“We need suffering…”

We need suffering in order to see the path. The origin of suffering, the cessation of suffering, and the path leading to the cessation of suffering are all found in the heart of suffering. If we are afraid to touch our suffering, we will not be able to realize the path of peace, joy , and liberation. Don’t run away. Touch your suffering and embrace it. Make peace with it. The Buddha said, “The moment you know how your suffering came to be, you are already on the path of release from it.” If you know what has come to be and how it has come to be, you are already on the way to emancipation…

~ Thích Nhất Hạnh

Ride a Cock Horse to Banbury Cross

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http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Finelady.jpg

Ride a cock horse to Banbury Cross

To see a fine lady upon a white horse.

Rings on her fingers and bells on her toes.

She will make music wherever she goes.

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It takes courage to be who you are, to be completely authentic, when this is not reflected back to you by those around you. And it is sometimes difficult to recognize what is truly authentic in ourselves. But this is the way to freedom. Those who have the ability to encourage and guide others in this undertaking are to be treasured.

 

 

Past the Cusp of Summer (a poem I wrote in August 2006)

Past the Cusp of Summer

 August 2006

 Just past the cusp of summer,

The sunlight slices at a wider angle

Through the soft cushion of cool air.

It is still warm to the skin.

The daisies are saying goodbye dryly.

The last peony is browning and limp.

A fresh dampness arises from the grass.

It mixes with the smell of the sun-drenched wood of the windowsill.

A small plane drones.

There’s an unmistakable slowing down.

When I take time to notice,

I will see flies

Bumbling slowly,

Easily crushed by a hand.

I know from watching, listening, smelling,

As year spirals upon year,

That Summer is folding in upon herself,

Taking her warm wings south,

The iridescent ones,

The ones that formed a portal to

All the faerie kingdom only on Midsummer Night.

— Pamela Ann McDowell Saylor