Time takes hold of us like a draft upward, drawing at the heats in the belly, in the brain You told me of setting your hand into the print of a lon

  When the familiar is suddenly strange Or the well known is what we yet have to learn, And two worlds meet, and intersect, and change; By whom, an

  We are the time. We are the famous metaphor from Heraclitus the Obscure. We are the water, not the hard diamond, the one that is lost, not the one

Anger and tenderness: my selves. And now I can believe they breathe in me as angels, not polarities. Anger and tenderness: the spider's genius to sp

    we are the face in the mirror and we are the mirror itself. Here, now, right now, we taste the eternal. Yes, we are pain and yes, we are the m

  Let us return to imperfection's school. No longer wandering after Plato's ghost, Seeking the garden where all fruit is flawless, We must at last r

 How can you stand it—looking at things? For example, the geranium out on the patio, the single pink blossom in the sun? Or stand the sunlight

WHEN the sea is everywhere from horizon to horizon .. when the salt and blue fill a circle of horizons .. I swear again how I know the sea is older

    'Twas the old road -- through pain -- That unfrequented one -- With many a turn -- and thorn -- That stops -- at Heaven. From Emily Dickinson,

We are the time. We are the famous metaphor from Heraclitus the Obscure. We are the water, not the hard diamond, the one that is lost, not the one

  Gone were but the Winter, Come were but the Spring, I would go to a covert Where the birds sing. Where in the whitethom Singeth a thrush, An

  I wrote a poem on the mist And a woman asked me what I meant by it. I had thought till then only of the beauty of the mist, how pearl and gray of

    I can never forget that scrap of a song I once heard in the early dawn in the midst of the din of the crowd that had collected for a festival

 a stone at dawn  cold water in the basin  these walls' rough plaster imageless after the hammering of so much insistence on the need for n

    happy are we who are free from attachment,  feeders on rapture shall we be, like the gods of brilliant light. The Buddha, from the Dhamma

My bedroom is high in the north wall of this great fortress and from the windows the sun in the morning and  evening reveals its special splendour r