Friday, April 20, 2018
a brief review of holiness, health and love
wherever i look health is defined, and it is always silly,
something to compare to illness.
nobody is healthy in any of these ways, we must all be ill.
everybody wants the complete package, and a lot of people
pay a lot of money for it.
there is no such thing as health.
we will all die, we are fragile and perishable,
and deep down we know this.
Gurus, religious teachers, they feast on our weakness,
on our struggles, they promise perfection by self control and
bait us with hope. all a trap, and many fall.they promise peace on earth
peace inside for those advanced in their analysis of the workings of this world.
Never one should get stuck with such impossible burdens.
health, to me, is balance, a balance we have to fight for inside and
outside day for day and night for night,. Inside it is the alchemy of perception reset,
to see light in a dark day, outside it is to leave circumstances which are not agreeable
with our character and will never bring out the best in us but rather the worst, if fear or violence or both, better to seek a stone on which we can sit easily without having to fight for it.
it means to learn letting go inside and outside.
it means to find a way to live and to die at the same time, in inner balance.
when we enter a relationship we may find however much we hope, persist,
transform, that the other is not good for us. Even when we are ever so much in love and even when we love and care to our best ability. Other persons' past, problems and moods are infectious just the same as laugh and tears. and we may not have acquired a protective shield to deal with this, with them as persons, them quite specifically, with their burdens and failings, not when we get close up.
love not reaching the other does not truly exist, it is only a feeling or just in one's head.
and hope can be a prison. we let go when we expect no change for better. and it is ok.
love indeed is a four letter word and it does much harm.
also here we want the full package as promised. and everybody has another recipe.
i don't say this is per se bad, and i can even easily state that when approaches do not meet
sufficiently for both and the process of love becomes torture and our feeling starts
to be distorted we will do injustice to the other and to us.
love should not be sacrifice but open space.it cannot be a prison.
and love does not stick people with labels.
better to leave. to give up, to let go.
it is a kind of sad freedom but we learn again to breathe anyway,
life lets us breathe.
i have nothing to add.
only that not all is inside, we live in a cosmos who tells us each moment
how unimportant we are and how beautiful life works through all without us.
just to let it happen and see.
and see that we are not the rulers nor do we have any right for requests
and plans and models and construction in opposition.
no right to live eternally, no right for health, happiness, love coming to us.
no right at all. nobody.
no right to be whole, holy. no right at all.
a flower is more more more holy.
o holy flowers, holy fishes,
holy trees, holy earth, holy water.
o holy fire, holy wind. o holy soil.
o churches , o people, with their concepts of guilt and sin.
where do they lead if not to an eye for an eye
or to self destruction and crucifixion, to sacrifice, to suffering on purpose and in the best of intention,
to control and self control, to eternal potty training under the eyes of sad Christ, smiling Buddha, psychiatrists, priests, Popes and others.
Here i opt out. completely.
i try to breathe now. Just to sit on my stone will be peace.
peace without passion and desire is colourless, stale, smells of drugstore,
of used socks and old people and piss. I am old.
But i find peace and joy in my days to come and now, even now.
Let everybody suffer their own way. It is not my business.
I only feel. and i know i will die. maybe it can make somebody happier.
something to compare to illness.
nobody is healthy in any of these ways, we must all be ill.
everybody wants the complete package, and a lot of people
pay a lot of money for it.
there is no such thing as health.
we will all die, we are fragile and perishable,
and deep down we know this.
Gurus, religious teachers, they feast on our weakness,
on our struggles, they promise perfection by self control and
bait us with hope. all a trap, and many fall.they promise peace on earth
peace inside for those advanced in their analysis of the workings of this world.
