Though we are parted,
I feel the sounds
of pine trees swaying
with the summer breeze …
on Casper Mountain Peak

Though we are parted,
I feel the sounds
of pine trees swaying
with the summer breeze …
on Casper Mountain Peak

wednesday morning with Susan Fromberg Schaeffer

“… And there the mist refuses to part again over that time in their lives, and for a long time, I know nothing about them. Life is like that, a book left in the rain, ink erase by water, entire chapters disappearing. And then the story continues, and you must imagine the missing chapters that went before. Rest assured, it has continued, their story, although no one was there to let me read it. But since I began to write, I have come to know the rest of it, and so I will write it down. …”*
*cited: Susan Fromberg Schaeffe, Snow Fox, pg. 172
Does that bird
think of past times
as it flies, singing
over the shade in the spring…
of weeping willows? ~unknown

See and realize
that this world
is not permanent.
Neither late nor early flowers
will remain.
~Ryokan*

*cited:
Sky Above, Great Wind
Trans: K Tanahashi
Spring has its hundred colors,
Autumn its moon,
Summer has its cooling breezes,
Winter its snow.

If you allow no idle concerns
to weight on your heart,
Your whole life will be one
Perennial good season.*
*cited: The Golden Age of Zen, p. 286
Through the years
I’ve become used to sorrow,
There was not one spring
I didn’t leave behind
the flowers.
~Izumi Shikibu*

*cited:
The Ink Dark Moon
Trans: J Hirshfield & M Aratani
Morning haze
jewels of rain, falling
in a dream


Leanne Cole’s monochrome madness challenge
Purple butterflies
Fly at night through my dreams.
Butterflies, tell me,
have you seen in my village
the falling flowers of the wisteria? ~Yosano Akiko*

*cited: K Rexroth and Ikuko Atsumi
Empty mountain, no man is seen.
Only heard are echoes of men’s talk.
Reflected light enters the deep wood
And shines again on blue-green moss. ~Wang Wei*

*cited: Rafal Stepien, Jestor Daily Vol.16, No.2 (2014)
“… I realized it wasn’t the answers I was seeking all those years that mattered as much as the act of seeing itself. It was incredible, this human capacity for learning, for hope, for love, that persisted like the box of light in my cell, the waters that flowed in my dream. It was beyond my understanding. Tears came as I surrendered to this wonderment of being.”*

*cited: Eugenia Kim, The Calligrapher’s Daughter.
A valley and above it forests in autumn colors.
A voyager arrives, a map leads him there.
Or perhaps memory. Once long ago in the sun,
When snow first fell, riding this way
He felt joy, strong, without reason,
Joy of the eyes. Everything was the rhythm
Of shifting trees, of a bird in flight,
Of a train on the viaduct, a feast in motion.
He returns years later, has no demands.
He wants only one, most precious thing:
To see, purely and simply, without name,
Without expectations, fears, or hopes,
At the edge where there is no I or not-I. ~Czeslaw Milosz*

*cited: Trans. Robert Haas. Poetry-Chaikhana.com Sacred Poetry from Around the World
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