Buckled naming itself; plus a snoozing pup

After a full day shoveling dirt, carrying beams, losing strength to hot sun, helping to construct platform for yurt donated to us, I go to first evening visiting as patient visitor at local hospital.

Ten rooms. Ten patients, conversations on ten topics. Such a lovely beginning. Great way to spend Saturday night.

If tired had legs they would be buckled by its own name.

Nothing's gonna change; my world

Christ, the Cistercian writer wrote, is peace.

At conversation tonight someone said Christ brought eternity into time.

It will come that "now" will extend to and encompass everything.

Peace is eternity now. Christ is eternal now. This is all we can hope for.

Now here this!

Being here, for this

Young bird on doorstep of chapel/zendo, eyes not opened, hole in neck from talon of predator, dropped in flight from deadly predation. We have no cat. No need, just now, for ambiguous feelings. Just this surprise and sorrow for the coming and going of living beings. And why, even, these feelings? Because they are, and I am, and impermanence in this form, while understandable, bears weight of ambiguity.

The trees and leaves are dusky still as I move the bird to a quiet spot by standing trees near mossy stones.

The images of peace hearts taken just before discovering the fallen bird ask new questions after the discovery. The template of peace does not exclude, as yet, death. Will it, can it, should it some day render death obsolete? How would such a prospect present itself to our minds? Without opposition would peace reconcile comings and goings into a seamless flow of a creating energetic wholeness?

Sitting in fading light of diminishing breath of expiring bird I hear a lonely call from canopy of motherhood through realization of loss.

I have been here for this.

All will be

It is easy to remind someone needing reminding that all is well because...it is, as each is, well, with our love.

May Lugh be with you...in light!

What are you for now

I'll probably have to define terms. Someone will ask what I mean by the words. It will take time to assure no offense meant, no harm intended.

Just the following: most everything is both simple and stupid.

Simple is as simple does what it does as it does it.

Stupid doesn't know what or why.

It used to worry me that I was these things -- simple and stupid.

Now I do not worry being this.

Being this is fine with me.

Find me doing what I am doing.

Leave me not knowing what nor why.

Simply and stupidly I am here!

For now.

That which radiates through is of god

Some say angels. Some say demons. I say Klondike ice cream watching British crime drama. Tangled webs.

Rowing with Saskia around Curtis Island moon nearing full sunset colors over mount Megunticook tide coming in from bay.

July wanes.

Oars pivot and pull.

I feel further and further into simple love of place. No drama, no apprehension. Place itself.

Like monastery to monk, sea to seaman, mystery to mystic.

If you look, really look into your life, you see through appearance and gaze as one in love with what is seen.

Ad maioram dei gloriam!

Don't speak my name; show me...your face

If we want a better world we're going to have to learn how to speak, pronounce words, enliven them, embody them. Or, maybe, just keep silence.

What do you say?

He eventually argues that it is the prime business of philosophy to make new words -- this is how it changes our world. (p.3, in Introduction, Heidegger, by John Richardson, c.2012)  

                                           

Richardson later writes:

In "Origin"[The Origin of the Artwork, 1935-36] Heidegger gives one of his rare examples in a famous account of a Greek temple:

The temple-work first fits together and at the same time gathers around itself the unity of those paths and relations in which birth and death, disaster and blessing, victory and disgrace, endurance and decline win for the human essence the shape of his destiny. ...The temple, in its standing there, first gives to things their look and to humans their outlook on themselves. [OA (W 20-21)]     (--pp.294-95, Richardson) 

 This might be why silence is so valuable.

What is created by non-pronounciation of any words at all?

Here, listen to this...