secret notebooks • wild pages: Play

Saturday, November 14, 2009

Play

“Play is the exultation of the possible.”
— Martin Buber

Especially when it involves toys that dispense treats.

Perhaps I'll try the sideways approach.

Have I won yet?

7 comments:

sukipoet said...: dadorable. what a fun spirit to play with.; November 14, 2009 8:12 AM
Poetic Artist said...: How cute. Can I come over and play? LOL; November 14, 2009 9:17 AM
Bethany said...: Oh what a happy doggety dog. I don't know why, but I've always had mixed feelings about those treat dispensing toys. I think because I imagine myself trying to get at it and all my frustration. I am an immediate gratification person and would probably go insane. But this doggie seems extremely happy to work his way into the treat. I need to stop projectng my crazy self and crazy ways onto the animals!
Great quote.; November 14, 2009 9:25 AM
layers said...: to play with a dog's abandon-- what a life.; November 14, 2009 12:16 PM
Kelly Jeanette said...: How cute! He seems alot of fun.; November 14, 2009 2:32 PM
Oliag said...: I'm in love with Yeti:); November 15, 2009 10:17 AM
JC said...: Yeti looks like a great dog! Try to take some time for some pet therapy.; November 18, 2009 10:19 PM

Meditation on Affliction

Assailed by afflictions, we discover dharma and find the way to liberation. Thank you, evil forces!

When sorrows invade the mind, we discover dharma and find lasting happiness. Thank you, sorrows!

Through harm caused by spirits we discover dharma and find fearlessness. Thank you, ghosts and demons!

Through people's hate we discover dharma and find benefits and happiness. Thank you, those who hate us!

Through cruel adversity, we discover dharma and find the unchanging way. Thank you, adversity!

Through being impelled to by others, we discover dharma and find the essential meaning. Thank you, all who drive us on!

We dedicate our merit to you all, to repay your kindness.

— Gyalwa Longchenpa

Who Says Words With My Mouth?

All day I think about it, then at night I say it.
Where did I come from, and what am I supposed to be doing?
I have no idea.
My soul is from elsewhere, I'm sure of that,
and I intend to end up there.

This drunkenness began in some other tavern.
When I get back around to that place,
I'll be completely sober. Meanwhile,
I'm like a bird from another continent, sitting in this aviary.
The day is coming when I fly off,
but who is it now in my ear who hears my voice?
Who says words with my mouth?

Who looks out with my eyes? What is the soul?
I cannot stop asking.
If I could taste one sip of an answer,
I could break out of this prison for drunks.
I didn't come here of my own accord, and I can't leave that way.
Whoever brought me here will have to take me home.

This poetry, I never know what I'm going to say.
I don't plan it.
When I'm outside the saying of it,
I get very quiet and rarely speak at all.

— Rumi

The Journey

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice--
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do--
determined to save
the only life you could save.

Mary Oliver

Saturday, November 14, 2009

Play

7 comments:

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