~Zen Mountain~

[wildsweetone]

Taranaki -
her skirt is down
as she meditates.



cor blimey

 

[vampiredust]

A solitary ant
carries a raindrop
on its back

down to its lair
to bury it with
the rest of nature's
spoils

 

[My Erotic Trail]

A solitary ant
carries a raindrop
on its back

down to its lair
to bury it with
the rest of nature's
spoils

nice V~

Wild...I like that mountain pic <grin

from rainbows
to deep dark holes
from the horizon
to the night time stars
from floating clouds
to blades of grass
from the mountain tops
to the earths end

I seek my friend
Zen

 

[My Erotic Trail]

nice V~

Wild...I like that mountain pic <grin

from rainbows
to deep dark holes
from the horizon
to the night time stars
from floating clouds
to blades of grass
from the mountain tops
to the earths end

I seek my friend
Zen

I found my friend
within my mind
Zen

 

[My Erotic Trail]

from rainbows
to deep dark holes
from the horizon
to the night time stars
from floating clouds
to blades of grass
from the mountain tops
to the earths end

I seek my friend
Zen


I found it
within my mind

(still kicking it around, wildone~)

 

[My Erotic Trail]

You do not need to defend your self with violence
but rather defend your self from the violence
like the graceful flight of a crane from harm

You do not need anger to defeat anger
do not be a tiger that roars just because
another tiger roared and is unsettled

Instead be the wise and act accordingly
redirecting harmful actions rather than
becoming a mirror to their emotions and actions

 

[bluerains]

Bitter Rain - A Poem by Hsu Yun
Bitter rain soaks the pile of kindling twigs.

The night so cold and still the lamp flame hardly moves.

Clouds condense and drench our stone walled hut.

Broken rushes clog the reed gate's way.

The stream gurgles, a torrent in its bed.

That's all we hear. Only rarely, comes a human voice...

But oh, how priceless is this peace of mind that fills us

As we sit on our heels and put on another Chan monk's robe!

 

[My Erotic Trail]

Bitter Rain - A Poem by Hsu Yun
Bitter rain soaks the pile of kindling twigs.

The night so cold and still the lamp flame hardly moves.

Clouds condense and drench our stone walled hut.

Broken rushes clog the reed gate's way.

The stream gurgles, a torrent in its bed.

That's all we hear. Only rarely, comes a human voice...

But oh, how priceless is this peace of mind that fills us

As we sit on our heels and put on another Chan monk's robe!

VERY NICE! Thanks blue, a great way to start the day. <grin
for a storm brings nerves unsettled
like that of a hand holding a tea pot
arm extended outward fully, holding
at first it is still and over time
it becomes shaky

 

[My Erotic Trail]

A Pebble's Journey

Willy Wonder
Wondered around
collecting tiny pebbles

A pocket full
meant time to go home
a shack of stones and rubble

 

[My Erotic Trail]

Gia is dieing

a flowered field
yeilds a beautiful sight
hiding the soil and dirt

a mountain peak
points towards heaven
with pure white caps

pulling your vision
from the brush choked valley
oil fields, factories and mills

in the darkness
of nothing and void
spins a pretty blue planet

the warmth of the sun
fills our morning sky
with colors of a rainbow

beauty hides the truth
Gia is dieing from a virus
known as man's progress

 

[My Erotic Trail]

The Perfect Way
Is Only Difficult
For Those Who
Pick and Choose.

Do Not Like,
Do Not Dislike.

All Will Then Be Clear.


Bruce Lee

 

[My Erotic Trail]

This Is What He Gets For Following Etiquette?

A letter of apology sent to a robbery victim spelled arrest for a Japanese man after police investigating the case identified him from the handwriting.

 

[My Erotic Trail]

Red Snow Falls On Russia
Russia is red again - after a freak fall of coloured snow on the former communist country.

well aint that stranger than Hen's teeth

 

[My Erotic Trail]

shall I be water
and flow through my day
conforming to all
that I come into contact with?

my thoughts will sway
like uncertain swells
while a current
carrys me onward

twisting around
every bend
lined with pine tree sentrys
and boulder statues

to be drawn to the dawn
greeting a large body
with wide open arms
becoming lost in a lake

 

[My Erotic Trail]

A Fisherman

Studying texts and stiff meditation can make you lose your Original Mind.
A solitary tune by a fisherman, though, can be an invaluable treasure.
Dusk rain on the river, the moon peeking in and out of the clouds;
Elegant beyond words, he chants his songs night after night.

 

[My Erotic Trail]

cracks the light
in a candles glow
fingers feeling
for a receptive soul

grasping love
to ravage the flesh
two lips in darkness
tender turmoils mesh

 

[quasar]

A Fisherman

Studying texts and stiff meditation can make you lose your Original Mind.
A solitary tune by a fisherman, though, can be an invaluable treasure.
Dusk rain on the river, the moon peeking in and out of the clouds;
Elegant beyond words, he chants his songs night after night.

November's Mood
It is November.
The grey-whiskered hills are quiet now,
And wrapped in silent mists
They wait the coming of the snow.
The forests all are bare.
The trees stand,
Etched in wettest black
Against the dead, leaf-cluttered ground.
No sound is heard,
No muted cry of beast or bird;
No wind disturbs the mood
Of peacefulness, of pensiveness,
Of lovely quietude.
Now warm beside my fire,
Weary at day's end,
November's deep serenity
Will follow me to bed.


