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Who IS he talking to?
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Who IS he talking to?
I saw God on the streets of the hidden, carrying something in his hand. "My God," I asked. "What is this?" He said, "Your heart." I said, "My heart has such a station that it lies in Your hand?" He gazed at the heart, and it was like something folded up, so He began to spread it out, and out, and out. When He had finished, it covered all of space from the Throne to the footstool, highest heaven to the core of the earth. I said, "This is my heart?" God said, "This is your heart, and it is the vastest thing in existence." I said, " Where are you taking it?" He said, " To the world of eternity, that I may look in it, and create the wonders of reality in it, and forever manifest Myself in it with the attribute of divinity."
Dear friends, Welcome to our blog. We are two fools living in Thailand trying our best to be people of love and peace. Yes, we use these words a lot, but the depth of both merit constant mention.
Who IS he talking to?
The WAsian Invasion
About Quinn & Riechers
An Exerpt from Ruzbihan Baqli's "Unveiling of Secrets" as translated by Carl Ernst
I saw God on the streets of the hidden, carrying something in his hand. "My God," I asked. "What is this?" He said, "Your heart." I said, "My heart has such a station that it lies in Your hand?" He gazed at the heart, and it was like something folded up, so He began to spread it out, and out, and out. When He had finished, it covered all of space from the Throne to the footstool, highest heaven to the core of the earth. I said, "This is my heart?" God said, "This is your heart, and it is the vastest thing in existence." I said, " Where are you taking it?" He said, " To the world of eternity, that I may look in it, and create the wonders of reality in it, and forever manifest Myself in it with the attribute of divinity."
the peace of wild things
when despair for the world grows in me
and i wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,
i go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
i come into the PEACE of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. i come into the presence of still water.
and i feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. for a time
i rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
wendell berry
an ode to friends ...
' & a youth said, Speak to us of Friendship
& he answered, saying:
Your friend is your needs answered.
He is your field which you sow with Love and reap with Thanksgiving.
& he is your board & your fireside.
For you come to him with your hunger,
and you seek him for Peace.
...
& when he is silent your heart ceases not to listen to his heart;
for without words, in friendship, all thoughts, all desires, all expectations are born and shared, with joy that is unacclaimed.
When you part from your friend, you grieve not;
For that which you love most in him may be clearer in his absence, as the mountain to the climber is clearer from the plain.
And let their be no purpose in friendship save the DEEPENING OF THE SPIRIT.'
thank you dear kahlil & thank you dear friends
3 girls ... 3 epic blogs
even better in black & white ...
friends for obama & gigantic flags
the little strandy
bq hearts chelsea louie
my dear minority brother & ben
she's coming to thailand
awesome hannah & awesome leah
the lovely paige
abraham the most beautiful man
pretty freaking cool is christine
a list of epic blogs ...
new years lantern
Blog Archive
lisu forest
Into My Own by Robert Frost
One of my wishes is that those dark trees, So old and firm they scarcely show the breeze, Were not, as 'twere, the merest mask of gloom, But stretched away unto the edge of doom.
I should not be withheld but that some day Into their vastness I should steal away, Fearless of ever finding open land, Or highway where the slow wheel pours the sand.
I do not see why I should e'er turn back, Or those should not set forth upon my track To overtake me, who should miss me here And long to know if I still held them dear.
They would not find me changed from him they knew--Only more sure of all I thought was true.
I should not be withheld but that some day Into their vastness I should steal away, Fearless of ever finding open land, Or highway where the slow wheel pours the sand.
I do not see why I should e'er turn back, Or those should not set forth upon my track To overtake me, who should miss me here And long to know if I still held them dear.
They would not find me changed from him they knew--Only more sure of all I thought was true.
For Once, Then, Something by Robert Frost
Others taunt me with having knelt at well-curbs Always wrong to the light, so never seeing Deeper down in the well than where the water Gives me back in a shining surface picture Me myself in the summer heaven godlike Looking out of a wreath of fern and cloud puffs. Once, when trying with chin against well-curb, I discerned, as I thought, beyond the picture, Through the picture, a something white, uncertain, Something more of the depths--and then I lost it. Water came to rebuke the too clear water. One drop fell from a fern, and lo, a ripple Shook whatever it was lay there at the bottom, Blurred it, blotted it out. What was that whiteness? Truth? A pebble of quartz? For once, then, something.
Beginner's Lessons by Malcolm Alexander
If you wish to be wealthy, duck beneath
the topcoat of a well-dressed river
until you come up with a mossy boot
filled with shiners. Spend them wisely.
To tread lightly on the earth,
first breathe in and out slowly
to sense how oxygen walks barefoot,
then observe butterflies, so weightless
even our poetry burdens them.
Avoid mistaking sadness for blueberries,
but if this happens remember only one
of the two tastes like a somersault.
Make nothing more of the moon
than what it is, a great big pebble
hunting for a shoe, not to be confused
with the heart, likewise a vagabond.
Inside every stray cat lurks a person
who discarded love. Remember this
when you bend over to wind them up.
If you feel compelled to fly a flag,
not how it struggles in vain to be a rainbow
and how envy will make it twist and flap
like a tongue. Consider instead a kite.
If you desire to reach heaven,
have your body buried in an aspen grove.
In time, all of you will wick up
into a loud version of it.
If the din of the human world overwhelms you,
trace the voicebox of an orchid with your finger.
When you get to the aria, listen.
But beware, for beauty can be a lacewing
or a meteor, and lands wherever it pleases.
When you finish reading a poem,
bend it around so you can see
yourself in it. Then laugh out loud.
Everything else now should come easy.
the topcoat of a well-dressed river
until you come up with a mossy boot
filled with shiners. Spend them wisely.
To tread lightly on the earth,
first breathe in and out slowly
to sense how oxygen walks barefoot,
then observe butterflies, so weightless
even our poetry burdens them.
Avoid mistaking sadness for blueberries,
but if this happens remember only one
of the two tastes like a somersault.
Make nothing more of the moon
than what it is, a great big pebble
hunting for a shoe, not to be confused
with the heart, likewise a vagabond.
Inside every stray cat lurks a person
who discarded love. Remember this
when you bend over to wind them up.
If you feel compelled to fly a flag,
not how it struggles in vain to be a rainbow
and how envy will make it twist and flap
like a tongue. Consider instead a kite.
If you desire to reach heaven,
have your body buried in an aspen grove.
In time, all of you will wick up
into a loud version of it.
If the din of the human world overwhelms you,
trace the voicebox of an orchid with your finger.
When you get to the aria, listen.
But beware, for beauty can be a lacewing
or a meteor, and lands wherever it pleases.
When you finish reading a poem,
bend it around so you can see
yourself in it. Then laugh out loud.
Everything else now should come easy.
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