Barn's burnt down--
I can see the moon.
-Masahide, 17th century Japanese poet & samurai
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
Tuesday, April 9, 2013
A vase may be constructed to hold a tremendous amount of water, but if the opening is the diameter of a pea, how much do you think will really enter? A few drops may trickle in but the vase will remain largely empty, so much of it’s capacity remaining unfilled.
But what if you broke it? Shattered everything about it? Each jagged piece, a portion of the original rounded form, falls to the floor and frantically flounders, wobbling and shaking from the shock of the breaking. But finally, finally, each piece settles, finding stillness.
The vase has lost its shape, in fact it is no longer a vase. But take heart, it is now a hundred bowls, all upward-facing and cupped to the sky, ready to be filled by the rain.
You may be breaking, but all this- to allow the life-giving rain to saturate more of you, that you may be filled as never before. You may have lost your original form, the thing that you were will never be again. But. What seemed as loss, is really gain. You are now a hundred open bowls..
~A new thing I thought I’d share in tandem with my scribblings- a select clip of the music playing as I wrote this (which probably influences or at least complements the content): Down in the Valley by The Head And The Heart, specifically from minutes 1:30-4:30
I’ve been in New York and spent my fair share of time on the subway. Standing in such close proximity to a zillion New Yorkers and foreigners and other sorts of nomads, you are constantly overhearing and being overheard, and something about this feels like connectedness. Not necessarily connection, but connectedness. For some reason this reminds me of when Ken mused, “Where does my breath end and yours begin? I think we’re in this together.”