Seven offerings that cost nothing . . .
A compassionate eye, a smiling face, loving words, a warm heart, physical service, a seat, and lodging.
The Buddha
Costs nothing today
Tag: Present moment
It doesn’t matter
If we don’t pay attention to every little this, we miss the whole thing. And the contents of this can be anything. This can be straightening our sitting mats, chopping an onion, talking to one we don’t want to talk to. It doesn’t matter what the contents of the moment are; each moment is absolute. That’s all there is, and all there ever will be. If we could totally pay attention, we would never be upset. If we’re upset, it’s axiomatic that we’re not paying attention. If we fill our days and we miss not just one moment, but one moment after another, we’re in trouble.
Charlotte Joko Beck
Tensions are part of life
We could say that New Age people in general are addicted to harmony.
The alchemical woodcut says that a child will not become an adult until it breaks the addiction to harmony, chooses the one precious thing, and enters into a joyful participation in the tensions of the world.
Robert Bly, Iron John
Schedules
A Bank Holiday here in Ireland; a non-working day and so a different way in which we relate to time:
So many times I have been unable to listen or to notice what someone was going through or where they were headed because it didn’t meet with my schedule. Patience and timing are inextricably linked. Patience, which we can regard with such excruciation, offers a hidden reward. When we stop watching the pot, we may learn that it boils right on time.
Sometimes my father would forget to wind the big clock, the weights would fall, and time would stop.
We wind the clock. It does not have to wind us.
Barry Boyce, What Time is Now?
Sunday Quote: Drink in
Set wide the window
Let me drink the day
Edith Wharton
Seasons
The first of May marks the start of Summer in the old Celtic way of dividing the seasons
The heart’s seasons seldom coincide with the calendar. Who among us has not been made desolate beyond all words upon some golden day when the little creatures of the air and meadow were life incarnate, from sheer joy of living? Who among us has not come home, singing, when the streets were almost impassable with snow, or met a friend with a happy, smiling face, in the midst of a pouring rain?
The soul, too, has its own hours of Winter and Spring.
Myrtle Reed 1874 – 1911, American author, poet, journalist, and philanthropist.
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