising you for your discourse on emptiness,”
the gods whispered to him.
“But I have not spoken of emptiness,” said Subhuti.
“You have not spoken of emptiness, we have not heard emptiness,”
responded the gods.
“This is true emptiness.”
And blossoms showered upon Subhuto as rain.
— Nyogen Senzaki
Love wants to reach out and manhandle us,
Break all our teacup talk of God.
If you had the courage and
Could give the Beloved His choice, some nights,
He would just drag you around the room
By your hair,
Ripping from your grip all those toys in the world
That bring you no joy.
Love sometimes gets tired of speaking sweetly
And wants to rip to shreds
All your erroneous notions of truth
That make you fight within yourself, dear one,
And with others,
Causing the world to weep
On too many fine days.
God wants to manhandle us,
Lock us inside of a tiny room with Himself
And practice His dropkick.
The Beloved sometimes wants
To do us a great favor:
Hold us upside down
And shake all the nonsense out.
But when we hear
He is in such a “playful drunken mood”
Most everyone I know
Quickly packs their bags and hightails it
Out of town.