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- Thread starter GavinRylee
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Fungo Squiggly
Mortal enemy of all things Bucky
Yahoo Pickem Champ
Former Game Champion
'18 BPCFFB II Champ
'18 Keeper League Champ
iambrutus;736395; said:
Shutup, Randy!
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PrincessPeach
I want to ride my bicycle.
So that's what you're doing. Care to comment on this thread?iambrutus;736371; said:
(With apologies to Bill for plagiarism...)
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it wasn't me?
Real shame this thread is sputtering to an end, it was one of the great ones. It's been kinda like watching the last 30 minutes of "Pride of the Yankees" or something.
Can't somebody at least come on and pose as another lost, nubile nineteen year old searching for friends or a little guidance? Anybody?
Can't somebody at least come on and pose as another lost, nubile nineteen year old searching for friends or a little guidance? Anybody?
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Taosman
Your Cousin In New Mexxico
from cats......to dogs!
Love dogs
One night a man was crying, Allah! Allah!
His lips grew sweet with the praising, until a cynic said, "So! I have heard you calling out, but have you ever gotten any response?"
The man had no answer to that. He quit praying and fell into a confused sleep.
He dreamed he saw Khidr, the guide of souls, in a thick, green foliage. "Why did you stop praising?"
"Because I've never heard anything back."
"This longing you express is the return message."
The grief you cry out from draws you toward union.
Your pure sadness that wants help is the secret cup.
Listen to the moan of a dog for its master.
That whining is the connection.
There are love dogs no one knows the names of.
Give your life to be one of them.
Jalal Al-Din Rumi Translated by Coleman Barks with John Moyne
Love dogs
One night a man was crying, Allah! Allah!
His lips grew sweet with the praising, until a cynic said, "So! I have heard you calling out, but have you ever gotten any response?"
The man had no answer to that. He quit praying and fell into a confused sleep.
He dreamed he saw Khidr, the guide of souls, in a thick, green foliage. "Why did you stop praising?"
"Because I've never heard anything back."
"This longing you express is the return message."
The grief you cry out from draws you toward union.
Your pure sadness that wants help is the secret cup.
Listen to the moan of a dog for its master.
That whining is the connection.
There are love dogs no one knows the names of.
Give your life to be one of them.
Jalal Al-Din Rumi Translated by Coleman Barks with John Moyne
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Taosman
Your Cousin In New Mexxico
On to another theme...........
THE PICKAXE
by Rumi (1207-1273)
Some commentary on I was a hidden treasure,
and I desired to be known:
tear down this house.
A hundred thousand new houses
can be built from the tranparent yellow carnelian
buried beneath it,
and the only way to get to that
is to do the work of demolishing and then
without effort.
And anyway, sooner or later this house
will fall on its own.
The jewel treasure will be
uncovered, but it won't be yours then.
The buried wealth is your pay for doing the demolition,
the pick and shovel work.
If you wait and just let it happen , you'll bite your hand and say,
"I didn't do it as I knew I should have."
This is a rented house.
You don't own the deed.
You have a lease, and you've set up a little shop,
where you barely make a living sewing patches
on torn clothing.
Yet only a few feet underneath
are two veins, pure red and bright gold carnelian.
Quick!
Take the pickaxe and pry the foundation.
You've got to quit this seamstress work.
What does the patch sewing mean, you ask.
Eating and drinking.
The heavy cloak of the body
is always getting torn.
You patch it with food,
and other restless ego-satisfactions.
Rip up one board from the shop floor and look into
the basement.
You'll see two glints in the dirt.
THE PICKAXE
by Rumi (1207-1273)
Some commentary on I was a hidden treasure,
and I desired to be known:
tear down this house.
A hundred thousand new houses
can be built from the tranparent yellow carnelian
buried beneath it,
and the only way to get to that
is to do the work of demolishing and then
without effort.
And anyway, sooner or later this house
will fall on its own.
The jewel treasure will be
uncovered, but it won't be yours then.
The buried wealth is your pay for doing the demolition,
the pick and shovel work.
If you wait and just let it happen , you'll bite your hand and say,
"I didn't do it as I knew I should have."
This is a rented house.
You don't own the deed.
You have a lease, and you've set up a little shop,
where you barely make a living sewing patches
on torn clothing.
Yet only a few feet underneath
are two veins, pure red and bright gold carnelian.
Quick!
Take the pickaxe and pry the foundation.
You've got to quit this seamstress work.
What does the patch sewing mean, you ask.
Eating and drinking.
The heavy cloak of the body
is always getting torn.
You patch it with food,
and other restless ego-satisfactions.
Rip up one board from the shop floor and look into
the basement.
You'll see two glints in the dirt.
Upvote
0