Never one should get stuck with such impossible burdens.
health, to me, is balance, a balance we have to fight for inside and
outside day for day and night for night,. Inside it is the alchemy of perception reset,
to see light in a dark day, outside it is to leave circumstances which are not agreeable
with our character and will never bring out the best in us but rather the worst, if fear or violence or both, better to seek a stone on which we can sit easily without having to fight for it.
it means to learn letting go inside and outside.
it means to find a way to live and to die at the same time, in inner balance.
when we enter a relationship we may find however much we hope, persist,
transform, that the other is not good for us. Even when we are ever so much in love and even when we love and care to our best ability. Other persons' past, problems and moods are infectious just the same as laugh and tears. and we may not have acquired a protective shield to deal with this, with them as persons, them quite specifically, with their burdens and failings, not when we get close up.
love not reaching the other does not truly exist, it is only a feeling or just in one's head.
and hope can be a prison. we let go when we expect no change for better. and it is ok.
love indeed is a four letter word and it does much harm.
also here we want the full package as promised. and everybody has another recipe.
i don't say this is per se bad, and i can even easily state that when approaches do not meet
sufficiently for both and the process of love becomes torture and our feeling starts
to be distorted we will do injustice to the other and to us.
love should not be sacrifice but open space.it cannot be a prison.
and love does not stick people with labels.
better to leave. to give up, to let go.
it is a kind of sad freedom but we learn again to breathe anyway,
life lets us breathe.
i have nothing to add.
only that not all is inside, we live in a cosmos who tells us each moment
how unimportant we are and how beautiful life works through all without us.
just to let it happen and see.
and see that we are not the rulers nor do we have any right for requests
and plans and models and construction in opposition.
no right to live eternally, no right for health, happiness, love coming to us.
no right at all. nobody.
no right to be whole, holy. no right at all.
a flower is more more more holy.
o holy flowers, holy fishes,
holy trees, holy earth, holy water.
o holy fire, holy wind. o holy soil.
o churches , o people, with their concepts of guilt and sin.
where do they lead if not to an eye for an eye
or to self destruction and crucifixion, to sacrifice, to suffering on purpose and in the best of intention,
to control and self control, to eternal potty training under the eyes of sad Christ, smiling Buddha, psychiatrists, priests, Popes and others.
Here i opt out. completely.
i try to breathe now. Just to sit on my stone will be peace.
peace without passion and desire is colourless, stale, smells of drugstore,
of used socks and old people and piss. I am old.
But i find peace and joy in my days to come and now, even now.
Let everybody suffer their own way. It is not my business.
I only feel. and i know i will die. maybe it can make somebody happier.
A Palavra, António Ramos Rosa
A Palavra
Eleva-se entre a espuma, verde e cristalina
e a alegria aviva-se em redonda ressonância.
O seu olhar é um sonho porque é um sopro indivisível
que reconhece e inventa a pluralidade delicada.
Ao longe e ao perto o horizonte treme entre os seus cílios.
Ela encanta-se. Adere, coincide com o ser mesmo
da coisa nomeada. O rosto da terra se renova.
Ela aflui em círculos desagregando, construindo.
Um ouvido desperta no ouvido, uma língua na língua.
Sobre si enrola o anel nupcial do universo.
O gérmen amadurece no seu corpo nascente.
Nas palavras que diz pulsa o desejo do mundo.
Move-se aqui e agora entre contornos vivos.
Ignora, esquece, sabe, vive ao nível do universo.
Na sua simplicidade terrestre há um ardor soberano.
António Ramos Rosa, in "Volante Verde"
e a alegria aviva-se em redonda ressonância.
O seu olhar é um sonho porque é um sopro indivisível
que reconhece e inventa a pluralidade delicada.
Ao longe e ao perto o horizonte treme entre os seus cílios.
Ela encanta-se. Adere, coincide com o ser mesmo
da coisa nomeada. O rosto da terra se renova.
Ela aflui em círculos desagregando, construindo.
Um ouvido desperta no ouvido, uma língua na língua.
Sobre si enrola o anel nupcial do universo.
O gérmen amadurece no seu corpo nascente.
Nas palavras que diz pulsa o desejo do mundo.
Move-se aqui e agora entre contornos vivos.
Ignora, esquece, sabe, vive ao nível do universo.
Na sua simplicidade terrestre há um ardor soberano.
António Ramos Rosa, in "Volante Verde"
A Festa do Silêncio, António Ramos Rosa
A Festa do Silêncio
Escuto na palavra a festa do silêncio.
Tudo está no seu sítio. As aparências apagaram-se.
As coisas vacilam tão próximas de si mesmas.
