Monday, March 26, 2012
we went to our master and asked him, what is zen?
wait until it rains, he said, and ask a blackbird
impatiently, we waited until it was raining. we asked a blackbird, what is zen?
he said, the rain is zen
it seemed true. raindrops gleamed on his feathers, like small worlds born and dying. he pressed the wet air and it answered with a song
but, we objected, it isn’t always raining….
the blackbird sighed. oh, fuckinghell, he said, give me a break, lifting himself on his perch and shaking the rain from his wings to fly away
Sunday, March 18, 2012
Carnal love in al its forms, from the highest, that is to say true marriage or platonic love, down to the worst, down to debauchery, has the beauty of the world as its object. The love we feel for the splendor of the heavens, the plains, the sea, and the mountains, for the silence of nature, which is borne in upon us by thousands of tiny sounds, for the breath of the winds or the warmth of the sun, this love of which every human being has at least an inkling, is an incomplete, painful love, for it is felt for things incapable of responding, that is to say, for matter. Men want to turn this same love toward a being who is like themselves and capable of answering to their love, of saying yes, of surrendering. When the feeling for beauty happens to be associated with the sight of some human being, the transference of love is made possible. But it is all the beauty of the world, it is universal beauty, for which we yearn.
"Forms of the Implicit Love of God"
Friday, March 16, 2012
if spring came early and you were in love with an impossible intensity, would there be anything else, anything else, except to lie on your belly in the dew and touch the smallest flowers you could find, until everything was possible, everything?
Thursday, March 1, 2012
What birds fly through is not that intimate space
in which you feel all forms intensified.
(There, in the Open, you’d be denied yourself
and vanish on and on without return.)
Space reaches out from us and translates each thing:
to accomplish a tree’s essence
cast inner space around it, out of that space
that has its life in you. Surround it with restraint:
in itself it has no bounds. Only in the spell
of your renouncing does it rise as Tree.
Rainer Maria Rilke
translated by Edward Snow