the wise person puts himself last

mlk3

 

Heaven is

eternal, earth everlasting.

They endure this way because

 they do not live for

themselves.

 

In

the same way,

the wise person puts

himself last,and thereby finds

himself first; holds himself outside, and

thereby remains at the center; 

abandons himself,

 and is thereby

fulfilled.

 

Tao te Ching of Lao Tzu,

Chapter 7


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life is short and the world is at least half terrible

great white shark seal
 

Life is short,

though I keep this from my children.

Life is short, and I’ve shortened mine

in a thousand delicious, ill-advised ways,

a thousand deliciously ill-advised ways

I’ll keep from my children. The world is at least

fifty percent terrible, and that’s a conservative

estimate, though I keep this from my children.

For every bird there is a stone thrown at a bird.

For every loved child, a child broken, bagged,

sunk in a lake. Life is short and the world

is at least half terrible, and for every kind

stranger, there is one who would break you,

though I keep this from my children. I am trying

to sell them the world. Any decent realtor,

walking you through a real shithole, chirps on

about good bones: This place could be beautiful,

right? You could make this place

beautiful.

 

Maggie Smith

 

every little thing is magic

grass sun light
 

Every

little thing is

sent for something,

and in that thing there should be

happiness and the power to make happy.

Like the grasses showing tender faces

to each other, thus we should do,

for this was the wish of the 

Grandfathers of the

World.

 

Black Elk

 

thunder beings they were called

thunderstorm
 

Thunder

before dawn,

thunder through dawn, 

thunder beings they were called.

It had to be a person or animal up there.

Outside, walking to my work shed the clouds

were low, almost black, and turbulent. You could

nearly jump up and touch them. I love thunder.

I could listen to it all day long. Like birdsong

it’s the music of the gods. How in childhood

adored these cloud voices that could

lift me up above my troubles, far

above the birds. I’d look down 

at their flying backs, always

in circles  because earth

is round. What a gift

to have my work

shed shudder

with thunder.

 

Jim Harrison