Thank you Taigu.
Deep bow, Nadi
Thank you Taigu-oso for pointing to the wonder of things
Wonder-ful! Thanks Taigu.
PS - Posted up to Podcast!
Wonder takes place... I love it!
A bowl of avocado, tomato, cucumber and rucola tonight was a wonder.
These warm sunny autumn days are pure wonder.
Believe me, after wearing a cast for 6 weeks on my foot, a shoe was the most wonderful thing.
Ah yes, magic. The Buddha's magic is: "it is your mind that creates the world".
Many thanks, Taigu. ()
I am reminded of this lovely poem by Dogen:
In spring, the cherry blossoms,
In summer, the cuckoo’s song,
In autumn, the moon, shining,
In winter, the frozen snow:
How pure and clear are the seasons!
I remember, in my dense/dunce mind, reading this poem the first time, thinking, "and...?" as if I was expecting "something else-- always looking for something to grab onto... How silly, how foolish! This is the wonder and astonishment, this is the miracle-- you can't look for it, you can't chase after it, you can't find it, you can't possess it!
I remember a similar feeling when starting to read zen poetry. "Where is the moral? Where is the message behind?" And the medium is the message. So nice not to take anything for granted and wonder of how shoes protect us from the harsh floor or doors do swing open and close.Originally Posted by Earthling
It reminds me of the first chapter of "The Man Who Was Thursday" by Chesterton in which the "poet of chaos" and the "poet of order" discuss on what is poetry. Here's a fragment:
Gassho"Nonsense! " said Gregory, who was very rational when anyone else attempted paradox. "Why do all the clerks and navvies in the railway trains look so sad and tired, so very sad and tired? I will tell you. It is because they know that the train is going right. It is because they know that whatever place they have taken a ticket for, that place they will reach. It is because after they have passed Sloane Square they know that the next station must be Victoria, and nothing but Victoria. Oh, their wild rapture! oh, their eyes like stars and their souls again in Eden, if the next station were unaccountably Baker Street!"
"It is you who are unpoetical," replied the poet Syme. "If what you say of clerks is true, they can only be as prosaic as your poetry. The rare, strange thing is to hit the mark; the gross, obvious thing is to miss it. We feel it is epical when man with one wild arrow strikes a distant bird. Is it not also epical when man with one wild engine strikes a distant station? Chaos is dull; because in chaos the train might indeed go anywhere, to Baker Street, or to Bagdad. But man is a magician, and his whole magic is in this, that he does say Victoria, and lo! it is Victoria. No, take your books of mere poetry and prose; let me read a time table, with tears of pride. Take your Byron, who commemorates the defeats of man; give me Bradshaw, who commemorates his victories. Give me Bradshaw, I say!"
Every moment we live, every drop of water we drink and every situation we live is precious. Our real challenge is to see the world with unattached eyes and mind.
Thank you, Taigu-san.
Thank you Taigu, this resonates with me a lot. Sometimes when I walk the same road that I take every day to the train station and ask myself is this the same road that I took yesterday? If I really open my eyes and turn off my mind there's always something new. This morning it was lots of yellow leaves that fell during the night and a particular autumn mist over the river. Wonderful indeed.
I stopped to look at the sunlight on the river and the coloured trees this morning. Wonder... Not far from the bridge was a fatal motorcycle accident yesterday. Somebody did not get to see this morning. Life is so precious...
Thank you for this teaching.