Saying For Today: There is some deep feeling in the love between self and violet, not emotional, but it is very real, more so than what we call feeling - so real one can find it intimidating. Yet, in learning to live with violets, self and violets live peacefully together.
'The Androscoggin River' - Topsham, ME
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Treading the mountain path, The violets fill my heart With indefinable gracefulness.
*Basho
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Basho walks with violets; violets fill his heart. Others walk the same way, heart empty of violets, empty of gracefulness, seeing violets as only violets. For seeing ones, violets are not only violets, the moon in the sky more than what appears in the sky. Basho walks happily for violets are violets and more than violets. If violets were only violets, how could they fill his heart with such speechless gratitude?
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It is a cold January day in Maine. I tread through the snow, off the beaten path, and gaze upon the Androscoggin River. This is a private place to rest body and soul. Standing for a while, I decide to sit. Snow is everywhere, covering everything around with its white, above, below.
I see a large boulder with a good view and with gloved hands, carve out a seat on it. Sitting here beside the river, I enjoy the scene, the silence, the quiet, the sense of peace and joy filling the body.
Traffic flows on the other side of the flowing waters. Thought moves like the current, yet not disturbing the solace and reverie.
The words arose alone with the Alone. Yet, this alone is not isolation, even as the Alone is not apart from everything.
Here is Home, and returning Home means living at Home. So, leaving the river, the river goes with me, and I go with the river.
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Once upon a time, tourists boarded a bus to enjoy the views of beautiful land. They had looked forward to this scenic ride.
For some small reason, one person was offended by another person. An argument between the two persons involved arose. The fussing offended a third tourist. She started arguing with the man whom the former decided was to blame. Now, three were quarreling.
One person at a time joined the row. Finally, all were involved in the verbal jostling. No one recalled what started it.
The bus pulled in to stop. The tour was over. The tourists were sad. No one had enjoyed the scenes along the way, so busy were they attacking one another, whining, trying to prove who was right and who wrong. Everyone missed the beauty.
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Basho and violets arise together. For Basho, to see is Basho and violets. Basho does not concern himself with questions about violets - he enjoys violets.
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So it is absolutely necessary for everyone to believe in nothing. But I do not mean voidness. There is something, but that something is something which is always prepared for taking some particular form, and it has some rules, or theory, or truth in its activity.
*Shunryu Suzuki. Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind.
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How can you and violets enjoy being-together? How can they fill your heart with bliss? If violets do, you do not know what one is - as says Basho, "indefinable gracefulness," for a violet and this gracefulness are not-two. For those who think they know what a violet is, the thinking-I-know means I-don't-know. One knows when one becomes the violets - they have waited for this, and so have you.
There is some deep feeling in the love between self and violet, not emotional, but it is very real, more so than what we call feeling - so real one can find it intimidating. Yet, in learning to live with violets, self and violets live peacefully together. Wherever you go, violets are with you, and you are with violets - how wondrous! So, you see it everywhere. Then, gratitude is not merely something you have or express; gratitude is the beauty you feel deep within yourself.
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*(C) Brian K. Wilcox, 2021
*Brian's book, An Ache for Union: Poems on Oneness with God through Love, can be ordered through major online booksellers or the publisher AuthorHouse. The book is a collection of poems based on mystical traditions, predominantly Christian and Sufi, with extensive notes on the poetry's teachings and imagery.