Hang Ten Zen

 

[My Erotic Trail]

November's Mood
It is November.
The grey-whiskered hills are quiet now,
And wrapped in silent mists
They wait the coming of the snow.
The forests all are bare.
The trees stand,
Etched in wettest black
Against the dead, leaf-cluttered ground.
No sound is heard,
No muted cry of beast or bird;
No wind disturbs the mood
Of peacefulness, of pensiveness,
Of lovely quietude.
Now warm beside my fire,
Weary at day's end,
November's deep serenity
Will follow me to bed.


Hang Ten Zen

inspiration...

where are thou soul
that feels my needs
for I hunger for knowledge more
and thus I hear you snore

where is the wind
that blows a bladed windmill
with bearings that squeek
like the whimper of meek
I thirst for more

Where is passion
that sparks my fires
to burn in a kindled glow
enlightening my path
lightening fingers wrath
into darkness I bore

 

[My Erotic Trail]

November's Mood
It is November.
The grey-whiskered hills are quiet now,
And wrapped in silent mists
They wait the coming of the snow.
The forests all are bare.
The trees stand,
Etched in wettest black
Against the dead, leaf-cluttered ground.
No sound is heard,
No muted cry of beast or bird;
No wind disturbs the mood
Of peacefulness, of pensiveness,
Of lovely quietude.
Now warm beside my fire,
Weary at day's end,
November's deep serenity
Will follow me to bed.


Hang Ten Zen

inspiration...

where are thou soul
that feels my needs
I hunger for knowledge more
and thus I hear you snore

where is the wind
that blows a bladed windmill
with bearings that squeek
like the whimper of meek
I thirst for more

Where is passion
to spark my desires
that burns a kindled glow
enlightening my path
lightening fingers wrath
into darkness I bore

 

[bluerains]

Loved these images....

Returning in the afternoon, I stretched myself, dead tired, on a hard couch, awaiting the long-desired hour of sleep. It did not come; but I fell into a kind of somnolent state, in which I suddenly felt as though I were sinking in swiftly flowing water. The rushing sound formed itself in my brain into a musical sound, the chord of E flat major, which continually re-echoed in broken forms; these broken chords seemed to be melodic passages of increasing motion, yet the pure triad of E flat major never changed, but seemed by its continuance to impart infinite significance to the element in which I was sinking. I awoke in sudden terror from my doze, feeling as though the waves were rushing high above my head. I at once recognised that the orchestral overture to the Rheingold, which must long have lain latent within me, though it had been unable to find definite form, had at last been revealed to me. I then quickly realised my own nature; the stream of life was not to flow to me from without, but from within.
Wagner, Richard: My Life. London 1911, p. 603.

 

[My Erotic Trail]

Returning in the afternoon, I stretched myself, dead tired, on a hard couch, awaiting the long-desired hour of sleep. It did not come; but I fell into a kind of somnolent state, in which I suddenly felt as though I were sinking in swiftly flowing water. The rushing sound formed itself in my brain into a musical sound, the chord of E flat major, which continually re-echoed in broken forms; these broken chords seemed to be melodic passages of increasing motion, yet the pure triad of E flat major never changed, but seemed by its continuance to impart infinite significance to the element in which I was sinking. I awoke in sudden terror from my doze, feeling as though the waves were rushing high above my head. I at once recognised that the orchestral overture to the Rheingold, which must long have lain latent within me, though it had been unable to find definite form, had at last been revealed to me. I then quickly realised my own nature; the stream of life was not to flow to me from without, but from within.
Wagner, Richard: My Life. London 1911, p. 603.

bows humble
thank you blue (~_~)

meditation~ not just grasping what is with-in us all but what flows from us as well.

 

[My Erotic Trail]

To My Teacher

An old grave hidden away at the foot of a deserted hill,
Overrun with rank weeks growing unchecked year after year;
There is no one left to tend the tomb,
And only an occasional woodcutter passes by.
Once I was his pupil, a youth with shaggy hair,
Learning deeply from him by the Narrow River.
One morning I set off on my solitary journey
And the years passed between us in silence.
Now I have returned to find him at rest here;
How can I honor his departed spirit?
I pour a dipper of pure water over his tombstone
And offer a silent prayer.
The sun suddenly disappears behind the hill
And I’m enveloped by the roar of the wind in the pines.
I try to pull myself away but cannot;
A flood of tears soaks my sleeves.

Ryokan

 

[My Erotic Trail]

I watch people in the world
Throw away their lives lusting after things,
Never able to satisfy their desires,
Falling into deeper despair
And torturing themselves.
Even if they get what they want
How long will they be able to enjoy it?
For one heavenly pleasure
They suffer ten torments of hell,
Binding themselves more firmly to the grindstone.
Such people are like monkeys
Frantically grasping for the moon in the water
And then falling into a whirlpool.
How endlessly those caught up in the floating world suffer.
Despite myself, I fret over them all night
And cannot staunch my flow of tears.

 

[My Erotic Trail]

I like this by James Kavanaugh:

"I was born to catch dragons in their den

And pick flowers

To tell tales and laugh away the morning...

To drift and dream like a lazy stream

And walk barefoot across sunset days..."



ty RF

 

[My Erotic Trail]

Only nothing...

Only nothing is forever.

But, not all of nothing

is forever.

Sometimes

you will find something

where nothing was.

Eventually, though,

you will always find nothing

where something was.

soji~