Summer set lip to earth’s bosom bare, and left the flushed print in a poppy there.
Your hand opens and closes, opens and closes. If it were always a fist or always stretched open, you would be paralysed. Your deepest presence is in every small contracting and expanding, the two as beautifully balanced and coordinated as birds’ wings.
Meditating on the lotus of your heart, in the centre is the untainted, the exquisitely pure, clear and sorrowless, the inconceivable, the unmanifest, of infinite form, blissful, tranquil, immortal, the womb of Brahma.
There are two mistakes one can make along the road to truth...not going all the way, and not starting.
Lao Tan said, “I was letting my mind wander in the beginning of things.”
“What does this mean?” asked Confucius. Lao Tan said, “It means to attain Perfect Beauty and wander in Perfect Happiness. He who attains Perfect Beauty and wanders in Perfect Happiness may be called the Perfect Man.”
