Do you vote in political elections?
Not as religiously as I did in my youth. Counter to the general trend of younger people hollering and protesting but not showing up to the polls, and thus not influencing change because politicians are cued into to the older crowd that tends to show up hell or high water.
Beginning my studies, the first step pleas'd me so much,
The mere fact, consciousness -- these forms -- the power of motion,
The least insect or animal -- the senses -- eyesight -- love;
The first step, I say, aw'd me and pleas'd me so much,
I have hardly gone, and hardly wish'd to go, any further,
But stop and loiter all the time, to sing it in ecstatic songs.
They carved a temple in a mountainside,
Cutting away all rock that wasn't temple,
Chipping from the top down and outside-in,
Until some domed stone segregated sky
From inner sanctum and all its idols,
And it has stood over twelve hundred years,
And it will surely stand twelve hundred more,
But someday it'll be a mountain again.
Without a word,
The gist is grasped.
With no wails or soft sobs,
Sadness spreads heart-to-heart.
There is an enigmatic Prime Mover
With whom each of us either sinks or floats.
Dregs of rustic wine in a fine strainer.
Buds on the cusp of bloom turned back by cold.
Dust motes spreading by Brownian motion.
Sea spume floating and tumbling onto shore.
Shallow, deep, cohering, or scattering.
Of ten thousand, any sample will do.
NOTE: The late Tang Dynasty poet, Sikong Tu (a.k.a. Ssŭ-k‘ung T‘u,) wrote an ars poetica entitled Twenty-Four Styles of Poetry. It presents twenty-four poems that are each in a different tone, reflecting varied concepts from Taoist philosophy and aesthetics. Above is a translation of the twelfth of the twenty-four poems. Translated titles vary: Herbert Giles entitled this one “Conservation,” whereas Tony Barnstone and Chou Ping called it “The Implicit Style.”
Gothic Tales by Marquis de Sade
The night is clear, even pristine --
A nightscape in silver moonlight.
"Yes, please! Pour me a bowl of wine.
Don't skimp! take it up to the brim."
And why should I chase wealth and fame
When it is sure to end in vain?
Events pass like a horse's sigh,
A spark on stone, or dream travel.
I can put out my ideas,
But who'll accept them as the truth?
Why shouldn't I just live happily
And innocently, like a child?
I could go back to carefree days
When life's trifles weren't torturesome.
Just me, my lute, a pot of wine,
And the stories drawn by the clouds.
NOTES: Song Dynasty Poet, Su Shi, was also known as Su Dongpo. The translated title of this poem also varies. In Deep, Deep the Courtyard, translated by Xu Yuanchong, it is entitled, “Song of Pilgrimage.”
Tap the resonance
And vibrate at the rate
Of those eternal emanations --
The thrumming under-pulse
Of the Universe.
The ripples that can't be heard
Or felt haptically,
But must be tuned into
To feel, otherwise.
Downshift what is you --
Put your Self into idle.
Don't panic
As you start to slide --
Frictionlessly,
A lack of friction that's
Unfamiliar & Uncomfortable,
But which will be the way
One's worldline plays out --
Effortlessly -- to the end.
Stoop anywhere and pluck it up,
But if you look 'round - it's not there.
Any path may lead you to it.
A stroke of the brush becomes Spring,
And the flowers are in full bloom. --
It's like seeing a new year dawn:
Snatch at it and you won't have it.
Seize it by force and you'll be poorer.
Be like the old mountain hermit --
Like duckweed gathered by stream flow.
Find calm amidst storms of feeling
By knowing Heaven's harmonies.
NOTE: The late Tang Dynasty poet, Sikong Tu (a.k.a. Ssŭ-k‘ung T‘u,) wrote an ars poetica entitled Twenty-Four Styles of Poetry. It presents twenty-four poems that are each in a different tone, reflecting varied concepts from Taoist philosophy and aesthetics. Above is a translation of the tenth of the twenty-four poems.
Play: How It Shapes the Brain, Opens the Imagination, and Invigorates the Soul by Stuart M. Brown Jr.
Under the wide and starry sky,
Dig the grave and let me lie.
Glad did I live and gladly die,
And I laid me down with a will.
This be the verse you grave for me:
Here he lies where he longed to be;
Home is the sailor, home from sea,
And the hunter home from the hill.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 