People give according to their faith, or as they are disposed to. 18.249, 250 dhammapada
Death
(disposed of)
On Wednesday I discovered a tortoise in golden roadside weed,
mummified, head hollowed through the eye by an army of ants.
On Sunday. near a village wall, lay a headless unplucked chicken.
It was partially wrapped in a white bag - golden feathers,
beautiful rose-dimpled feet.
Birds
(disposition of)
Doves will not touch the remnant fruit I leave for them.
In early evening, swallows align in intricately spaced patterns, wings all pointed downward,
on the stone face of the chapel.
There are hawks gleaning mice from the cut hay.
Owls. I find hair and bone pellets on the dusty roads.
Contained within them all moist life I seek midsummer.
A Horseman Passed By
(disposed to)
At dusk, a young man rides slowly towards the village.
He is on a chestnut Andalusian with a forehead star.
The horse has a band of 3 braided ropes hanging over the star.
The young man wears a red waistband, the colour of his flushed cheeks.
Both man and horse keep eyes to the horizon , distant seeing, focused.
In rural Skåne län the rain fell on fields of them.
Córdoba horses follow afternoon shadows, paddocks blanched by summer sun.
Imagine a piebald donkey pulling a surrey. Place it here, on the road to Belalcázar.
Roses
(disposition of)
They are watered nightly, after the heat subsides.
The soil is bare.
Bright blossoming, the petals desiccate quickly, producing the effect of a bush abloom with
textile and paper.
They are beautiful, I tell the sister.
They need water, says the sister.
Don't we all?
One should not be put out by others' food and drink. Root it out.
Painting
(disposed to)
I do it with my eyes closed. I follow the water. As it returns, I look. It's as much about what's left behind and erased as what remains. The paper rises and falls with wet and dry.
If I am lucky, I can see what I have done.
Chapel
(disposition of)
The highest window attracts my attention. I can observe it endlessly. If I follow the light, it leads me always back here, to this place. What's up there but a hole in stone?
Tomb within, tomb without. Light will find us, as surely as a river seeking the sea.
Without discrimination following, out or in, achieving stillness night and day.
Death
(disposed of)
On Wednesday I discovered a tortoise in golden roadside weed,
mummified, head hollowed through the eye by an army of ants.
On Sunday. near a village wall, lay a headless unplucked chicken.
It was partially wrapped in a white bag - golden feathers,
beautiful rose-dimpled feet.
Birds
(disposition of)
Doves will not touch the remnant fruit I leave for them.
In early evening, swallows align in intricately spaced patterns, wings all pointed downward,
on the stone face of the chapel.
There are hawks gleaning mice from the cut hay.
Owls. I find hair and bone pellets on the dusty roads.
Contained within them all moist life I seek midsummer.
A Horseman Passed By
(disposed to)
At dusk, a young man rides slowly towards the village.
He is on a chestnut Andalusian with a forehead star.
The horse has a band of 3 braided ropes hanging over the star.
The young man wears a red waistband, the colour of his flushed cheeks.
Both man and horse keep eyes to the horizon , distant seeing, focused.
In rural Skåne län the rain fell on fields of them.
Córdoba horses follow afternoon shadows, paddocks blanched by summer sun.
Imagine a piebald donkey pulling a surrey. Place it here, on the road to Belalcázar.
Roses
(disposition of)
They are watered nightly, after the heat subsides.
The soil is bare.
Bright blossoming, the petals desiccate quickly, producing the effect of a bush abloom with
textile and paper.
They are beautiful, I tell the sister.
They need water, says the sister.
Don't we all?
One should not be put out by others' food and drink. Root it out.
Painting
(disposed to)
I do it with my eyes closed. I follow the water. As it returns, I look. It's as much about what's left behind and erased as what remains. The paper rises and falls with wet and dry.
If I am lucky, I can see what I have done.
Chapel
(disposition of)
The highest window attracts my attention. I can observe it endlessly. If I follow the light, it leads me always back here, to this place. What's up there but a hole in stone?
Tomb within, tomb without. Light will find us, as surely as a river seeking the sea.
Without discrimination following, out or in, achieving stillness night and day.
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