Saturday, July 24, 2021




Under the world’s conifers—under the creek side cedar behind where I sit—a mantle of fungus wraps the soil in a weft, shooting out blind thread after frail thread of palest dissolved white. From root tip to root tip, root hair to root hair, these filaments loop and wind; the thought of them always reminds me of Rimbaud’s “I have stretched cords from steeple to steeple, garlands from window to window, chains of gold from star to star, and I dance.” 
King David leaped and danced naked before the ark of the Lord in a barren desert. Here the very looped soil is an intricate throng of praise. Make connections; let rip; and dance where you can. 
—Annie Dillard
Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, excerpt


Friday, July 23, 2021

the Withness of the Body


What departs at death is 19 grams (= 7/8 ounce) of you shedding a soft blue light. 
What remains behind is various.
—Anne Carson
Short Talk on the Withness of the Body, excerpt


Thursday, July 22, 2021

who is seen or not seen, sees or does not see?



Invisible before birth are all beings and after death invisible again.

They are seen between two unseens. 

Why in this truth find sorrow?

The Bhagavad Gita 2:28 
Juan Mascaró translation


Wednesday, July 21, 2021

this much is true


Tuesday, July 20, 2021

relatively speaking



Relatively speaking, everything in our world and experience appears and exists. Absolutely speaking, those same entities are not what they seem to be.

The solidity of these objects begins to fall apart when we examine them more closely, whether we use the logical reasoning of analytical meditation or the empirical methods of science as the basis of our investigation. That is, our perception of them is transformed through a stage-by-stage process that breaks down the object into different, smaller and smaller parts, and then into nothing at all.

—Dzogchen Ponlop
Mind Beyond Death


Monday, July 19, 2021

i and death



My body saw death
Without fear.
My heart conquered death
With love.
My soul embraced death
With compassion.
I employ death
With no hesitation.

—Sri Chinmoy


Sunday, July 18, 2021

We were together. I forget the rest.



We two, how long we were fool’d,
Now transmuted, we swiftly escape as Nature escapes,We are Nature, long have we been absent, but now we return,
We become plants, trunks, foliage, roots, bark,
We are bedded in the ground, we are rocks,
We are oaks, we grow in the openings side by side,We browse, we are two among the wild herds spontaneous as any,
We are two fishes swimming in the sea together,
We are what locust blossoms are, we drop scent around lanes mornings and evenings,We are also the coarse smut of beasts, vegetables, minerals,
We are two predatory hawks, we soar above and look down,
We are two resplendent suns, we it is who balance ourselves orbic and stellar, we are as two comets,We prowl fang’d and four-footed in the woods, we spring on prey,
We are two clouds forenoons and afternoons driving overhead,
We are seas mingling, we are two of those cheerful waves rolling over each other and interwetting each other,We are what the atmosphere is, transparent, receptive, pervious, impervious,We are snow, rain, cold, darkness, we are each product and influence of the globe,We have circled and circled till we have arrived home again, we two,
We have voided all but freedom and all but our own joy.

—Walt Whitman