Mid morning

Mid morning —
The bird wobbles across the garden.
He picks a twig, lets it go.
He goes towards a fallen bougainvillea flower, turns away.
He flies onto a branch, sings a few notes.

Mankind —
We seem to always have a place to go,
a goal to reach,
a purpose to fulfill.
Couldn’t we just be aimless?

There may be some wisdom in this somewhere.

Kenza.

—-

Inspiration: reading Chuang Tzu on a Spring morning in a garden.

Dust

Think and analyze with parsimony.
“Why?” has no answer.
Remain silent.
Grace is everywhere.
In the slow rise of the moon, no matter where you are.
In a blade of grass, in the tenderness of your gestures, in your daily bread.
No need to worry — from dust you rose, dust you shall be.
Grace is not fussy.

Kenza.

Accompanying music: “Song of the universal” by Ola Gjeilo, listen here

Inspiration: “Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” – Ash Wednesday, reminding us to be humble and joyful, always joyful. 

Rumi – Two kinds of intelligence

“There are two kinds of intelligence: one acquired,
as a child in school memorizes facts and concepts
from books and from what the teacher says,
collecting information from the traditional sciences
as well as from the new sciences.

With such intelligence you rise in the world.
You get ranked ahead or behind others
in regard to your competence in retaining
information. You stroll with this intelligence
in and out of fields of knowledge, getting always more
marks on your preserving tablets.

There is another kind of tablet, one
already completed and preserved inside you.
A spring overflowing its springbox. A freshness
in the center of the chest. This other intelligence
does not turn yellow or stagnate. It’s fluid,
and it doesn’t move from outside to inside
through conduits of plumbing-learning.

This second knowing is a fountainhead
from within you, moving out.”

Rumi (XIIIth. C.)

—-

Translation by Coleman Barks.

Ryōkan’s hut

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Often, I think I am in Ryōkan’s hut.
The sky is framed by the window,
birds come on the window sill chirping away
enthralled by the morning glory overflowing its small pot.
Cars pass intermittently in a muffled sound.
Rain falls gently on the roof
and I pretend it is thatched.
I sit like he did.
I push aside the woes of the world,
my mind at peace.
You may understand, you may not,
and that is fine.
As Ryōkan wrote,
“Who can indeed content himself with this manner of life,
Unless he has seen himself altogether lost in the world.”

Kenza.


– Quote from one of Ryōkan’s (Japan, 1758-1831) Chinese poems.
Art: self-portrait by Ryōkan.