The Foo Dogs Know

The first breath, the birth breath, that in-breath with which we join the world, us hung between that and the last breath, the out-breath, the death-breath with which we leave the world, and between, the mad dance.

The Foo-dogs know. She, mouth closed, is the in-breath, made through the nose in Buddhist practice. He, mouth open, is the out-breath, made through the mouth in Buddhist practice. They, the first and last, the alpha and omega, the guardians standing at our entrance and our exit and all life and fortune lying between.
She protecting those who enter in past her. He protecting those who exit out past him. Either side they stand of many doors. She, foot on their child, mindful of family and home - those things for which we enter in. He, foot on the world, mindful of work and voyaging - those things for which we exit out.

She, mindful and accepting all that enters in, is the inward practice of meditation, of finding the peace, the love and the divine laughter within.

He, mindful and accepting of all that exits out, is the outward practice of embracing each moment of life and what falls in our path, and of giving out love and care for the world.

Creating monsters

Listening to the truth within,
Observing the wonder without.
Unbinding from the shackles of words:
Name it God and you create a monster,
Name it not and you close your heart.

Reckless abandon

If we understand anything at all about the process of creation it is its reckless abandon, it joy, its uninhibited playfulness. It froths with excitement and possibility. It has no purpose, just a mad explosive force. It does not know what comes next because it hasn't got there yet and will not know until after.

Words fall like raindrops

Words fall like raindrops on the surface of a pool, each making their disturbance for a while, making patterns of ripples that soon die away; patterns that are soon replaced by other patterns and overlaid by yet more, each supper-imposing, each cancelling out what was there before, each building in apparent complexity - but none of them , not one, is the pool.

Stop the words falling and, as it calms, the depths of the pool begin to be seen.

words

Word, constructs, ideas, ways of seeing, explanations, concepts, theories, discourses, scripts - piles and piles of words on words; each their own patterns weaving and painting; each persuasive to a point; each drawing you in to believe that they have caught some essence of reality; each valid within their own framework - like the patterns of a tapestry when on the loom: but the pictures that is trapped in there is no more the reality than than a child's drawing of the sun is the sun.

What use? Sometimes, like a workman's tools, they do a job, tightening this, loosening that, helping to unblock a blockage, mending a break: but if life is flowing freely, then they are of little use.

Good to fix things, but best seen through as a tissue: the word ''sugar'' will sweeten no tea, the word "fire" will burn no wood.

Distrusting words

You are right to distrust words, the warp and weft of their connotations are too persuasive.
Our minds flow along those far too easily, far too much without challenge, like a stream following a water course.

Each leaf

"Each leaf has its own way to fall to the ground"

Don't know where this comes from, but it says so much that I had to post it here.