January 6th, 2016

Bob's bird in flight

Tapping -

Phil Cousineau: At random pick a book off your bookshelf - choose a line or two - take those words “out for a walk” as Paul Klee said about drawing. Write about them, without thinking, as fast as you can, for two minutes. Fold the paper or card and carry it with you for the rest of the day - let the words lead you away into the land of reverie - do this every day until it is a habit.

I can't remember if I heard him say these words at Book Passage or read them in one of his books but I copied them into my journal, inspired, and then forgot, but today, lifted on the wings of this new year, I do what he says.

I open LLewellyn Vaughan-Lee's book, For Love of the Real, to the words of Hsu Yun.  I choose from his words
"Everything depends upon the stroke of our brush," and begin writing, remembering back to my love of painting on silk, and how I hung the paintings in hoops, Sacred Hoops.  I feel the stroke of the brush within me now.  I painted my heart on silk.  Where do I paint my heart now?

My intention is kindness, and I understand the bold stroke, the continuity of the circle, the sweep and swoop, and I settle neatly into the circle I paint, pregnant with eggs of creativity, at rest in my nest.

Here are the words of Hsu Yun.

In the beginning there was nothing,
  nor was anything lacking.
The paper was blank. We pick up the
  paint brush and create the scene ...
The landscape, the wind whipping water
  in waves.
Everything depends upon the stroke
  of our brush.
Our Ox lets the good earth lead it,
Just as our brush allows our hand to move it.
Take any direction, roam the world to
  its farthest edge.
All comes back to where it started ...
  to blessed Emptiness.
Book Cover

Love Letters -

Ikkyu, a 15th-century Zen poet:

Every day, priests minutely examine the Law
And endlessly chant complicated sutras.
Before doing that, though, they should learn
How to read the love letters sent by the wind
And rain, the snow and moon.

The rain continues.  I feel nature's touch, embrace.

How deeply do I receive?

Do the fibers of my being complete?