January 27th, 2016

Update Update, Etcl

Collapse )

When i retired, the department secretary told this story:  One day she asked me a question.  I answered it and kept answering it for the next five minutes.  She had to run an errand and excused herself.  Twenty minutes later she returned and i was still talking. still "answering her question."  I was still three years away from my discovery of autism.  I added my (somewhat embarrassed) laughter to that of the others whose laughter was far more "knowing" than my own.

Since then i have learned that the autistic brain is wired so that the mind is  naturally more interested in "things" than in people or places.  I was far more interested in the secretary's question than i was in her.  This is consistent with my autistic nature but alien to my Buddha nature and to my basic philosophy.

Just as lecturing on topics is much easier than talking to people, i also find that preparing reports and studies is much easier tha journaling or 4th stepping.  Several times i have commited myself to daily  hournaling and each time i find myself either inspired by "topics." or uable to write anything.  I find inspiraton most easilyin a "good" "sacred" poem or song.  I see that "sacred poetry" is by far my most used tag.Collapse )

David Whyte - Working Together

David Whyte
Working Together

We shape our self
to fit this world
and by the world
are shaped again.
The visible
and the invisible
working together
in common cause,
to produce
the miraculous.
I am thinking of the way
the intangible air
passed at speed
round a shaped wing
holds our weight.
So may we, in this life
to those elements
we have yet to see
or imagine,
and look for the true
shape of our own self,
by forming it well
to the great
intangibles about us.

-- David Whyte
      from The House of Belonging 
      ©1996 Many Rivers Press
Written for the presentation of The Collier Trophy to The Boeing Company marking the introduction of the 777 passenger jet.

Thank you tocathy_edgett
David Whyte - Working Together - Heart Happy

Collapse )

Mary Oliver - The Lark

And I have seen,
at dawn,
the lark
spin out of the long grass

and into the pink air --
its wings,
which are neither wide
nor overstrong,

fluttering --
the pectorals
ploughing and flashing
for nothing but altitude --

and the song
all the while
from the red throat.

And then he descends,
and is sorry.
His little head hangs
and he pants for breath

for a few moments
among the hoops of the grass,
which are crisp and dry,
where most of his living is done --

and then something summons him again
and up he goes,
his shoulders working,
his whole body almost collapsing and floating

to the edges of the world.
We are reconciled, I think,
to too much.
Better to be a bird, like this one --

an ornament of the eternal.
As he came down once, to the nest of the grass,
“Squander the day, but save the soul,”
I heard him say.

-- from What Do We Know: Poems and Prose Poems, by Mary Oliver
Poetry Chaikhana | Mary Oliver - The Lark

Collapse )