It's an ugly woods, I was saying to myself, padding along a trail where other walkers had broken ground before me. And then I found an extraordinary bouquet. Someone had bound an offering of dry seed pods, yew, lyme grass, red berries, and brown fern and laid it on the path: "nothing special," as Buddhists say, meaning "everything." Gathered to formality, each dry stalk proclaimed a slant, an attitude, infinite shades of neutral.
All contemplative acts, silences, poems, honor the world this way. Brought together by the eye of love, a milkweed pod, a twig, allow us to see how things have been all along. A feast of being.—Mary Rose O’Reilley, The Barn at the End of the World: The Apprenticeship of a Quaker, Buddhist Shepherd
Monday, January 28, 2013
A Feast of Being
I always love finding a kindred spirit; kindred in words, in viewing the world. My happy discovery of the week is Mary Rose O’Reilley, who I would be honored to spend some quiet time with out in the garden, on such a day as this, contemplating and honoring nature.
image: Milkweed, The Woods Are Lovely, Dark, and Deep