zen poem

I asked the boy beneath the pines
He said ” the Master’s gone alone
Herb-picking somewhere on the mount
cloud-hidden, whereabouts unknown”

- Chia Tao

Zen quotes

Flow state

monk holds sun over his head

man walks with yellow balloon

amputee one leg crutch dark eyes

window taxi goes up

+

in between surise and sunset

exploring close radius

"Let me try" says a young boy edging a spoon onto 

egg circumfragrences

flowers 4 sale everywhere -

yellow edges, roses, impossible to identify 

everyone buys bouquets for homes

color dances down the street

i feel alive here

Circle Train

The Circle Train goes around Yangon. 

$1 - three hours.

Kindness of strangers - ticket man points out track.

Wait there. The train is red. Thank you.

Slow, steady, easy smiles.

Ride the rails. Move.

Families on a Sunday picnic with straw mats and bags - food, beverages.

Wide eyed kids hang out windows watching people, places, things.

Old cement structures, time warp - long ago. 

Roll past corregated heaven, bamboo homes, rice paddies.

Shy smiles, hey it's a stranger!

Let's have an adventure.

from nature

A mountain loses its spirit without cloud, loses its peculiarity without stones, loses its elegance without trees, and loses its life without water, and in painting, one should concentrate the mind, and hold the breath, with concentration of the mind, serenity is maintained, with the breath held up, preciseness is attained. 

One should be as serene as an old monk in meditation and be as precise as a silk worm in spitting silk.

The spirit and real fun of painting are from nature and beyond brushes and paints. 

poem - Jorge Luis Borges

Used up by the years, my memory
loses its grip on words that I have vainly
repeated and repeated. My life in the same way
weaves and unweaves its weary history.

Then I tell myself: it must be that the soul
has some secret, sufficient way of knowing
that it is immortal, that its vast, encompassing
circle can take in all, can accomplish all.

Beyond my anxiety, beyond this writing,
the universe waits, inexhaustible, inviting.

 - Jorge Luis Borges

from Poem Written in a Copy of Beowulf
translated by Alastair Reid  Read more…