let the world slow down

Sylvia Plath, self portrait

       

the dogs in our eyes look like us. they are howling to the noises of the night. the world itself is a dog, trotting off without a care. your diamonds and your dreams are nothing. only two things matter; what you have done and what you will do next. no one is keeping score in this match. the grass on the pitch is tall and wild. the weeds are reaching heaven. the dogs in our eyes piss wherever they wish. the world itself is a dog, full of folly and madness. go now, this is over. 

james lee jobe 

Approach all things and all beings with a face of kindness.

Dogen Zenji

Cache Creek, Northern California 

be as quiet as though you were not here at all. still, and quiet, as steady as a bee. born on the cusp of a new era, a new silence. be as steady as a winter rain, as light as thought. sleep easy. let your soul be filled with the depth of all things, touched by that thing we know as life. no end, no beginning, just that which is. let the world slow down, and then stop. yes, be still and quiet. as steady as a bee. 

james lee jobe

Once we recognize that all things are impermanent, we have no problem enjoying them. In fact, real peace and joy are only possible when we see clearly into the nature of impermanence.

Thich Nhat Hanh

Frida Kahlo's diary

a rain of frogs 

like a rain of fire a rain of ash covering the earth

    with gloom and memory

like a rain of frogs on the sands

    of egypt like pharaoh's rage

like stitches in the seams of the trees

    infected with sap

like the stink of war in your nostrils the stink

    of finality

like the sound of the carrier bolt slapping the bullet

    into the well-oiled chamber

like the oil on the beach at santa barbara like the corpse

    of the oil-soaked pelican

like draining the earth of its oil 

    its blood

like death in the morning death at noon

    and death at night

like death dancing with your father's bones

    with your mother's ghost

like the day when you knew you were alone

    and the world was empty while the wind blew hot

like the night without stars without the moon 

    without love without hope

like the street musician's monkey tied to a string

    and begging with a little cup

like standing on the sweltering street corner waiting for the light

    to change and it doesn't not ever

like the morning that the sun did not rise

    and your soul was empty just empty 

like the morning the birds did not sing

    and you died with no one to hold you

like the doctor calling out the time of your death 

    and turning off the machines

like the priest closing your eyes

    and making the sign of the cross above you

like the sheet that they pulled up over your face

like a rain of fire a rain of frogs the death of the firstborn 

    anywhere the door lacks the blood of the lamb

james lee jobe

Meditating allows the apparent boundaries of distinctions to dissolve and the place from which the new thoughts and impulses arise to express itself. 

Peter Coyote, “Welcome to Delusionville”

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jlj