The bud stands for all things, even for those things that don't flower, for everything flowers, from within, of self-blessing; though sometimes it is necessary to reteach a thing its loveliness, to put a hand on its brow of the flower and retell it in words and in touch it is lovely until it flowers again from within, of self-blessing; as Saint Francis put his hand on the creased forehead of the sow, and told her in words and in touch blessings of earth on the sow, and the sow began remembering all down her thick length, from the earthen snout all the way through the fodder and slops to the spiritual curl of the tail, from the hard spininess spiked out from the spine down through the great broken heart to the blue milken dreaminess spurting and shuddering from the fourteen teats into the fourteen mouths sucking and blowing beneath them: the long, perfect loveliness of sow.
A billion stars go spinning through the night, Blazing high above your head. But in you is the presence that Will be, when all the stars are dead. The hour is striking so close above me, so clear and sharp, that all my senses ring with it. I feel it now: there's a power in me to grasp and give shape to my world.
I know that nothing has ever been real without my beholding it.imarket59.ru/cbh
Changing The Story
All becoming has needed me. My looking ripens things and they come toward me, to meet and be met. At night make me one with darkness. As long as it talks I am going to listen. Life and death: they are one, at core entwined. Who understands himself from his own strain presses himself into a drop of wine and throws himself into the purest flame. My life is not this steeply sloping hour, in which you see me hurrying. Much stands behind me: I stand before it like a tree: I am only one of my many mouths and at that, the one that will be still the soonest.
I am the rest between two notes, which are somehow always in discord because deaths note wants to climb over- but in the dark interval, reconciled, They stay here trembling. And the song goes on, beautiful. But in you is the presence that will be, when all the stars are dead.
This laboring through what is still undone, as though, legs bound, we hobbled along the way, is like the awkward walking of the swan. And dying-to let go, no longer feel the solid ground we stand on every day- is like anxious letting himself fall. Ranier Marie Rilke, Translated by Stephen Mitchell Quiet friend who has come so far, feel how your breathing makes more space around you. Let this darkness be a bell tower and you the bell. As you ring,. Move back and forth into the change.
What is it like, such intensity of pain? If the drink is bitter, turn yourself to wine. In this uncontainable night, be the mystery at the crossroads of your senses, the meaning discovered there. And if the world has ceased to hear you, say to the silent earth: I flow. To the rushing water, speak: I am. This clumsy living that moves lumbering as if in ropes through what is not done, reminds us of the awkward way the swan walks.
And to die, which is the letting go of the ground we stand on and cling to every day, is like the swan, when he nervously lets himself down into the water, which receives him gaily and which flows joyfully under and after him, wave after wave, while the swan, unmoving and marvelously calm, is pleased to be carried, each moment more fully grown, more like a king, further and further on.
I love the dark hours of my being. My mind deepens into them. There I can find, as in old letters, the days of my life, already lived, and held like a legend, and understood. Then the knowing comes: I can open to another life that's wide and timeless. I 'm nobody! Who are you?
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Are you nobody, too? Then there 's a pair of us-don't tell! They 'd banish us, you know. How dreary to be somebody! How public, like a frog To tell your name the livelong day To an admiring bog!
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I have a feeling that my boat Has struck, down there in the depths, Against a great thing. And nothing happens! Nothing…Silence…Waves… --Nothing happens? Or has everything Happened, And are we standing now, quietly, in the new life? I am not I.
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The one who remains silent when I talk, The one who forgives, sweet, when I hate, The one who takes a walk when I am indoors, The one who will remain standing when I die. You do not need to leave your room. Remain sitting at your table and listen. Do not even listen, simply wait.
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Do not even wait, be quite still and solitary. The world will freely offer itself to you to be unmasked, it has no choice, it will roll in ecstasy at your feet. The song I have come to sing remains unsung to this day. I have spent my life stringing and unstringing my instrument. The same stream of life that runs through my veins night and day runs through the world and dances in rhythmic measures. It is the same life that shoots in joy through the dust of the earth in numberless blades of grass and breaks into tumultuous waves of leaves and flowers.
It is the same life that is rocked in the ocean-cradle of birth and of death in ebb and in flow. I feel my limbs are made glorious by the touch of this world of life and my joy is from the life-throb of ages dancing in my blood this moment.
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A human being is part of the whole, called by 'Universe'; a part limited in time and space. We experience ourselves, our thoughts and feelings, as something separated from the rest, a kind of optical delusion of our consciousness.
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This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest to us. Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty. You shall be free indeed not when your days are without a care nor your nights without a want and a grief, but rather when these things girdle your life and yet you rise above them naked and unbound. Ring the bells that can still ring, Forget your perfect offering, There is a crack in everything, That's how the light gets in.
What a thing it is to sit absolutely alone, in the forest, at night, cherished by this wonderful, unintelligible, perfectly innocent speech, the most comforting speech in the world, the talk that rain makes by itself all over the ridges, and the talk of the watercourses everywhere in the hollows! Nobody started it, nobody is going to stop it.
It will talk as long as it wants, this rain. Be at peace with your own soul, Then heaven and earth will be at peace with you. Enter eagerly into the treasure house that is within you, And you will see the things that are in heaven; For there is but one single entry to them both. The ladder that leads to the Kingdom in hidden within your soul Dive into yourself and in your soul you will discover The stairs by which to ascend. We are what we think. All that we are arises with our thoughts.
With our thoughts we make the world. Speak or act with an impure mind And Trouble will follow you As the wheel follows the ox that draws the cart. Speak or act with a pure mind and happiness will follow you As your shadow, unshakable. Meditation is not to escape from society, but to come back to ourselves and see what is going on. Once there is seeing, there must be acting. With mindfulness, we know what to do and what not to do to help. Ten thousand flowers in spring, the moon in autumn, A cool breeze in summer, snow in winter. If your mind isn't clouded by unnecessary things, This is the best season of your life.