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  • Great Relief (Not A Poem)

    I keep reminding myself that there’s no need to say everything I think. Indeed, I do best to say very little, because most of what I think turns out to be incomplete, incorrect, and often rubbish.

    Here are some danger signals I look for:

    Anything that has the term “you people” is not fit to be heard and is useful only insofar as it points back at myself. Time to revisit my own biases and also the 37 practices. Anything that sets me up as expert is immediately suspect and needs to be quashed. The depths of my ignorance are more and more apparent to me, and I know very little indeed. None of what I think is truly original. Every thought exists built upon other thoughts, and the whole ediface is shakier in coherence than a tower of cards. So why bother with sentences like “I think…” unless someone first asks?

    Anything that arises from negative emotions, esp those in the anger realm. Before I speak from annoyance, anger, or even outrage, check first the source, the intent, and the probable outcome. The first is usually not what it appears initially, and as before, circles back to me and my attachments, aversions, or confusion. Similar case to be made for intent. As far as outcome, safe to say that invariably differs from what I imagine.

    Here are questions I ask before rushing in and allowing words to rush out:

    Is this necessary? Is this wanted? Is this valuable to the listener(s)? Most importantly, is this kind? (Not “nice,” which is a different attitude, and one with which I don’t truck.)

    I will revisit this page often. If you read this-and truly, there’s no reason anyone should-if you have any suggestions to add, please do. I’m an old judgmental bit of livestock but I can learn

  • Can You? (Poem)

    ask for words

    for script

    pour this into a cup

    drink slowly

    let meaning slip into the heart

    then

    scrape letters from the dregs

    eat them one by one

    bitter and sweet

    tasting of wisdom

    tasting of tea

  • Bigger Windows, Different Trees (Poem)

    hours watching the sky

    light that changes every second

    summer weave of branches

    textured movement of clouds

    illusory drive of time

    underlying these fluctuations a stillness

    the pause within the flicker of a leaf

    the infinite moment between exhale and inhale

    the ever-present calm of the gap

    no one that sees, nothing to be seen

    only seeing