Paper hat boat, 1988
26 June 2012
My boat on the brook – dark brown is the river, golden is the sand … – is a paper one, the little folded hats I launch, to flow and float downstream.
I have a vision, a song, a full journey to the sea: each one we are absorbed in one little thought; they two are universe-i … a vast and private matter.
(See the Avatamsaka Tower sutra in my earlier blog.)
Small whorls turn softly in the brown brook, ever flowing, ever welling from the hill’s heart – they are galaxies. Being identified with “flow”, it is not surprising that pain/blood episodes flow too, until they fade.
The water now – the ripple-crescents are soundless, deep and free of think.
Who am I? A little twig, little particle carries essential dharmas, and is the waters to the sea. The waters to the sea, carrying I, are all and every I. This thread is read in the “library” in a House of the Psyche – but the silence feels it. IS.
Bindhu point contains every circle of sound.
Like a lighthouse, like a bell or percussion, like a growth of tree’s yearly ring, it pulses and resounds. The river moves, trembles and merges as the One. This is everywhere with the rain. In the heart from whence it pours, it vanishes. There is infinitely room for more.