Before the Mast
I dreamed all night of the perfect sentence, And then awakened to a perfect, wordless dawn. The vessel creaks. A wind is coming on. . [ 1360 ]
I dreamed all night of the perfect sentence, And then awakened to a perfect, wordless dawn. The vessel creaks. A wind is coming on. . [ 1360 ]
Sweet sleep, for we might say sleep is that from which we arise, to emerge at birth and find ourselves astonished by the light; and then, at the appointed time, that to which we return, ripe and ready for the next miracle. Sweet, for how could it not be? — as sweet as the sleep of the child one was, is, and will become — sweet as the dew on […]
If whatever I write, or draw, or make, or do, is to be fresh and new, and not simply more of the same, however pleasant and comfortable that same may seem, must I not make sure that I am myself fresh and new? Must I not be my own peaceful revolution, and free of my usual thought pattern, with all its familiar repetition and redundancy? Must I not be willing […]
I raked some leaves that didn’t need raking, Just to feel my muscles and lungs. I walked some ground that didn’t need walking, To see how the sky would respond. I watched some birds that didn’t need watching, I ate an orange that didn’t need eating, I thought a thought that didn’t need thinking, And the thought thought the same about me. Then I sat, then I stood, then I […]
Is this really a certain day, of a certain month, in a certain year? Perhaps, if that is what one believes. And yet, it has been shown that one can, and will, believe anything — for instance, that peace and joy are a destination that can be arrived at through the intellect, when it is clear that those who choose to do battle on those grounds wear themselves out searching, […]
It took me sixty-five years to discover the joy of working barefoot in the cold winter-wet yard. All those years in socks and shoes, trying to keep warm — what next will I unlearn? December 15, 2021. Afternoon. . Whispers The old man, they say, has lost his mind. But we do not lose what we give. And it is cold where they wait to be known. It is cold […]
I do not come / I do not go / I do not wait / I do not remain / yet here I am / on my knees again December 12, 2021 . [ 1317 ]
Every breath is a call to the joy of consciousness. If I’m afraid of that consciousness coming to an end, or try to think of ways I can hold onto it forever, the joy immediately slips away. Joy then becomes just one more word in a numbing, distracting intellectual exercise in which I’m both martyr and hero. When that happens, the moment simply goes on without me. It doesn’t matter […]
When the apple on the table met the one in my mind, they spoke of the distance between blossom and knife. And I of this childhood at the end of my life. November 20, 2021 . [ 1295 ]
Have you crumbled soil in your hands and held it to your nose? That is just one thing a flower knows. Behold your flower body. It blooms. It fades. It grows. November 10, 2021 . [ 1284 ]