someplace else
anywhere else
must be better
grass be greener
and delusion continues...
Your residence, Meng,
Overlooks the river;
But you do not eat
The fish in it.
Your robe is common,
Sewn of coarse cloth;
Silk books alone
Fill your bamboo shelves.
The solitary bird
Loves the wood;
Your heart also
Not of the world.
Your plan to row away
In a lone boat, and
Build another hut—
In which mountains?
- Chia Tao
i thought of you...
Ten thousand things in heaven and earth,
All should be fodder for the laboring mind.
Though others would like to understand,
This Way of Poetry is profound indeed!
Returning to simplicity,
You ignore current happenings,
Shut your gate, getting through the year end.
I thought of you these past fall evenings,
Both of us facing the cold lamp, composing.
- Ch’i chi (864-937)
"It's a very simple poem but one that I live by"
Elijah Cummings (1951 - 10/17/2019)
I only have a minute
60 seconds in it.
Forced upon me,
I did not choose it
But I know that
I must use it
Give account if I abuse it
Suffer if I lose it,
Only a tiny little minute
But eternity is in it.
Dr Benjamin Mays (1894-1984)
42
The Tao begot one.
One begot two.
Two begot three.
And three begot the ten thousand things.
The ten thousand things carry yin and embrace yang.
They achieve harmony by combining these forces.
Men hate to be "orphaned," "widowed," or "worthless,"
But this is how kings and lords describe themselves.
For one gains by losing
And loses by gaining.
What others teach, I also teach; that is:
"A violent man will die a violent death!"
This will be the essence of my teaching.
42
The Tao produced One;
One produced Two;
Two produced Three;
Three produced All things.
All things leave behind them the Obscurity
(out of which they have come), and go forward to embrace the
Brightness (into which they have emerged), while they are harmonised
by the Breath of Vacancy.
What men dislike is to be orphans, to have little virtue, to be as
carriages without naves; and yet these are the designations which
kings and princes use for themselves. So it is that some things are
increased by being diminished, and others are diminished by being
increased.
What other men (thus) teach, I also teach.
The violent and strong do not die their natural death.
I will make this the basis of my teaching.
START CLOSE IN
Start close in,
don’t take
the second step
or the third,
start with the first
thing
close in,
the step
you don’t want to take.
Start with
the ground
you know,
the pale ground
beneath your feet,
your own
way to begin
the conversation.
Start with your own
question,
give up on other
people’s questions,
don’t let them
smother something
simple.
To hear
another’s voice,
follow
your own voice,
wait until
that voice
becomes an
intimate
private ear
that can
really listen
to another.
Start right now
take a small step
you can call your own
don’t follow
someone else’s
heroics, be humble
and focused,
start close in,
don’t mistake
that other
for your own.
Start close in,
don’t take
the second step
or the third,
start with the first
thing
close in,
the step
you don’t want to take.
…
START CLOSE IN
in River Flow
New & Selected Poems
Many Rivers Press © David Whyte
….
This piece was inspired by the first lines of Dante's Comedia written in despair in the midst of exile from his beloved Florence. It reflects the difficult act we all experience, of trying to make a home in the world again when everything has been taken away; the necessity of stepping bravely again, into what looks now like a dark wood, when the outer world as we know it has disappeared, when the world has to be met and in some ways made again from no outer ground but from the very center of our being. The temptation is to take the second or third step, not the first, to ignore the invitation into the center of our own body, into our grief, to attempt to finesse the raw vulnerability and the absolutely necessary understanding at the core of the pattern, to forgo the radical and almost miraculous simplification into which we are being invited. Start close in.
...
Autumn comes early on the Tong River;
I miss the days on my old mountain.
Quiet night, wind rang the bell;
No people, bamboo swept the courtyard.
Gibbons came to touch the clear water;
Birds flew down to peck the cold pears.
I should be about my task—
The homeward heart has its time.
- Jiaoran (730-799)