Seventy circuits round the sun,
although it seems she circuits me,
each day with nothing still to lack,
her face arises... I bow low.
From this illusion springs our woe,
so natural the illusion is
to think one does not budge one jot
as all revolves around.
Copernicus shot down conceit.
Galileo should have said “Any yet WE move”.
Our best of science but one view
one fraction of the whole.
As I grow old I know much more
about my ignorance and dark
and as I grow so dark below,
stars dimly seen emerge and grow.
Replies
Thank you, Diana....
Who knows what comes at the end of all
In the market of heaven, what do they sell?
I’d like to buy before I’m sold
and my next assignment filed.
Who knows when a tree or a nut may fall?
Seasons sound your marching bell!
Grow young, grow young, as you grow old;
As you grow slow, grow wild.
Who knows the truth of the raven’s call?
King of the black coats, what can you tell?
A tale of the weak, a tale of the bold -
the wise bow down to play with the child.
44 circuits around the sun.
Yet, my heart will not accept my words, not like yours which are a prefect of time.
Happy birthday, and let your light continue to dominate your perspective.
You jumped at every chance, to spread like the walnut tree, to have felt the seasoning of the Sangha going into it's seed.
Then came the root and eventually the birth of the treasured nut,
With one taste as they wind up falling to the earth.
That the watering of gracious volition, from sun to moon, differences dissipate, especially since I know not any ultimate truth but just one falling walnut, which hit hurt my head.
However, I prefer ignorance.
Imagine, the wise one, whom may have the merit to have the tree bow down in his presence, ouch, it might just severely harm him.
Or not, who knows....
Thank you Maitrisimha. Yes, we are both avid readers. Long may it be so.
Sending you much love also. Hope our paths cross again before too long.
Thank for this poem. Happy New Year and still congratulations with your birthday.
My thoughts are with you. Can't help seeing you in your room/library (or cave?) at Eleusis. Amidst all the books.
As long as I know you, you were almost never (travelling) without books.
This is what we share. There is a poem by a Dutch poet that is particularly very dear to me:
Inalienable
This will not be taken away from us: reading
and holding breath while turning the page
far removed from the dayliness
Those who read may be lonely.
They were so from childhood on.
Them beckons a world where the the great,
the timeless ones, live on.
Towards whom we little ones may go;
the only ones who never cast us off.
COUNTERPOINT
Recently I came across another poem, that is in a way a sobering counterpoint:
Even if you consume as many books
As the sands of the Ganges
It is not as good as really catching
One verse of Zen.
If you want the secret of Buddhism,
Here it is: Everything is in the Heart!
Washing my hands with water,
may all sentient beings
attain excellent hands
for maintaining buddha dharma.
This one is by Dogen.
In my view the washing of hands is a symbol for compassion.
Just wanted to share this with you around your birthday.
Much Love,
Maitrisimha