p

One Heart

Look at the birds. Even flying is born

out of nothing. The first sky is inside you, friend, open

at either end of day. The work of wings

was always freedom, fastening one heart to every falling thing.

~ Li-Young Lee ~

p

On a single blade of grass a cool breeze lingers

Issa (trans. by Nanao Sakaki)

q

How old would you be if you didn't know how old you was? Satchel Paige

p

The great sea has set me in motion. Set me adrift, And I move as a weed in the river.

The arch of sky and mightiness of storms Encompasses me, And I am left Trembling with joy.

Eskimo song

q

You can't stop the waves, but you can learn to surf. John Kabat Zinn

Fwd: p

>>> Stephen Wilder 7/10/05 10:08 AM >>> Keeping Quiet

And now we will count to twelve and we will all keep still . . .

For once on the face of the earth let's not speak in any language, let's stop for one second, and not move our arms so much.

It would be an exotic moment without rush, without engines, we would all be together in a sudden strangeness.

Fishermen in the cold sea would not harm whales and the man gathering salt would look at his hurt hands.

Those who prepare green wars, wars with gas, wars with fire, victory with no survivors, would put on clean clothes and walk about with their brothers in the shade, doing nothing.

What I want should not be confused with total inactivity. (Life is what it is about, I want no truck with death.)

If we were not so singleminded about keeping our lives moving, and for once could do nothing, perhaps a huge silence might interrupt this sadness of never understanding ourselves and of threatening ourselves with death.

Perhaps the earth can teach us as when everything seems dead and later proves to be alive.

Now I'll count to twelve, and you keep quiet and I will go.

Pablo Neruda (trans. Alistair Reid)

p

The day we die the wind comes down to take away our footprints.

The wind makes dust to cover up the marks we left while walking

For otherwise the thing would seem as if we were still living.

Therefore the wind is he who comes to blow away our footprints.

Southern Bushmen (San people) song