There rolls the deep where grew the tree.

      O earth, what changes hast thou seen!
There where the long street roars, hath been
The stillness of the central sea.

The hills are shadows, and they flow
From form to form, and nothing stands;
They melt like mist, the solid lands,
Like clouds they shape themselves and go.

But in my spirit will I dwell,
And dream my dream, and hold it true;
For tho’ my lips may breathe adieu,
I cannot think the thing farewell. ~ Alfred Lord Tennyson.

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James Joyce, Finnegans Wake does Paticca-samuppada aka Dependent Origination.

“In the ignorance that implies the impression that knits knowledge that finds the nameform that whets the wits that convey contacts that sweeten sensation that drives desire that adheres to attachment that dogs death that bitches birth that entails the ensuance of existentiality.”
James Joyce, Finnegans Wake Penguin edition, page 18.

The Guest House ~ Rumi.

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One Auspicious Night.

Let not a person revive the past
Or on the future build her hopes
For the past has been left behind
and the future has not been reached.
Instead with insight let her see
Each presently arisen state,
Let her know that & be sure of it,
Invincibly & unshakeably.
Today the effort must be made:
Tomorrow death may come, who knows?
No bargain with Mortality.
Can keep him & his hordes away.
But one who dwells thus ardently,
Relentlessly, by day & night –
It is she – the Peaceful Sage has said,
Who has had a single excellent night.
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~ MN 131~ Bhaddekaratta Sutta.
Middle Length Discourse of the Buddha
One Auspicious Night Discourse
Tweaked Bhikkhu Bodhi translation.
Wisdom Publications 1995
Boston, USA
Page 1039.

Flower Power 2018

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Sackler Crossing, RBG, Kew.

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I dance with my heart ~ Alonzo King

A Lemon by Pablo Neruda

LEMON WATERCOLOUR

Out of lemon flowers
loosed
on the moonlight, love’s
lashed and insatiable
essences,
sodden with fragrance,
the lemon tree’s yellow
emerges,
the lemons
move down
from the tree’s planetarium

Delicate merchandise!
The harbors are big with it-
bazaars
for the light and the
barbarous gold.
We open
the halves
of a miracle,
and a clotting of acids
brims
into the starry
divisions:
creation’s
original juices,
irreducible, changeless,
alive:
so the freshness lives on
in a lemon,
in the sweet-smelling house of the rind,
the proportions, arcane and acerb.

Cutting the lemon
the knife
leaves a little cathedral:
alcoves unguessed by the eye
that open acidulous glass
to the light; topazes
riding the droplets,
altars,
aromatic facades.

So, while the hand
holds the cut of the lemon,
half a world
on a trencher,
the gold of the universe
wells
to your touch:
a cup yellow
with miracles,
a breast and a nipple
perfuming the earth;
a flashing made fruitage,
the diminutive fire of a planet. 

~ by Pablo Neruda