what falls away with ease.
Not only the heavy apple,
but also the dried brown strands
of autumn iris from their core.
To let your body
love this world
that gave itself to your care
in all of its ripeness,
and will take itself from you
in equal ripeness and ease,
is also harvest.
And however sharply
you are tested —
this sorrow, that great love —
it too will leave on that clean knife.
~ Jane Hirshfield
“community building is to the collective what spiritual practice is to the individual” – Boggs Center
More and More
More and more frequently the edges
of me dissolve and I become
a wish to assimilate the world, including
you, if possible through the skin
like a cool plant’s tricks with oxygen
and live by a harmless green burning.
I would not consume
you or ever
finish, you would still be there
surrounding me, complete
as the air.
Unfortunately I don’t have leaves.
Instead I have eyes
and teeth and other non-green
things which rule out osmosis.
So be careful, I mean it,
I give you fair warning:
This kind of hunger draws
everything into its own
space; nor can we
talk it all over, have a calm
There is no reason for this, only
a starved dog’s logic about bones.
Beings are numberless, I vow to awaken them
Delusions are inexhaustible, I vow to transform them;
The Dharma is boundless, I vow to perceive it;
The Awakened Way is unattainable, I vow to embody it
– learned at Center for Transformative Change
“It may be doubted whether there are any other animals which have played so important a part in the history of the world as have these lowly, organized creatures,” Darwin wrote, on earthworms.
Best new cursing phrase: What the effing crap? (heard here)
Baby neutron star found inside a supernova remnant.
The vibration of your heart beats 10 feet in front of you. – Barbara Holmes, Race and the Cosmos
The moment when, after many years
of hard work
and a long voyage
you stand in the centre of your room,
house, half-acre, square mile, island, country,
knowing at last how you got there,
and say, I own this,
is the same moment when the trees unloose
their soft arms from around you,
the birds take back their language,
the cliffs fissure and collapse,
the air moves back from you like a wave
and you can’t breathe.
No, they whisper. You own nothing.
You were a visitor, time after time
climbing the hill, planting the flag, proclaiming.
We never belonged to you.
You never found us.
It was always the other way round.