10 July 2014

Little stories

My soul is 
a whistling bird -
It knows no 
troubles, no woes -
Only, listen:
a most surprising 
song that makes
a joyful sound
in the night. 


I love meditation, and how...! 
If you ask me about beauty, I will refer to consciousness.
Is it not a beautiful word itself?
The sharp, cool, pure, essence of breath. 
But how will I translste what truly is into this clumsy tongue?
One can not graft the superior onto the inferior and hope to improve them both. 
Likely neither will survive. 


The eyes flicker, but the flame flickers not. 
Still is mind, while the candle reaches for extinction. 
Come morning, this will all be a dream, but it will look like a day. 

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