Читать книгу The School of Soft Attention - Frank LaRue Owen - Страница 7

“A man doesn’t go in search of a poem; the poem comes in search of him.” –Yang Wan-Li

Outside: gray day, dark clouds, white frost on branches.

Inside: I sit wrapped in a blanket beside a rain-dappled window

gazing up at the swaying sentinel pines, contemplating Dao.

A black-capped chickadee, adorned with all the same colors of this day, darts in and out of view. Flowing with the moment, a thought stirs like feathers ruffling:

Heart-Mind, left to its natural state, is vast as a panorama of Nature.

If settled, receptive, a poem may arrive like the seed-hunting chickadee flitting through.

A splash of color. A flash of life and movement. A brief moment in this shared dream. Are we truly present to receive it? This is the path, on this gray day, and every other day.

Words emerge from the silent illumination of the wordless Dao.

Yet, words can never be complete.