Wandering dreams. Alas!
Over fields all burned, the winds
Whisper as they pass! ~ Onitsura*
The Classic Tradition of Haiku
Ed: Faubion Bowers
“I’ve waited for you
for a long time” – for your song,
my mountain cuckoo ~Issa*
This week, show us a photo of whatever you’d like, but make sure it’s saturated. It can be black and white, a single color, a few hues, or a complete rainbow riot; just make sure it’s rich and powerful. Let’s turn the comments into an instant mood-booster!
Visit WordPress’ weekly photo challenge to view additional images created specifically for the concept of saturated
The Spring of my Life
Trans: Sam Hamill
…intentionally, I set my mind upon the engagement of self with the process of reading the words of another with a knowing that I have accepted an invitation to consider an author’s worldview; that is, to place reality upon a shelf or to open a unique window of understanding.
…distraction, from this engagement as I become aware of a shadow presence – a transparent hereness tinted with memories of you. It is as if you emerged from the printed page calling forth shared memories. I feel you sitting silently beside me. Within this silence, I begin to search for words, sentences that covey meanings and insights that awaken the joy that comes from an easing of longing and I hear myself whisper, “Here, a treasured story of thought that reconnects us, reflects a past time of us together, that validates words, ideas—you—and messages, ‘I have heard you within the sharing of love. I delight in knowing you. I wish to thank you for simply being…you are the joy that accompanies a gift in transit to being received.'”
…awareness, the words on the page have faded, I have disengaged myself from the invitation to consider the worldview of another as I entered imagined moments with you. I miss you. I miss us.
…accepting that what I yearn for can never be for I’m in the autumn of my life while you, my child, have now entered your summer as your children dance within their spring. Seasons flow one into another—their circular, repeating patterns defined by an unseen guiding hand—births expectations, hope and trust created from past consistencies.
History is remembrances re-emerging like the youthful sprout fragile in its newness, in its responding to life’s call. Yet, in time this newness will fade and become fragile as one’s autumn yields to their winter.
by Modaser Shah
If memory serves, June 21 this year, The New York Times reported that a “radical” Buddhist monk in Burma declared, apropos the Muslim minority in that country, that although Buddhism enjoined love and compassion,”one can’t sleep next to a mad dog.”
It is hard to argue with that; who except Mullah Nasruddin, the foolish sage of the Sufis, perhaps, can sleep next to a mad dog? Furthermore, it is also hard to deny that there are Muslims in the world who, at times, at least, have acted like mad dogs, though the latter cannot, as far as one can tell, be accused of intending to inflict destruction on self and others.
Although I can’t be certain, statistically, it is quite possible that Burma has its share of such, i.e., Muslims who have at times acted “like mad dogs.” So the monk may have had a point; and…
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