Thursday, April 28, 2022

майстри війни / a song heard in the night


It breaks my heart to know that Bob Dylan's song Masters of War is still as relevant as it was when it was first written many years ago. My heart goes out to all of those affected by the war in Ukraine. And to all those affected by all the wars that we don't hear so much about. It's a lot to take in. I needed to sing this tonight. Humanity, we have a long way to go. Let's keep walking together

Marthe Halvorsen
March 7, 2022

Saturday, April 23, 2022

Slowly but surely / This year's mandala work using my non-dominant left hand / Two birds and one two three rabbits / Ocean Vuong's letter ("... It is said that grief is actually love, but with nowhere to go...")




















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Dear monastic and lay practitioners in our Buddhist communities far and wide --

In the days following Thay's continuation, I have been asked by various media outlets, as a Buddhist author, to speak on this momentous occurrence in our community. But I declined -- for what have I to say that Thay's teaching has not already solidified, already made so self-evidently clear?

His practice and life's work were always to prepare us for this moment and, in this way, prepare us for us. For our own grief in Samsara. I have always felt it wiser to do nothing than to do something without strong intention or proper conditions in place. But when Denise Nguyen, executive Director of the Thich Nhat Hanh Foundation, reached out asking to share directly to our community, this call made sense to me, to speak to you as one among you.

Language and sound, as we know, are one of our oldest mediums of transmission. The root of the word "narrative" is "gnarus," Latin for knowledge. As such, all stories are first and foremost the translation of knowledge. But not only that, they are the transmission of energy. And, as Thay taught us, energy cannot die. As a poet, this is a truth I live with every day. Because to read a few lines of Gilgamesh or The Iliad or the Tale of Kieu, is to receive the linguistic energy of a mind working up to over four thousand years ago. In this way, to speak is to survive, and to teach is to shepherd our ideas into the future, the text is a raft we send forward for all later generations. We know this because we have all clung, are still clinging, to the raft of Thay's and Buddhas's teachings. How lucky we are, as a species, to have such a vehicle. I do believe that language, despite major developments in medicine and science, is still our most advanced technology. We owe it to ourselves to commit to building new rafts for all sentient beings. Our work as was Thay's, is part of a long tradition of liberation that spans multiple epochs and myriad realms.

Yes, energy, and even people, do not truly die. But I must speak, too, as a lay practitioner, who does not yet possess the merit to devote to a monastic life, and must admit that my heart breaks to see Thay's body prepared for cremation, to know his journey through death and dying, which, as the Buddha taught us, is one of the passages of suffering all sentient beings must move through. And because I am not strong enough in my practice, I watched the procession for Thay's funeral with tears in my eyes, both for the beauty of the community he built but also for the immense sadness in my heart. I weep for myself and others who do not yet have the wisdom and merit to bear this pain well.

When my own mother was dying of cancer in November 2019, on her deathbed, she said to me, her voice weak, the heat energy already fading from her limbs, Con oi, gio con da biet noi dau nay, con phai di giup nguoi ta nghe. / My son, now that you know this sickness, you must take this knowledge to help people. My mother, though illiterate, memorized Vietnamese Buddhist sutras and would listen to Thay's teaching on her iPhone with regularity. I told her: Yes, I will not let this pain be experienced in vain. And since so many of us are feeling pain about Thay's continuation, I think it is helpful to see sadness, too, as energy. May we let the sadness come and teach us how to live. Let it be the mud for the lotus, as Thay says, Let us sit with it and let it pass through us so that it might be transformed to something like love. My mother, having learned from Thay, knew that pain can be recycled into knowledge. Isn't that what language is for?

And I ask you now, specifically of our monastic brothers and sisters, folks, and elders, as you have Xuat Gia, or "went forth," and therefore are the true pioneers of human phenomena, I ask you humbly, to seek, in your practice (as I am sure you have already done), all the ways sadness might be transformed. And we, the lay practitioners who have "remained," will follow your path. This is why monastics are, to my mind, the true embodiments of courage, are warriors more grounded and determined than anyone who has ever raised a sword: you have chosen to shave your heads and march into the vast unknown, beyond the cliff of human knowledge, while we remain here in relative safety and comfort, awaiting your discoveries, ready to go forth.

