Long Clusters

“In memory of the spring now passing, I drew the long clusters of wisteria that move like waves.” 

(Masaoka Shiki)

I hope you are finding peace within today. When recovering slowly from painful health issues, I find many things quite difficult to do. These include writing. So, please bear with me, and I will publish two sister posts to this one in short order. Meanwhile, here are a few words from a fellow countryman: May your neighbours respect you, troubles neglect you, the angels protect you, and heaven accept you.

Photography ©Francis Moloney.

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Green, Red, and Gold

Greetings. Autumn’s finest, as viewed in various corners of our garden throughout October. With leaves so red beneath a sky so rarely this blue of late, what a blessing it is indeed to enjoy the garden on a sunny day. And although it’s becoming bitterly cold at times, well, there’s always Christmas to look forward to.

When the sun still shines in our hearts, on even the darkest of days, then we can always see the road ahead. The sun never shines in anger, or in judgement. It never shines for one, and not the other. It harms none but those who aren’t prepared.

The poet Charles Causely wrote “I am the great sun, but you do not see me”. May we never be so blind – because the sun is an example of the ways of heaven.

I will just insert a note here, to say that I am having technical difficulties when attempting to like some of my favourite blogs. I find great value in all of your works, and always wish to show my appreciation by liking. So please accept my apologies.

Having said that, I hope you enjoyed the pics – and now it’s Namaste, and peace from me.

 

  In my Soul there is a temple, a shrine, a mosque, a church
where I kneel.

Prayer should bring us to an altar where no walls or names exist.

Is there not a region of Love, where the Sovereignty is illuminated nothing,

Where ecstasy gets poured into itself and becomes lost,

Where the wing is fully alive but has no mind or body?

In my Soul there is a temple, a shrine, a mosque, a church
that dissolves, that dissolves in God.

Rabia of Basra (c.717-801)

 

 

Photography ©Francis Moloney.

Let’s Hear it For The Good

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scot d scot e scot g scot8

Rumours of spring are in the air, the winds have changed direction, crocuses grow unafraid in the garden, and my fellow bloggers are giving voice to seasonal optimism.

So, with all that in mind, and all things being equal, I decided to post more pics of winter.

Actually, these are the remaining pics from Scotland which I promised to post, and they’re of Luke’s riparian ramblings at Loch Ness.

While my computer has survived for another month, (though not for want of daily attention,) my health has demanded even more scrutiny than usual, and pain has slowed me down more these past weeks. Nevertheless, I hope sincerely that all my readers are happy, and faring physically as well as they may.

Anyways, I thought it would be a good time to make this declaration:

“Let’s hear it for the good”

Because we are, along with our peaceful sisters and brothers, the world over, coerced daily to hear it from the bad.

Wickedness notwithstanding, nothing lasts forever. Waves dip before they rise, and because all things must pass, it’s well to remember that *“For sudden the worst turns the best to the brave.”

Until next time, (speaking optimistically, as always) I wish all readers peace, and hope to return soon with more to share.

Namaste.

 

*From Robert Browning’s affecting poem “Prospice,”  which follows:

 

FEAR death?—to feel the fog in my throat,

  The mist in my face,

When the snows begin, and the blasts denote

  I am nearing the place,

The power of the night, the press of the storm,

  The post of the foe;

Where he stands, the Arch Fear in a visible form,

  Yet the strong man must go:

For the journey is done and the summit attain’d,

  And the barriers fall,

Though a battle’s to fight ere the guerdon be gain’d,

  The reward of it all.

I was ever a fighter, so—one fight more,

  The best and the last!

I would hate that death bandaged my eyes, and forbore,

  And bade me creep past.

No! let me taste the whole of it, fare like my peers

  The heroes of old,

Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad life’s arrears

  Of pain, darkness and cold.

For sudden the worst turns the best to the brave,

  The black minute’s at end,

And the elements’ rage, the fiend-voices that rave,

  Shall dwindle, shall blend,

Shall change, shall become first a peace out of pain.

  Then a light, then thy breast,

O thou soul of my soul! I shall clasp thee again,

  And with God be the rest!

It Matters Not

Crystal Sea

Namaste, I am experiencing one of those times when mobility is more painful than usual. Life is happening to me while I’m busy making other plans. Roll on spring, I miss the sun. I’m just looking forward to the good our tomorrows will bring when we keep on caring for each other.

My grateful thanks, as always, to those who kindly drop by this blog, (and special thanks too, to those who wished me happy birthday!). Please forgive me if I can’t always keep up with you.

About the artwork, I’m a poor poet, but I hope you like the sentiment.

Peace from Amras.

“This world is a miserable place for anyone who hasn’t learned internal harmony”  ~ Arthur Yensen.

Artwork ©Francis Moloney.

We Have It All

Clean Mug

In the sky,

On the earth, 

I stand with you

And all there is!

So far, so far

Away!

Like the trees,

Like the seas,

I do forever remain in you!

Remind me of those

Our fields!

Our hills, our waters!

Time – ah, time!

We have it all, all!

It is our drop of water, 

Ready to fall from the leaf.

It is the space waiting

For us to fill it.

No rush! No anxiety!

Just your smile,

It is our path!

 

José

 

Namaste, and greetings to all. Between our posts of hilly lands, and blossoms; I thought I’d pay tribute to the poetry of my friend, José. I find his poetry so moving, and of an increasingly illuminating quality whenever I read it. I especially appreciate his work for the fact that English is not his first language. Thank you José. At the time when he returned to his native Spain, I was changing my address, so we lost touch in the material sense.  But, for me, the memories of friendship grow stronger.  I sincerely hope you find beauty in these words, and I will post some more of José’s poetry in the future.

The artwork is many decades old, and showing it’s age. I copied the pattern from an antique mug I had inherited long ago, and coloured it in my own preferences.  It’s primitive, but I hope you like it.

Until next time, I can’t guarantee when, because my condition can make blogging, and reading in general, very challenging. But, until then, thank you all readers and followers, may you enjoy the taste of every breath, and know peace. Amras.

 

“Your mind is a garden,

Your thoughts are the seeds,

You can grow flowers,

Or you can grow weeds.”

(By Peace Whisperer) 

 

Artwork ©Francis Moloney.