It has just come to my attention that my blog is riddled with ads. Interestingly, the page I see when I open my blog on my own computer has not a single ad. WordPress, the “thinking person’s blog,” has traditionally been free, although I have gradually began paying a yearly fee for a domain and other perks. I will close my blog and go elsewhere if this doesn’t get taken care of and I continue to see ads. I don’t know how to take my followers elsewhere, but I will try. Stay tuned.
(And if anyone cares to let me know how often they’ve seen ads on my blog, I’d be grateful, since I have never seen them.)
May all Beings have happiness, and the causes of happiness.
May all Beings be free from suffering and the causes of suffering.
May all Beings never be without the Supreme Bliss which is free from all suffering.
May all Beings live in the Great Equanimity, free from all attachment and aversion.
And may I celebrate this aging,
Love my death more and more,
Have a wonderful vacation by the eternal Sea,
Go on to become a Boddhisattva,
Or die in this Music.
It is up to you, love.
April 3, 1853 in Thoreau’s Journal:
The last two Tribunes I have not looked at- I have no time to read newspapers- If you chance to live & move and have your being in that thin stratum-in which the events which make the news transpire––thinner than the paper on which it is printed––then these things will fill the world for you–but if you soar above or dive below that plain—you cannot remember nor be reminded of them.
You have made me fall in love with you,
At my request,
And now my days and nights are spent starving, bleeding, weeping for you,
Hollow, emptied out with longing, flesh clinging to disintegrating bone,
While I resist giving in to the terms I think you offer and that I am mistaken about.
You have given me this silence, this blessed emptiness going right up to the roof,
This crowded silence,
Thick with the souls of the waiting,
Longing for my surrender to what they don’t yet know.
You play your music for me,
And I feel my way from note to note,
Striving to find the silence within each
Where you conceal yourself, waiting for me while you play.
Day by day, I wait,
Irresolute with longing,
Thinking there is something I must do to be worthy,
Bleeding from these open wounds that do not heal. – Amidha Porter
(I used to have a friend named Charlie Hopkins, who made it clear that no poem of his was ever finished. I think he was probably right.)
I think some angels are sad
Because they make it their business
to hold the tears God weeps
when He fears that He has gone too far
but knows no way back.
of having created that Vow
in Pre-eternity. . .
What if . . .
What if, what if, what if
Even He doesn’t know,
And She can’t contain . . .
Has the River Styx become too wide?
Are its banks overflowing and washing away the Innocents on either side?
Or will the Vow hold true?
Will all come right, at least until the next time?
Does Heaven know?
– Amidha Porter