The preacher expounded on 2 Timothy 4:18
"The LORD will protect you from all evil"
As I sat on my couch contemplating clean socks
I recalled how I'd seen mothers fold laundry. Calmly;
O how calmly did they work at this simplest of chores
And I began to imitate some of their work and serenity
As I straightened each sock, then laid the companion over
Flat against the other member. Folding from bottom -
Thrice, my choice, then the elastic top secured the pair!
To avoid matrimonial metaphors, I did something odd:
Having folded a pair, I then tucked in another set
Twinning my folding exercise with socks, maybe creativity?
And a calm outbreath of satisfaction: mess gone, new poem!
Does the Sea
Suffuse...
Does the Sea
Perfuse...
the sponge?
Slipping, sidling
in:
the Great Outbreath
of the far forgot shore;
so small now as to be
Unimaginable,
upwells in swells the
Entirety of this sea -
and heaves these easy seas
from shore to shore
as
sure as the moon’s dim
light is gasped over
when its wax is over -
when full; when only moonlight
lights the matte blacknight.
Does the Sea,
enter, entirely,
the sponge
and, in doing
so
forget itself?
Does the Sea,
in its Perfusion
forget itself?
Does the Sea believe itself to be
a sponge?
Or does the see,
take up a demonym?
Or does the Sea remain the Sea
no matter no matter
no matter how
fully
it inhabits, it saturates, it permeates
the Sponge?
For that matter,
does the sponge,
in being infilled wholly by
the Sea, believe itself to be
The Sea?
The Beauty of the End, is, It's Beginning!
For Aspen never rise, till fire is still,
And all Endeavors, Loves, and Lives are Ash...
All that is product of the Human Will
Persists, till not a stone's upon a stone,
And every outbreath lifts the dust to motes,
Upon the Light that shows a Pilgrim Alone;
Gone far to see what's left -- dust chokes the throat...
So, Ancient Empires fall, but, 'apres le feu'*
The Aspens grow, and someday, gild the slope.
And Life and Death there dance a 'pas de deux',**
And Life gets the Applause, lets go Death's rope,
Death fades and bows and then... was never there...
And leaves a Scent of Morning on the Air...
*'apres le feu' - after the fire
**'pas de deux' - a duet dance in a ballet
Tibetan Buddhist Tonglen
Tonglen, when you take on another’s pain,
As smoke, on the in breath ,
Outbreath normal as the rain,
You are sending health, no less. (sending white light)
You see the pain and suffering ,
You intensely feel his pain,
Brighter than the shining stars,
Pain, Light does ease again!
Did you ever have a friend ,
Who suffered some great pain,
And you also hurt with him then ,
Sympathetic, is here plain.
This is a useful game.
Would be healers of the west,
Are crippled, sometimes sane:)
By trying to heal, to do their best,
Yes painful is the game.
The truth of many religious books,
Can filter real concepts,
To see, one only has to look,
And truth is like the rain,
Do you want to share their pain?
Don Johnson
I try to help cause remote healing, I suffer for a day with the pain and wondered why,
the pain then goes, if I ask for relief, this verse may be my answer?