aunt agatha-migration

You're right.

Written at the Dwelling of a Recluse Even though you have a brushwood door, it hasn't been shut for a long time; a few clouds, a few trees have been your only companions. Still, I suspect if you stay longer, people will learn of this spot; we'll see you moving higher on the mountain. --Chia Tao (779-843)

You have lived a long time at Pa-hsing Temple; retired, you're preparing only now to leave. On the verge of parting, we look out upon bright autumn water; you're not returning to your hometown, nor to the country around it. You will hang your Buddhist staff in a tree where the sky reaches to a watery horizon; where the door-leaf of your hut opens on great mountains. Below, you will see dawn a thousand li away: a miniature sun born of a cold white sea. Chia Tao (779-843)

i see much hesitancy in destroying the temple. it does not matter. is she not with us always? blessed be the goddess. and blessed be her son. we will end tonight. one last drink my friends. let us drink the nectar that has been offered to us.

from The song of Songs song 1: 5-6 I am dark, daughters of Jerusalem, And I am beautiful! Dark as the tents of Kedar, lavish As Solomon's tapestries. Do not see me only as dark. The sun Has stared at me. My brothers were angry with me. They made me guard the vineyards. I have not guarded my own. The Shulammite (ca. 3rd c. B.C.E.)

everyone is welcome.

Leave Crete, Aphrodite, and cone to this sacred place encircled by apple trees, fragrant with offered smoke. Here, cold springs sing softly amid the branches; the ground is shady with roses; from trembling young leaves, a deep drowsiness pours. In the meadow, horses are cropping the wildflowers of spring, scented fennel blows on the breeze. In this place, lady of Cyprus, pour the nectar that honors you into our cups, gold, and raised up for drinking. -Sappho (7th c. B.C.E.)

I searched for my Self until I grew weary, but no one, I know now, reaches the hidden knowledge by means of effort. Then, absorbed in "Thou art This," I found the place of wine. there all the jars are filled, but no one is left to drink. Lal Ded (14th c.?)

the gods and goddesses do not judge us. there are jugs of wine. open the corks. and let the goddess come among us.

the night is young my friend. come over to the party.

Coursing in emptiness, I, Lalla, dropped off body and mind, and stepped into the Secret Self. Look: Lalla the sedgeflower blossomed a lotus. Lal Ded (14th c.?)

drink up my friends. this night is fresh.

i'm a little drunk. let me quote bruce in more acceptable english. "Thanks, remember in the end, nobody wins unless everyone wins. -bruce springsteen

Thanks, remember in the end, nobody wins unless everyone wins. Bruce Springsteen.

join with me in bowing before her.

As a symbol of sacred mysteries, I, Sabina, daughter of Lampadius and so of an honorable person, here erected to Attis and Rhea an altar forever. Deo's orgies and the terrifying Hekate nights I experienced. Sabina lampadius (fl. ca. 377)

my friends, do not fear the temple. the gods and goddesses will stand with us.

From the mind of a single, long vine, one hundred opening lives. Chiyo;-ni (1703-1775)

those who have torches, light them.

it sounds like we are getting ready.

Taoist Master In Mountains You've brushed your hair a thousand strokes; but your gaunt face shows you've been eating grain. You raise crane chicks to full maturity; plant seeds to grow tall pines. A Taoist concoction simmers through the night; a cold stream pounds through the day. Never far from this secluded place, what people of the world could ever find you? Chia Tao (779-843)

O my Lord, if I worship you from fear of hell, burn me in hell. If I worship you from hope of Paradise, bar me from its gates. But if I worship you for yourself alone, grant me then the beauty of your Face. rabi'a (717-801)

moderators, please join us.

i'm being censored. i posted a beautiful and loving poem. it has been pulled.

Cast off all shame, and sell yourself in the marketplace; then alone can you hope to reach the lord. Cymbals in hand, a veena upon my shoulder, I go about; who dares to stop me? The pallav of my sari falls away (A scandal!); yet will I enter the crowded marketplace without a thought. Mani says, My Lord, I have become a slut to reach your home Vilas Sarang