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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=477037" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Who Looks For The Sea By Following Its Waves?</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Who looks for the sea by following its waves? <br>Or the sky by following the flights of birds? <br>Or their mind with their mind? <br>Who looks for seeing with their eyes? <br>Dogen Zenji: The place is here. The path leads everywhere. <br>And that should be the inexhaustible end of it. Freedom. <br>And all along the river that means <br>whatever I want it to, my unfinished solitude.<br>This discrete spiritual protocol between myself and the stars <br>that don't know how many times they've saved my life <br>by simply being there to gaze upon, as if in some way <br>they were so much more cleansing than water <br>and I could bathe in them to wash off the dust of the world <br>on any clear night, or, sometimes when you cry <br>it's the light that pours out, not your tears.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Some memories enter a coma and stay there, <br>giving you the impression that the past is fixed, <br>but I know the past is as creatively ongoing as now<br>and what was isn't the fossilized substance of what is, <br>by the way it can still sting, bite, caress and grow <br>into the available dimension of the future, <br>by how few times I've come here in joy<br>that wasn't mentored by some diffuse sorrow <br>that lingered over the lake like a wraith of the drifting mist <br>that had drowned in it barely an afterlife or two ago. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Always in the background of my heart I feel <br>this compassionate sadness like the cosmic hiss of creation, <br>and o how the watersheds of understanding long to be fountains<br>and exfoliate into flowing diamonds that simply<br>celebrate the scintillance, without embracing everything <br>in the mournful tenderness of this space it shares with them <br>as if in everything I'm aware of, I were always <br>mourning the passage of flowers. And if not that, <br>the heretical indignation born of what it appears <br>we must suffer to be here, without knowing why, <br>though I struggle most times to suppress that<br>to make sure the door stays open to any strays <br>that might wander in like wayward oversights of creative clarity. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">There's a sophomoric debate still going on <br>about whether I'm getting older or not, but alone, <br>I can feel the weight of this seasoned bell within me <br>and I ask myself is this the heaviness of the ripening pear <br>as it bends the branch as well as the light toward earth? <br>Is that why time approaches me like the night coming on <br>sweetened with stars, in this second innocence of wonder <br>before I fall again? Is pain the only intermediary <br>between our death and our birth and detachment and separation <br>the only kind of truce or bridge or oxymoron<br>that could reconcile them even remotely? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">So often when I can't see the radiance of the world <br>I think it's because my eyes are unclean, <br>that it's my error of perception if the arrow misses the mark, <br>not any inherent injustice in the way things are, <br>because who am I to say how it should all be experienced <br>when I could talk forever without ever knowing <br>what a thought, an emotion, or a word truly is, <br>let alone life with all its conditioned chaos <br>and dissonant harmonies? All these travelling companions <br>on the same road I am, trying to figure out <br>whether they're refugees on the run, <br>or pilgrims without a shrine. And I'm modestly <br>exalted by my humility when I think like this<br>until I remember how easy it is to go blind <br>looking into any source of illumination <br>watching two serpents copulating like wavelengths <br>and helical chromosomes. And I turn away <br>to stay true to the face in the mirror that isn't mine. <br>I plunge into a black hole, a rite of passage, <br>and when I come out the other end, even my shadows shine.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Patrick+White">Patrick White</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=477037" data-title="Who Looks For The Sea By Following Its Waves? de Patrick White" data-description="Who looks for the sea by following its waves? 
Or the sky by following the flights of birds? 
Or their mind with their mind? 
Who looks for seeing with their eyes? 
Dogen Zenji: The place is here. The path leads everywhere. 
And that should be the..."></div>
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