Brother,
threw the i-ching tonight, wound up with 60,
articulation and all that entails...
V
What we call the beginning is often the end
And to make an end is to make a beginning.
The end is where we start from. And every phrase
And sentence that is right (where every word is at home,
Taking its place to support the others,
The word neither diffident nor ostentatious,
An easy commerce of the old and the new,
The common word exact without vulgarity,
The formal word precise but not pedantic,
The complete consort dancing together)
Every phrase and every sentence is an end and a beginning,
Every poem an epitaph. And any action
Is a step to the block, to the fire, down the sea's throat
Or to an illegible stone: and that is where we start.
We die with the dying:
See, they depart, and we go with them.
We are born with the dead:
See, they return, and bring us with them.
The moment of the rose and the moment of the yew-tree
Are of equal duration. A people without history
Is not redeemed from time, for history is a pattern
Of timeless moments. So, while the light fails
On a winter's afternoon, in a secluded chapel
History is now and England.
With the drawing of this Love and the voice of this
Calling
We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.
Through the unknown, unremembered gate
When the last of earth left to discover
Is that which was the beginning;
At the source of the longest river
The voice of the hidden waterfall
And the children in the apple-tree
Not known, because not looked for
But heard, half-heard, in the stillness
Between two waves of the sea.
Quick now, here, now, always—
A condition of complete simplicity
(Costing not less than everything)
And all shall be well and
All manner of thing shall be well
When the tongues of flame are in-folded
Into the crowned knot of fire
And the fire and the rose are one.
following the virtues, what is correct action
with caution and care
as though treading thin ice
yu is indeed the absence of jen, jen is indeed the absence of yu
may I know you when you are old, may you not regret
few in the world can understand the teaching without words
thus the entire teaching is contained in no words
i treat those who are good with goodness
and I also treat this who are not good with goodness
thus goodness is attained
i am honest to those who are honest
and I am also honest to those who are not honest
thus honesty is attained
if i had but little knowledge
i should, in walking on a broad path
fear getting off the road.
true words are not beautiful
beautiful words are not true
a good man does not argue
a wise man has no extensive knowledge
the sage does not accumulate for himself
the more he uses for others, the more he has himself
the more he gives to others, the more he possesses of his own
the way of heaven is to benefit others and not to injure
the way of the sage is to act but not to compete
who sees all beings in himself and his own self in all beings, loses fear.
...
the poets say that his is the Spirit who wanders on this earth from body to body, free from the light and darkness which follow our works. He is free because he is free from selfishness, and he is invisible, incomprehensible, hidden in darkness. He seems to work and not to be; but in truth he works not, and he is. He is in his own Being, pure, never changing, never moving, upollutable; and in peace beyond desires he watches the drama of the universe. He is hidden behind a veil of the three conditions and constituents of the universe; but in the joy of his law of righteousness he is ever one, he is ever one.
do you know what you serve
in the service of what do you act?
only don't know, go straight!
and for you, sir, and for all of us:
104
no hat, and cold
rain falling--
well!
46
on my knees, hugging
roots, I grieve
for priest Tando
99
old legs, still eager
for Yoshino's
flowering slopes
129
come see, real
flowers
of this painful world
140
lips too chilled
for prattle--
autumn wind
220
how pleasant
just once not to see
Fuji through mist
242
Mad with poetry
I stride like Chikusai
into the wind
R.
