by Matsuo Basho (translated by Alan Watts)
Tyger Tyger, burning bright, In the forests of the night; What immortal hand or eye, Could frame thy fearful symmetry? In what distant deeps or skies. Burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand, dare seize the fire? And what shoulder, & what art, Could twist the sinews […]
The old pond is the essence of stillness… and then…
The atomic bombing –the most destructive instant in human history—transformed Hiroshima from a city defined by war into a city whose name is synonymous with the hope of peace.
Late in the afternoon one of the old women wiped her forehead with a rag and announced that it was time to walk over to the well.
The black flies have come and gone. Saturday afternoons are filled with the grumble of lawnmowers.We’ve put anAmerican flag(in memory ofDavid O’Neil)and a new Rainbow flagon our flag poles.The High School seniors have graduated. Yard sales are popping up on the sidestreets.The peonies are in bloom.Roll down the car window… It’s July!…
The Other By R.S. Thomas There are nights that are so still that I can hear the small owl calling far off and a fox barking miles away. It is then that I lie in the lean hours awake listening to the swell born somewhere in the Atlantic […]
The movement of the generations is in many ways, is the core experience that makes us human.
And how we respond to doing our part in the movement of the generations – speaks eloquently about who we are.
“Welcome” the earth seemed to say to the soles of my feet.
“Thank you” my feet seemed to say to the earth.
How does God come to us in the evening? What whispers do we hear from the divine, as the day grows old.