twilight –
birds, even the crows,
begin their lullaby

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

the way of creativity is the way of appropriation

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