I Seek Wisdom And Foolishness In Equal Measure.

(I just came down from a Zen retreat - a little wiser, a litter more foolish.)

Spring has its hundred flowers,
Autumn its moon,
Summer has its cooling breezes,
Winter its snow.
If you allow no idle concerns
To weight on your heart,
Your whole life will be one
Perennial good season.

- The Golden Age of Zen, p. 286


I found that it was one season -
In the green of the tropical jungle.

- Ghostwise

~~~~~~~~~~"

A little foolishess, enough to enjoy life
and a little wisdom to avoid the errors,
that will do.

- Osho


I went up the hill,
To seek a little more wisdom
And a little more foolishness
In equal measure.

- Ghostwise

The Sound Of Basho.

(I was still troubled. So I sat quietly in the room and listened to silent sound of the haiku of Basho. It was a time for listening so no word was spoken.)

All along this road
not a single soul - only
autumn evening comes


Heard, not seen,
the camellia poured rainwater
when it leaned


This dark autumn
old age settles down on me
like heavy clouds or birds

- Basho (translated by Sam Hamill)

Those Dark Days Of Autumn.

There is a harmony
In autumn, and a lustre in its sky,
Which through the summer is not heard or seen,
As if it could not be, as if it had not been!

- Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822),


In summer
I have no thoughts of autumn.

- Ghostwise

~~~~~~~~~~"

My Sorrow, when she's here with me,
Thinks these dark days of autumn rain
Are beautiful as days can be;
She loves the bare, the withered tree;
She walks the sodden pasture lane.

Her pleasure will not let me stay.
She talks and I am fain to list:
She's glad the birds are gone away,
She's glad her simple worsted grey
Is silver now with clinging mist.

The desolate, deserted trees,
The faded earth, the heavy sky,
The beauties she so truly sees,
She thinks I have no eye for these,
And vexes me for reason why.

Not yesterday I learned to know
The love of bare November days
Before the coming of the snow,
But it were vain to tell her so,
And they are better for her praise.

- Robert Frost (1874-1963)


In autumn
I reacquaint myself with my sorrow.

- Ghostwise