“Every seeker in philosophical meditation should have the two particular eyes: one, the ordinary eye with which to read letters; another, the intellectual eye with which to discriminate errors.” — (A.D. 960).
“Once upon a time, there was a boy. He lived in a village that no longer exists, in a house that no longer exists, on the edge of a field that no longer exists, where everything was discovered, and everything was possible. A stick could be a sword, a pebble could be a diamond, a tree, a castle. Once upon a time, there was a boy who lived in a house across the field, from a girl who no longer exists. They made up a thousand games. She was queen and he was king. In the autumn light her hair shone like a crown. They collected the world in small handfuls, and when the sky grew dark, and they parted with leaves in their hair.
Once upon a time there was a boy who loved a girl, and her laughter was a question he wanted to spend his whole life answering.”
― Nicole Krauss, The History of Love
BLACK DOG AND SUNFLOWERS
The more presence, the more apart. And the more lives circling
Falling, I gathered such presence that I fused to Star, beyond all
We face our leaves and ever-successive genitals toward you.
Presence is why we love what we cannot eat or mate with –
We are fed from attachment and you, our futures draw weight
from both, and droop.
All of my detached life lives on death or sexual casings –
The studded array of our worship struggles in the noon not to
I pumped water to erect its turning, weighted its combs with
floury oil –
You are more intense than God, and fiercely dopey, and we
Presence matches our speed; thus it seems not flow but all
We love your overbalance, your plunge into uttemess – but what
E kore te patiki e hoki ki tona puehu
The flounder (fish) does not return to his dust
Do not make the same mistake twice.
My Sitting Down Place
My Sitting Down Place by Gail Kay, Proserpine, QLD
I go down to the creek
Where the water gurgles
As it hurries along
Over the shining sand and pebbles
To its destiny
With the sea.
Flits and moves
Across the water, over the creek bank,
And the birds sing happily
To the accompaniment
Of insects and crickets.
I sit in silence as I soak it all into my soul.
From the water
To my heart.
Whatever life brings me I now can face
Because of this,
My sitting down place!
“in the true mad north of introspection,
where ‘falcons of the inner eye’
dive and die, glimpsing in their
dying fall, all life’s memory of existence.”
Lawrence Ferlinghetti, A Coney Island of the Mind