a shell of a thing came to be

The storm came one night, you see

The thunder came and fell the tree.

Falling, falling became the tree.

And a shell of a thing came to be.

A small shell of a thing, you see

Flying high above the sea.

There is no alighting upon the sea, you see

For a shell of a thing above the sea.

Searching, searching for her tree

That fell the night she became to be.

Weary, tired – flying, flying above the sea

Wishing for all to see.

Oh how brave, how marvelous she is to be!

As she flies so high above the sea!

Blind to their eyes, she is to be.

Wings flying, trying so hard to be,

Above the torment of the sea.

For there is no rest above the sea.

Only the falling, falling tree, you see.

lens artists photo challenge: leading lines

Abstract Street…Sony RX1003 f/3.5 1/60s 17.27mm 80 ISO

This week’s lens artists photo challenge is offered by Tina at Travels and Trifles: leading lines

I grew up…

I grew up in the time of war…The wounds of war in me are still not healed

Thich Nhat Hanh, The Heart of Buddha’s Teaching, pp. 4-5
wounds of war…persist

My youth

an unripe plum

Your teeth have left their marks on it.

The tooth marks still vibrate.

I remember always,

remember always.

Since I learned how to love you,

the door of my soul has been left wide open

to the winds of the four directions.

Reality calls for a change.

The fruit of awareness is already ripe,

and the door can never be closed again.

Fire consumes this century,

and mountains and forests bear its mark.

The wind howls across my ears,

while the whole sky shakes violently in the snowstorm.

Winter’s wounds lie still,

Missing the frozen blade,

Restless, tossing and turning

in agony all night.

~Thich Nhat Hanh (cited: Thich Nhat Hanh, The Heart of the Buddha’s Teaching)

fading vision II

It is an in between time — stepping through the doorway that separates sleep and wakefulness — when one has a sense of self shifting betwixt roles. The observer of and actor within a movie which randomly muses through moments past or re-creates imagined eras. 

abstract street photography

The awareness of self as an observer and/or director, speaks to me of an inner knowing of something that is vague, immense, and has a Will separate from the unconscious actor “me.”  Let us name this in-between time, Chaos.

Chaos manifested in the beginning.  Within her void, time slumbered in undifferentiated fusion with all the elements, potentials, and seeds of sentience.  Yet, some say that Chaos was born from Mist and that Mist was the first to exist.  

Mist is symbolic of things indeterminate, or the fusing together of the elements of air and water, and the inevitable absorbing of the outlines of each aspect and each particular phase of the evolution process.