Home thoughts

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;
Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honey bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet’s wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements gray,
I hear it in the deep heart’s core.


WBYeats

From Krishnamurti’s notebook

Walking, surrounded by these violet, bare, rocky mountains, suddenly there was solitude.
Complete solitude.
Everywhere, there was solitude;
It had great, unfathomable richness;
it had that beauty which is beyond thought and feeling.
It was not still; it was living, moving, filling every nook and corner.
The high rocky mountain top was aglow with the setting sun
and that very light and colour filled the heavens with solitude.
It was uniquely alone, not isolated, but alone, like a drop of rain
which holds all the waters of the earth.
It was neither joyous nor sad, but alone.
It had no quality, shape or colour;
these would make it something recognizable, measurable.
It came like a flash and took seed.
It did not germinate, but was there in its entirety.
There was no time to mature; time has roots in the past.
This was a rootless, causeless state.
So it is totally new, a state that has not been
And never will be,
for it is living.

Something for the weekend

By nature, my old friend on East Mountain
treasures the beauty of hills and valleys.
Spring now green, you lie
in empty woods still sound asleep under a midday sun,
your robe growing lucid in pine winds,
rocky streams rinsing ear and heart clean.

No noise, no confusion—
all I want is this life pillowed high in emerald mist.

Li Po