Sunday Quote: A waste of time

We spend all our energy and waste our lives trying to re-create these zones of safety, which are always falling apart. That’s the essence of samsara – the cycle of suffering that comes from continuing to seek happiness in all the wrong places.

Pema Chodron, Comfortable with Uncertainty

 

our natural state of ease

There is a deep difference between inactivity and rest. Inactivity is often filled with mental chatter and tension. True rest is a mindful ‘non-doing.’ It is the art of releasing the need to control, to achieve, and to manage every moment. It is in these moments of sincere letting go that we truly restore ourselves and come back to our natural state of ease.

Joseph Emet, Buddha’s Book of Happiness: Teachings for Achieving Lasting Peace, Joy, and Fearlessness

The right eyes

Poet Rainer Maria Rilke was secretary to the sculptor Auguste Rodin when he temporarily lost the ability to write. To Rodin, this meant that Rilke had stopped seeing.

He suggested that the poet go to the Paris Zoo every day and look at one animal until he “saw” it.

Seventy-two poems later, all about a panther, Rilke could say, as he later said of the painter Paul Cezanne , “Suddenly one has the right eyes

Phil Cousineau, The Art of Pilgrimage

a background hum

One of the foundational “truths” of Buddhism is that there is an unsatisfactory nature to our existence, which does not mean that we are getting it wrong.

Dukkha” arises from the brain’s tendency to crave what it doesn’t have, resist what it doesn’t like, and cling to what’s fleeting

leading to a background hum of stress.

Rich Hanson, Buddhas Brain

Moment by moment

Home is not just the place where you happen to be born.

It’s the place where you become yourself.

For some of us, that means refusing to be just one self, or belonging to just one place.

Pico Iyer, The Art of Stillness

Determining our mood

The sailor who does not adjust to the wind conditions will have a difficult time.

One ship drives east and another drives west by the same winds that blow.

Its the set of the sails

and not the gales that determines the way they go.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox, 1850 – 1919, American author and poet.