...

At dawn with staff in hand I climbed the crags,
At dusk I made my camp among the mountains.
Only a few peaks rise as high as this house,
Facing the crags, it overlooks winding streams.
In front of its gates a vast forest stretches.
While boulders are heaped round its very steps.
Hemmed in by mountains, there seems no way out,
The track gets lost among the thick bamboos.
Deep in meditation, how can I part from Truth?
I cherish the Way and never will swerve from it

~ Xie Lingyun (385–433)

I have seen where the wolf has slept by the silver stream
I can tell by the mark he left, you were in his dream
Ah child of countless trees
What you are, and what you're meant to be
Speaks his name, though you were born to me
Born to me, Cassidy
Lost now on the country miles in his Cadillac
I can tell by the way you smile, he is rolling back
Come wash the nighttime clean
Come grow the scorched ground green
Blow the horn, and tap the tambourine
Close the gap of the dark years in between
You and me, Cassidy
Quick beats in an icy heart
Catch colt draws a coffin cart
There he goes and now here she starts
Hear her cry
Flight of the seabirds
Scattered like lost words
Wield to the storm and fly
Fare thee well now
Let your life proceed by its own design
Nothing to tell now
Let the words be yours, I'm done with mine
Fare thee well now
Flight of the seabirds
Scattered like lost words
Wield to the storm and fly

~ John Barlow

@rookie54 said
At dawn with staff in hand I climbed the crags,
At dusk I made my camp among the mountains.
Only a few peaks rise as high as this house,
Facing the crags, it overlooks winding streams.
In front of its gates a vast forest stretches.
While boulders are heaped round its very steps.
Hemmed in by mountains, there seems no way out,
The track gets lost among the thick bamboo ...[text shortened]... w can I part from Truth?
I cherish the Way and never will swerve from it

~ Xie Lingyun (385–433)

It's stupid to write poems
as if they might change anything.
But they do, don't they?
How can we be sure?

"2000," Trev might write,
but I'll just do it for him.
The English sold the Irish
their own language in a poke.

Half into the mountains,
A mountain monastery.
A man in the country now,
I climb to it on an autumn day.
It is right in their midst,
With lovely rocks askew;
Solitary on the summit
On the very highest perch.

~ Dun Xunhe (846-904)

Evening wind,
Morning frost:
These things make solitude beautiful.

~ Yun Shouping (1633-1690)

Without going outdoors
The Sage knows all things under heaven.
Without looking through the window
He sees the Way of Heaven.
The more one ventures forth
The less one knows.

~ Tao te Ching

@rookie54 said
Half into the mountains,
A mountain monastery.
A man in the country now,
I climb to it on an autumn day.
It is right in their midst,
With lovely rocks askew;
Solitary on the summit
On the very highest perch.

~ Dun Xunhe (846-904)

@rookie54 said
Without going outdoors
The Sage knows all things under heaven.
Without looking through the window
He sees the Way of Heaven.
The more one ventures forth
The less one knows.

~ Tao te Ching

@rookie54 said
At dawn with staff in hand I climbed the crags,
At dusk I made my camp among the mountains.
Only a few peaks rise as high as this house,
Facing the crags, it overlooks winding streams.
In front of its gates a vast forest stretches.
While boulders are heaped round its very steps.
Hemmed in by mountains, there seems no way out,
The track gets lost among the thick bamboo ...[text shortened]... w can I part from Truth?
I cherish the Way and never will swerve from it

~ Xie Lingyun (385–433)

@rookie54

“Don’t feed the troll”

Excerpt from mutual friend @Crowley’s profile

In the far distance rises Hua Shan with its great precipices and awesome chasms.
Out of a gorge rush waters of turquoise blue cascading over white stones.
Perched on the cliffs are shrines to the mountain gods who send fertile rains to the people on the plains.
In the temples Taoist monks read the sacred texts and burn incense on the altars.
Their features are weather-lined and their gowns patchwork.

~ Han-shan chih

Pilgrims endure the climb and rest in the sanctuaries.
Their strength and courage is renewed by the telluric powers of the great heights.
Some pilgrims kept diaries and others wrote poems and essays which have been handed down to us though written long ago.
On door and walls some scribbled their thoughts which have weathered away.

~ Han-shan chih

In our turn we climb the mountain in the tracks of those earlier pilgrims, recording what we heard of them and what they wrote.
Some were great scholars but most were simple people.
All bear witness to the beauty of the mountain which filled their heart.

~ Han-shan chih