Concentram-se, dilatam-se as ondas silenciosas.
É o vazio ou o cimo? É um pomar de espuma.
Uma criança brinca nas dunas, o tempo acaricia,
o ar prolonga. A brancura é o caminho.
Surpresa e não surpresa: a simples respiração.
Relações, variações, nada mais. Nada se cria.
Vamos e vimos. Algo inunda, incendeia, recomeça.
Nada é inacessível no silêncio ou no poema.
É aqui a abóbada transparente, o vento principia.
No centro do dia há uma fonte de água clara.
Se digo árvore a árvore em mim respira.
Vivo na delícia nua da inocência aberta.
António Ramos Rosa, in "Volante Verde"
Tudo está no seu sítio. As aparências apagaram-se.
As coisas vacilam tão próximas de si mesmas.
Concentram-se, dilatam-se as ondas silenciosas.
É o vazio ou o cimo? É um pomar de espuma.
Uma criança brinca nas dunas, o tempo acaricia,
o ar prolonga. A brancura é o caminho.
Surpresa e não surpresa: a simples respiração.
Relações, variações, nada mais. Nada se cria.
Vamos e vimos. Algo inunda, incendeia, recomeça.
Nada é inacessível no silêncio ou no poema.
É aqui a abóbada transparente, o vento principia.
No centro do dia há uma fonte de água clara.
Se digo árvore a árvore em mim respira.
Vivo na delícia nua da inocência aberta.
António Ramos Rosa, in "Volante Verde"
En ti la tierra, Pablo Neruda
PEQUEÑA
rosa,
rosa pequeña,
a veces,
diminuta y desnuda,
parece
que en una mano mía
cabes,
que así voy a cerrarte
y a llevarte a mi boca,
pero
de pronto
mis pies tocan tus pies y mi boca tus labios,
has crecido,
suben tus hombros como dos colinas,
tus pechos se pasean por mi pecho,
mi brazo alcanza apenas a rodear la delgada
línea de luna nueva que tiene tu cintura:
en el amor como agua de mar te has desatado:
mido apenas los ojos más extensos del cielo
y me inclino a tu boca para besar la tierra.
rosa,
rosa pequeña,
a veces,
diminuta y desnuda,
parece
que en una mano mía
cabes,
que así voy a cerrarte
y a llevarte a mi boca,
pero
de pronto
mis pies tocan tus pies y mi boca tus labios,
has crecido,
suben tus hombros como dos colinas,
tus pechos se pasean por mi pecho,
mi brazo alcanza apenas a rodear la delgada
línea de luna nueva que tiene tu cintura:
en el amor como agua de mar te has desatado:
mido apenas los ojos más extensos del cielo
y me inclino a tu boca para besar la tierra.
at night the frogs
at night the frogs croaked,
first time for a year, after
long and frozen sleep.
the garden moves, the cat
hunts, the mice hide, the moles,
and birds nest in the bushes,
their small hearts flutter,
i listen, i hear them beat,
there is a pulse of spring
in all growing, coming out
of the earth, filling all bitter
and sweet and unconscious,
and the frogs call the females,
then will sit on their bums,
tadpoles will fill the pond,
swim in silence, eat and be eaten,
moon and sun will watch, i feel
all here in all and the wind
will move the water, flowers
rise towards the stars and roots
breathe underground, gnaw the earth,
there is nothing out there to
regret, to resist, to think, all
is relentlessly innocent, and
now i must sleep.
at night the frogs,
birds on waking to light.
first time for a year, after
long and frozen sleep.
the garden moves, the cat
hunts, the mice hide, the moles,
and birds nest in the bushes,
their small hearts flutter,
i listen, i hear them beat,
there is a pulse of spring
in all growing, coming out
of the earth, filling all bitter
and sweet and unconscious,
and the frogs call the females,
then will sit on their bums,
tadpoles will fill the pond,
swim in silence, eat and be eaten,
moon and sun will watch, i feel
all here in all and the wind
will move the water, flowers
rise towards the stars and roots
breathe underground, gnaw the earth,
there is nothing out there to
regret, to resist, to think, all
is relentlessly innocent, and
now i must sleep.
at night the frogs,
birds on waking to light.
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