Another Autumn Saturday, another poem.
A second storm is hitting Ireland today – clouds obscure the sun, but the sun is still there.
This world –
absolutely pure
As is.
Behind the fear,
Vulnerability.
Behind that,
Sadness,
then compassion
And behind that the vast sky.
Rick Fields, 1942–1999, American journalist, poet, editor-at-large of Tricycle: A Buddhist Review.
Died at 59 of cancer. He wrote a series of poems on his illness from a Buddhist perspective.
Real life is not complicated but it is rich and complex,
and always has some element of mystery and what is not known.
Sometimes problems arise when we think it should all be straightforward.
There is no paradise,
no place of true completion
that does not include within its walls the unknown.
Jane Hirshfield
Life isn’t as serious as my mind makes it out to be.
Eckhart Tolle
Seriousness is not a virtue. It would be a heresy, but a much more sensible heresy, to say that seriousness is a vice. It is really a natural trend or lapse into taking one’s self gravely, because it is the easiest thing to do. For solemnity flows out of men naturally; but laughter is a leap. It is easy to be heavy: hard to be light. Satan fell by the force of gravity.
G. K Chesterton
More thoughts prompted by recent weather events….
Yesterday all exterior talk was of storms and wind and damage. Interior talk was of loss and holding onto to what really has worth.
What if we allowed our hearts to keep opening, even in the face of storms and uncertainty, until our hearts were big enough to fit all experiences inside?
We could learn to stop when the sun goes down and when the sun comes up. We could learn to listen to the wind; we could learn to notice that it’s raining or snowing or hailing or calm. We could reconnect with the weather that is ourselves, and we could realize that it’s sad. The sadder it is, and the vaster it is, the more our heart opens. We can stop thinking that good practice is when it’s smooth and calm, and bad practice is when it’s rough and dark. If we can hold it all in our hearts, then we can make a proper cup of tea.
Pema Chödrön
The storm passed over Ireland yesterday, blowing down trees, cutting power and diverting plans. How easy it is to be blown off course.
Be like the fox
who makes more tracks than necessary,
some in the wrong direction.
Practice resurrection.
Wendell Berry
The leaves are falling, falling as from far,
from wilting in the heavens’ distant gardens:
They’re falling to deny the summer’s mirth.
And in the nights the heavy Earth
falls into solitude from star to star.
We all are falling. See my hand: it is falling.
And look at others: It’s in all their calling.
And yet there’s One, who’s holding all this falling,
with endless tenderness, in His upturned hands.
Rilke, Autumn
