I Ask Percy How I Should Live My Life

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Love, love, love, says Percy.

And hurry as fast as you can
along the shining beach, or the rubble, or the dust.

 

Then, go to sleep.
 

Give up your body heat, your beating heart.
 

Then, trust.

~ Mary Oliver

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thank you, wait - what?

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Children's Talk from Plum Village Online Monastery on Vimeo.

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The Day My Son Died

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The doctor came to tell us that he had died I thought it was just for that day, so I went to bed early and slept well.

But the next morning I heard them talking downstairs; apparently he had still died (even though the doctor wasn’t calling to tell us today).

So it’s gonna be a few days, I figured; we might as well have a funeral. We drove hundreds of miles in dozens of cars finding and losing the way ‘round and ‘round standing ‘round and ‘round, crying, listening, crying listening standing and standing around.

But when it was over he had still died so there was nothing to do but drive home. It took hours and then the refrigerator had broken down. We soon fixed it but he had still died.

And every night after that I slept as long as I could to give him a chance to not have died.

But in the morning they were always downstairs and when I asked if he had still died the answer was always, "Yes."

And so it went into a week and then it went into two weeks. Eventually it went into months.

And it kept going.

It wouldn’t stop.

It kept on having happened.

No matter what I did, it refused to not have happened.

Even if I wrote in my diary about it

Even if I wrote a poem about it

Even if I forgot about it,

IT didn’t forget about it.

Not for a second was it caught off guard.

It was as stubborn as the music of the spheres.

It just wouldn’t let bygones be bygones.

To this day it has happened.

It insists on having happened.

It will never tire of having happened.

Nothing will distract it from having happened.

It was more than one day. It was more than one week.

It was more than months. It was more than years.

And it knew it – ALL the time                 

~ Marion Cohen

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Intro to Yale Course on the nature of Death (Philosophy)

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Metaphysics, values and the nature of death ...

 Many of these lectures are to be found in the sidebar here:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p2J7wSuFRl8&feature=related

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The Beauty of Death as Part of Life, J. Krishnamurti

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sorrow

 

 

Live with the beetle, and the wind

 

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When loneliness comes stalking, go into the fields, consider

the orderliness of the world.
Notice something you have never noticed before,

like the tambourine sound of the snow-cricket

whose pale green body is no longer than your thumb.

Stare hard at the hummingbird, in the summer rain,

shaking the water-sparks from its wings.

Let grief be your sister, she will whether or not.

Rise up from the stump of sorrow, and be green also,

like the diligent leaves.

A lifetime isn't long enough for the beauty of this world

and the responsibilities of your life.

Scatter your flowers over the graves, and walk away.

Be good-natured and untidy in your exuberance.

In the glare of your mind, be modest.

And beholden to what is tactile, and thrilling.

Live with the beetle, and the wind.

–Mary Oliver

(excerpt from The Leaf and the Cloud: A Poem)

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Photographer’s Note

It must first be said that this shot was taken at the Sydney biennale, an art festival held yearly. One of the works of art was this one from the Artist Antony Gormley (antonygormley.com) It is called Asien fields and was made by 500 Assitants in the Xianxian village, Guangzhou in January 2003. 

It consists of 125tonnes of gritty black clay.It was one of the most astounding sights I have ever seen. The top floor was filled with these small hand made figures, all of which only spanned 20cm in height. I know it seems strange but I felt as if the figures saw some major fault in all of us that stood there... and they sympathized.
 

It was a great work and I wanted to share it with you.
Hope you enjoy:)

Cato

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