Greed He chose the golden casket, not the lead And opened it with anxious hands. It held the rotting emblems of the dead, A script he does not understand, Some money shapes among the dust, At at the end, a little lust. And he will have his pound of flesh And stand alone upon the bridge, Watching the seagulls wheel and dart Surprised by grieving in his heart.
anon from the Llan Sangha
From last Thursday's Meditation Evening:
How do we prepare for meditation? Some ideas: Sitting with a cup of tea Reading dharma, reading poetry Lighting a candle Spending time outdoors in nature Doing necessary tasks (eg feeding animals) mindfully Body awareness Chanting Bringing our intention to mind
Developing metta 'Those who entertain such thoughts as 'He abused me, he beat me, he conquered me, he robbed me' will not still their hatred. Those who do not entertain such thoughts as 'He abused me, he beat me, he conquered me, he robbed me' will still their hatred. Not by hatred are hatreds ever pacified here. They are pacified by love. This is the eternal law.'
from the Dhammapada
Developing mindfulness 'Do not pursue the past. Do not lose yourself in the future. The past no longer is. The future has not yet come. Looking deeply at life as it is in the very here and now the practitioner dwells in stability and freedom'
from the Bhaddekaratta Sutta
The Buddha's Words on Loving Kindness , The Metta Sutta
This is what should be done By those who are skilled in goodness, And who know the path of peace;
Let them be able and upright, Straightforward and gentle in speech. Humble and not conceited Contented and easily satisfied. Unburdened with duties and frugal in their ways. Peaceful and calm, and wise and skilful, Not proud and demanding in nature, Let them not do the slightest thing That the wise would later reprove.
Wishing: in gladness and safety, May all beings be at ease. Whatever living beings there may be; Whether they are weak or strong, omitting none, The great or the mighty, medium, short or small, The seen and the unseen, Those living near and far away, Those born and to-be-born, May all beings be at ease!
Let none deceive another, Or despise any being in any state. Let none through anger or ill-will Wish harm upon another. Even as a mother protects with her life Her child, her only child So with a boundless heart Should one cherish all living beings; Radiating kindness over the entire world: Spreading upwards to the skies, And downwards to the depths, Outward and unbounded, Freed from hatred and ill-will Whether standing or walking, seated or lying down, Free from drowsiness, One should sustain this recollection.
This is said to be the sublime abiding, By not holding to fixed views, The pure-hearted one, having clarity of vision, Being freed from all sense desires, Is not born again into this world.
Go Among Trees and Sit Still
I go among trees and sit still. All my stirring becomes quiet Around me like circles on water. My tasks lie in their places Where I left them, asleep like cattle… Then what I am afraid of comes. I live for a while in its sight. What I fear in it leaves it, And the fear of it leaves me. It sings, and I hear its song.
By Wendell Berry
We can make our minds so like still water that beings gather about us, that they may see, it may be, their own images, and so live for a moment with a clearer, perhaps even with a fiercer life because of our quiet.
By W.B. Yeats
Wildwood flower--A version which brings to my mind and heart Green Tara.
She is waiting for me in a rose covered bower, and her eyes are like violets after a shower, for she's dreaming the dream through the long summer hours, she's my sweetheart my own she's my frail wildwood flower.
I will bring tender blossoms to twine in her hair, blushing roses so red and the lilies so fair, lovely myrtle so bright with the emerald dew, modest buttercups yellow , forget-me-nots blue.
Hand in hand through the wildwood together we'll stray. she will sing she will dance and my heart she will sway. and her laughter will echo like ripples at play. till my tears like my heart she has stolen away.
There's no artist can paint her ,no poet can write. as she warms this cold world like a sunbeam so bright. I will love and protect her and never will part. from that frail wildwood flower that winds around my heart.
By Alton Stitcher derived from a much earlier version from 1860's onwards.