Thursday, March 13, 2014
Wednesday, March 12, 2014
A Greeting and an Anecdote
Hullo Little one. How be thee?
It would seem I was more eloquent in years gone past, 2011, to be exact in my thinking. How strange is that?
Yesterday I was witness to a hilarious happening, a sort of classic movie moment. My brother was testing out my longboard on the hallway floor as my sister had said it was turning rather strangely and stiffly. I think it's a bit stiff too, but I turn all right on the road with enough speed.
My brother coasted slowly up and down the cracked and chipped laminate until we heard a faint clunk. "What was that?", we all wondered and looked around to identify the cause of sound. A large bolt appeared on the floor in front of my board. We all looked at it for a few seconds, and once more wondered out loud, "Where did that come from?". My brother peered at the bolt inquisitively. He picked up my board, and we watched in astonishment as the front truck and wheels fell from the board piece by piece, like some enchanted creature ceasing to be held together with magic. Clink clunk clank.
And that is the story of how I almost died long boarding yesterday, as one of my trucks was, apparently, missing a nut. (Not really, my other brother scoffs whenever I make this announcement, as he says his truck actually fell off when he was riding once and it was fine, he didn't crash spectacularly or anything.)
It would seem I was more eloquent in years gone past, 2011, to be exact in my thinking. How strange is that?
Yesterday I was witness to a hilarious happening, a sort of classic movie moment. My brother was testing out my longboard on the hallway floor as my sister had said it was turning rather strangely and stiffly. I think it's a bit stiff too, but I turn all right on the road with enough speed.
My brother coasted slowly up and down the cracked and chipped laminate until we heard a faint clunk. "What was that?", we all wondered and looked around to identify the cause of sound. A large bolt appeared on the floor in front of my board. We all looked at it for a few seconds, and once more wondered out loud, "Where did that come from?". My brother peered at the bolt inquisitively. He picked up my board, and we watched in astonishment as the front truck and wheels fell from the board piece by piece, like some enchanted creature ceasing to be held together with magic. Clink clunk clank.
And that is the story of how I almost died long boarding yesterday, as one of my trucks was, apparently, missing a nut. (Not really, my other brother scoffs whenever I make this announcement, as he says his truck actually fell off when he was riding once and it was fine, he didn't crash spectacularly or anything.)
Monday, March 10, 2014
Friday, March 7, 2014
Cut not thy limbs, dam(n) not thy own blood
My life, my soul mimics the waters I was born from,
Two rivers joined together,
Nine other streams branching from their union.
My pattern follows theirs,
Even as I choose my own path,
My own feet will carry me, their hands rest on my shoulders,
We have bound ourselves together.
In this world as it is, as we've found it to be,
Nothing much is permanent,
But we hope to create a permanence of bond
In this swirling, fluctuating society.
Two rivers joined together,
Nine other streams branching from their union.
My pattern follows theirs,
Even as I choose my own path,
My own feet will carry me, their hands rest on my shoulders,
We have bound ourselves together.
In this world as it is, as we've found it to be,
Nothing much is permanent,
But we hope to create a permanence of bond
In this swirling, fluctuating society.
Thursday, March 6, 2014
Prayeralells
(Written a few days ago, I really am not sure how true it may hold still. Today is grey and disgruntled.)
Set as we are, to the East in our valley, surrounded by mountains on all sides, the view we enjoy is incredible in any season, in all directions.
Today clouds hang low and wispy; the palette: deep blue and tranquil white.
We accuse humans of anthropomorphism, especially those with the occupation, curse, and liberation of Poet. But suppose the Earth does feel emotion? Suppose the animals feel just as deeply, or even deeper than us, the homo sapiens?
Wouldn't we feel more responsibility and kinship with our surroundings and quiet neighbors?
Our valley today feels tranquil, just a little sad, and slightly huddled. Waking up after a strange, strange winter, sleep sand spilling from crevasses slowly.
Suppose we don't superimpose our own emotions on nature. Instead, nature taught us how to feel;
The anger and jubilation, the absolute, raw power of thunder and wind and downpour. Sweet sadness and release in quiet, grey rain, pure and so beautiful. The awareness and hidden mysteries hidden and revealed by the moon in all of her incarnations, the silent encouragement of her consorts, so far away. The sun's crankiness, wisdom, and benevolence, it's faithful nurturing of the earth's green (and pink) things, sometimes far surpasses the rain's trustworthiness. The Buddha or Jesus voice and touch of snow and its muffled blanket, its quiet meditation and inner eye.
The parallels of the seasons and all of life; birth, flower, maturation, death, recycle.
Set as we are, to the East in our valley, surrounded by mountains on all sides, the view we enjoy is incredible in any season, in all directions.
Today clouds hang low and wispy; the palette: deep blue and tranquil white.
We accuse humans of anthropomorphism, especially those with the occupation, curse, and liberation of Poet. But suppose the Earth does feel emotion? Suppose the animals feel just as deeply, or even deeper than us, the homo sapiens?
Wouldn't we feel more responsibility and kinship with our surroundings and quiet neighbors?
Our valley today feels tranquil, just a little sad, and slightly huddled. Waking up after a strange, strange winter, sleep sand spilling from crevasses slowly.
Suppose we don't superimpose our own emotions on nature. Instead, nature taught us how to feel;
The anger and jubilation, the absolute, raw power of thunder and wind and downpour. Sweet sadness and release in quiet, grey rain, pure and so beautiful. The awareness and hidden mysteries hidden and revealed by the moon in all of her incarnations, the silent encouragement of her consorts, so far away. The sun's crankiness, wisdom, and benevolence, it's faithful nurturing of the earth's green (and pink) things, sometimes far surpasses the rain's trustworthiness. The Buddha or Jesus voice and touch of snow and its muffled blanket, its quiet meditation and inner eye.
The parallels of the seasons and all of life; birth, flower, maturation, death, recycle.
Tuesday, March 4, 2014
Unknowable Future
"I don't know if tomorrow will bring rain or storm,
still, I shall pull the weeds in the rice paddy."
"Chapter Nine
1. Autumn in Japan is the typhoon season, which not uncommonly ruins entire rice crops. Hence, the farmer pulls weeds in the rice paddy never knowing whether or not he will be able to harvest the crop."
-both from "How to Cook Your Life" by Dōgen with commentary by Kōshō uchiyama Rōshi
Friday, February 28, 2014
Number game
Ten more pageviews to 11,111!!! Yes, that is significant :)
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| Click to see full size Taken Dec 13, 2013 |
(One away from 2222 emails as well, and the clock recently read 3:33 PM) 4:44
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