River Trance [Common Meter]

I sit on a green grass riverside,
watching brown waters flow.
Some karst monoliths stand behind
in which scrubby shrubs grow.

I feel my mind could be swept on
down to the sprawling sea,
while my body would stay behind
asleep with back to tree.

And panic and freedom both rise -
untethered from earth's hold.
As I see the future and the past
blended at the threshold.

And space, like time, has no meaning --
just an amorphous blob.
I awaken gasping spastically,
my pulse in a wild throb.

Pale Blue [Haiku]

pale skies stretch 
across the great beyond,
dwarfing an angler

One Rumpled Flower [Haiku]

one flower
stands, rumpled & in the rear,
but is just as bright

Contemplative Gorilla [Tanka]

the gorilla
looks deep in contemplation;
children are bored,
but I can't help but wonder
what it is he's plotting?

DAILY PHOTO: Evergreen Trees on the Mountain

Taken in the summer of 2019 at the Kolsai Lakes in Kazakhstan

BOOK REVIEW: Philosophy for Gardeners by Kate Collyns

Philosophy for Gardeners: Ideas and paradoxes to ponder in the gardenPhilosophy for Gardeners: Ideas and paradoxes to ponder in the garden by Kate Collyns
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Amazon.in Page

Out: March 1, 2022

This book can benefit not only gardeners interested in philosophy, but also philosophers interested in gardening. [If you’re in the intersect of people expert in both philosophy and gardening, the book probably won’t hold a great deal of intrigue as it’s written for a more general audience.] The gist is examples and analogies from gardening applied to elucidating philosophical concepts. In a few cases, these examples feel a bit forced. In most cases, they work just fine. But in a few other cases, the gardening analogies offer a powerful and unique insight that one would be unlikely to take away from a single-axis philosophy guide. For example, I found the relating of utilitarianism to the gardener’s dilemma of whether to start with a wildly overgrown bed or a relatively clean one offered a fresh perspective on the topic.

The book’s twenty chapters are divided into four parts. The parts are labeled “Soil,” “Growth,” “Harvest,” and “Cycles;” which I took to apply to fundamentals, change, outcomes, and the cycle of life and death. Part I, “Soil,” investigates topics in metaphysics, governance, and taxonomy. The second part, “Growth,” explores evolutionary adaptation, altruism / cooperation, the blank slate (and its critique,) and Zeno’s paradoxes. The penultimate section, “Harvest,” delves into topics such as forms, aesthetics, the reliability of senses, epistemology, and economic philosophy. Finally, “Cycles” discusses identity, logic and linguistic limitations, ethics, and pragmatism.

The book uses retro illustrations that look like the plates one might see in a book from the 19th century. There’s a brief bibliography, primarily of philosophical classics.

I’m always on the lookout for books that consider the perspective that humans exist within nature and our ways can’t be understood divorced from our place in the natural world. In that sense, I believe the book has much to offer.

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Bright Heights [Haiku]

sun-warmed rooftop,
clouds down in the valley --
i breathe in bright heights

DAILY PHOTO: Kangchenjunga, Two Views

Taken in December of 2021 from Darjeeling
Taken from the Batasia Loop, Darjeeling

Wind-Swept Hero [Rubāʿī]

Beyond the house stood half a tree -
cleaved in twain, robbed of symmetry;
leaning like a wind-swept hero,
it could still shade a reverie.

Himalayan Nettle [Villanelle]

The hardy Himalayan nettle stings.
It felt like punching piles of jellyfish. 
The slightest brush feels like a snapped bowstring.

But the balm of time bowstrings quickly bring.
The nettle's cure proved far more standoffish.
The hardy Himalayan nettle stings. 

Two days on, the nettle still sent its ping.
My hand numb like I'd fondled Fugu fish.
That slightest brush felt like a snapped bowstring.

I put my useless limb in a web sling. 
Not really, but it did hurt fiercely-ish.
That hardy Himalayan nettle stings.

Oh! of such agony Divas do sing.
Not really, but it was unpleasant-ish.
The slightest brush felt like a snapped bowstring.

Stabbed by roadside nettle in Darjeeling
is a fate upon no one I would wish.
The hardy Himalayan nettle stings.
The slightest brush feels like a snapped bowstring.