It is said that grief is actually love, but with nowhere to go. In a quest that might very well take up the remainder of my life in this form, I ask of myself and also of you, dear community: where shall we go, both within and outside us? Now that we have such a capacious raft, one that can hold so many, fortified by Thay's teaching, there might still be sadness, yes, but there is no more fear.

Knowing you are out there, mining the answers when you sit down, when you follow your breath, when you make offerings, knowing you are just ahead of us, and that I can glimpse your bright robes along the road, like scraps of sunlight among the grey detritus, how can I ever be scared? But more so, how can I ever be lost?

I am sad, yes. And I will be so for some time. My heart aches -- but despite, or perhaps because of that, I have found you. and in you I have found myself.

That is the narrative, that is the knowledge.

Yours, in hope and word,

--Ocean Vuong

Friday, April 22, 2022

Birthday!


Yehudi Menuhin was born on April 22, 1916.

Tuesday, April 19, 2022

24 languages! / Cloud language / Speaking without words

24 languages!

Today a friend emailed me an article about a dear man who speaks 24 languages fluently and can converse in many more.  This man and his story delight me.  I am still working on learning Spanish as a second language on Duolingo.  I feel that I know some of the happiness that Vaughn Smith experiences each time he learns a new language.

Attempting to learn Spanish has brought me unexpected joy every day since I began the free Duolingo lessons in the fall of 2019.  This year I decided use some of my limited income to pay for more thorough lessons on Duolingo.  In addition to that, I listen to books on tape in Spanish whenever I am in my car.  Although I had two years of Spanish in high school, I never learned as much as I have learned on Duolingo.  It was only since 2019 that I learned to roll my R's! 

I love the sound of language whether I understand it or not.  I love the numerous ways that English is spoken in the United States and throughout the world.  I love all the ways people speak English as a second language.  I love seeing people speak in sign language.  Music is a language understood all over the world.  And everything has its language.  Birds.  The sky,  Trees.  You name it and it speaks with or without sound.   

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Sunday, April 17, 2022

Time Is A Mother, by Ocean Vuong


 "I was made to die but I'm here to stay," writes Vuong in his second collection. It's perhaps as fitting a theme as there is to be found in the collection, a work that seeks to tease beauty from violence, to find life in pain ..."

Library Journal review

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Saturday, April 16, 2022

“For the ones who stayed,” “For the ones who left,” “And for all the ones who were lost."


As soon as it came out on DVD, I put Kenneth Branagh's "Belfast" on hold at our public library.  The waiting list was long.  On Thursday, I received email notification that it was my turn to watch one of the available copies.  On Friday morning, I woke up at 2 a.m. and decided to watch it then and there.  I watched it through once and then again with the commentary.  

Timeless and timely.

“For the ones who stayed,” “For the ones who left,” “And for all the ones who were lost."

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"Time heals, after all -- although the clock that marks that kind of time has no hands."
(Suze Rotolo)


Wednesday, April 13, 2022

Just because




"... what is real but compassion as we move from birth to death ..."

(Greg Brown, lyrics from "Rexroth's Daughter")

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"... So many things that we never will undo
I know you're sorry, I'm sorry too ...

... But my heart is not weary, it's light and it's free
I've got nothin' but affection for all those who've sailed with me ..."

(Bob Dylan, lyrics from "Mississippi")

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"... Alive I awoke ..."

(Patti Smith, lyrics from "Dead to the World")

Saturday, April 2, 2022

"I got saved by the beauty of the world" (Mary Oliver) with Update (-:


The Tower of Blue Horses, by Franz Marc

From Franz Marc's Blue Horses, by Mary Oliver

I step into the painting of the four blue horses. 

I am not even surprised that I can do this.


This is what I listened to today.

This is what I hear at night with my windows open:


Just for fun.  Bob Dylan singing "Froggie Went a Courtin":


At Scudder Pond, the frogs wake up first and then the birds.  Listen for the ducks.