Edited by Gloria Lee
Of your mother and father all that remains
Of the bee and flower, just honey.
Of the master and disciple only
a quivering white stream
pouring from bowl to cup.
Why ask if there are one or two?
Compare us, my beauty, to melting snow.
Give up perfection, take up
laughter and tears.
Drown in what you are.
~ Fred LaMotte
from ‘Wounded Bud: Poems for Meditation,’
available at Amazon.com: http://tiny.cc/cwbt6w
Don’t take life literally. Every blade of grass points
elsewhere. In this theater of dying stars, each creature
yearns to mean something more. The great artist is the one
who captures the paradox of deathless Beauty in
~ Fred LaMotte
“The great, shining light of divinity is not a light
you can see; it’s a light that sees.”
Alan Larus Photography
Asked how long he (The Dalai Lama) can remain
compassionate towards the Chinese he answered,
“Until I die; anger is not an effective strategy.”
From the website http://www.dalailama.com
via Daily Dharma by anipachen
Do they ever want to escape?
Climb out of the white pages
and enter our world?
Holden Caulfield slipping in the movie theater
to catch the two o’clock
Anna Karenina sitting in a diner,
reading the paper as the waitress
serves up a cheeseburger.
Even Hector, on break from the Iliad,
takes a stroll through the park,
admires the tulips.
Maybe they grew tired
of the author’s mind,
all its twists and turns.
Or were finally weary
of stumbling around Pamplona,
a bottle in each fist,
eating lotuses on the banks of the Nile.
For others, it was just too hot
in the small California town
where they’d been written into
a lifetime of plowing fields.
Whatever the reason,
here they are, roaming the city streets
rain falling on their phantasmal shoulders.
Wouldn’t you, if you could?
Step out of your own story,
to lean against a doorway
of the Five & Dime, sipping your coffee,
your life, somewhere far behind you,
all its heat and toil nothing but a tale
resting in the hands of a stranger,
the sidewalk ahead wet and glistening.
by Danusha Laméris
from The Moons of August. © Autumn House Press, 2014.
Read by Thich Nhat Hanh, chanted by brother Phap Niem.
Visuals taken from:
HOME, Earth and Baraka