twilight –
birds, even the crows,
begin their lullaby
listening
From the side, an entire range;
from the end a single peak;
far, near, high, low,
no two parts alike.
The true face of the mountain
I cannot comprehend –
gazing upon it,
I myself am in the mountain.
[Su Tung-p'o (1084) adapted from translations by Burton Watson and Beata Grant]
stillness reveals the utter spontaneity of living
if, as is said in the Upanishads, Om was the first sound, Ha Ha must surely have been the second
listening at the edge of silence brings wonder
one version of the art of living: learning to be how and what you are
the world emerging as we speak . . .
could even the gods ask for more?
sometimes at night I
(not speaking, but spoken,
not singing, but sung)
wonder at words
bringing the world into being
nothing completely original is ever said; only the moment of utterance is truly new
the world is always worlding; at my best, I world along
poetry is the word making flesh, flesh