MEMORY OF VIOLETS... to (the memory of) my father.

That scant cluster

of violets

beside one of Radipole's paths

has prospered along

a stretch of several feet

in just the few years

since you passed.

You would have returned exultant

 to have seen them so

these past years

as i do.

And the blossoms

of your own flowering?

4 children from your seed

&

3 for the next generation

of which

2 survive.

But assuredly

living-dying

like a memory of violets

is an endless

flowing and flowering

in and of the cosmos...

Golden GOJI Hermitage

14/3/2011 - 27/7/2013

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MY WEYMOUTH : POEMS

 

#1

 

 

#2

 

#3

 

 

 

#4

 

#5

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Within the last 24 hours...i have stood under a downpour while the lightnings flashed about me in the night...i have practiced some asanas while Krishna Das blasted me in the early morning...i have eaten a papaya for breakfast then used the skin to moisturise my own - Do not put anything on your body that you would not eat! - ...i have cycled to the beach and on the beach and laughed at those who say it will cause the bike to rust...and i looked at the milky sea and sky and marveled...And i can sit...and i sat...And i can wait...and i waited......And there are still 10 more hours to go......

Last week, at a Buddhist group i sometimes attend, it was as if we were never gonna get started......"teacher" was fussing with her cat. Cat was being a cat. "Teacher" eventually laid-out a blanket for cat. Puss continued to prowl......"Oh, you'll have to go out, you're too restless," said "teacher", and puss was scooped-up and put-out in kitchen............Like "not the wind that moves, but your mind," in the Zen tale, it was "teacher's" mind that was restless. Cat was just being cat............

THERE IS NOTHING HOLY or spiritual in my usually getting-up early each day. i do not get-up in order to "practice" hatha yoga or just to sit with the lightening skies. i do not have an alarm clock to be woken by the sound of a bell. i am up early because i usually go to bed early. This is the way i am. Uchiyama Roshi, as a young monk, asked Sawaki Roshi , that if he sat zazen, would he be strong like him. NO! said Sawaki...i have always been like this...A violet will always be a violet...it cannot manifest as a rose....

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IT'S FOUR IN THE MORNING AND (supposedly) summer in England and i'm ready for hatha yoga routines, sooner rather than later. The skies are lightening, as is my attitude to practice, whether it be zazen, yoga or diet etc......People refer to these sorts of things in their lives as a "PRACTICE" or their "PATH"....... Moreso and moreso i am stepping away from these terms as they tend to infer that there is some end or goal in mind....a destination........WELL, this could be self-limiting and as far as i'm concerned, the possibilities are various and infinite.......KRISHNAMURTI talks about the PATHLESS PATH and what it is TO BE HUMAN..........ON THE WALL in front of me, as i pause from this writing, i smile at the EINSTEIN quote tacked-up here = "Two things are infinite : the universe and human stupidity - and i'm not sure about the universe."....... Hmmm.....to think "we" can solve "things" with our rational minds is a great conceit......

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AUTOBIOGRAPHY : EIGHT

SUEZ 1950/1 ?

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Our four-bodied family returned to England from Egypt when i was four years old. i have no memory of my father - who was always carrying me - up until this point in time. Apparently, he was always "rescuing me from my baby tears and fears," and the trials of prams and crabs...orchards and sandy beaches. He did not think i should be left to cry.

I remember we are staying with my mother's sister and her husband, in a small bungalow called "PENSELWOOD" on the  Burseldon Road in Southampton, where the honeysuckle grew at the front door... and where the coffee-grounds were emptied ritually at its roots each day.

I think my brother and i slept on the floor in the front-room.

I remember my brother and i going into the bedroom occupied by our parents.  Our father is the only one in there - lying on the bed. We clamber onto the bed and into his arms. One on either side.

I recall warmth and the sweet smell of sweat.

I remember wetness from his skin to mine as i nestle close to him.

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