It was a pleasure to read your reflections. (I formed an instant attachment to your “Quietness is arrival rather than journey.”)
I was moved to read Komo-no-Chomei’s bare recounting of attention, its object, and sleeves wet by tears - an account of life revealing itself moment by moment that gifts so much quiet.
It was poignant too to read his account of struggles with attachment to 'useless pleasures', and your weaving of connections amongst writing, narrative, and quiet. Experience is always in motion but to understand we step outside the current and - along with the suffering of that - there are pleasures there.
I’m left appreciative that this poet’s pourings out, and yours, offer us articulations of human experience that touch into our own oscillations between coming-and-going insights into impermanence, and the inevitability of fixing and personalising. Your term “relative silence“ feels helpful in embracing both. It reminds me of Issa’s beautiful poem (translated by Robert Hass)
They link in to what I see you doing, discovering the sounds of the world to deflect us from the noise that normally consumes us. Sound as a way toward silence.
It was a pleasure to read your reflections. (I formed an instant attachment to your “Quietness is arrival rather than journey.”)
I was moved to read Komo-no-Chomei’s bare recounting of attention, its object, and sleeves wet by tears - an account of life revealing itself moment by moment that gifts so much quiet.
It was poignant too to read his account of struggles with attachment to 'useless pleasures', and your weaving of connections amongst writing, narrative, and quiet. Experience is always in motion but to understand we step outside the current and - along with the suffering of that - there are pleasures there.
I’m left appreciative that this poet’s pourings out, and yours, offer us articulations of human experience that touch into our own oscillations between coming-and-going insights into impermanence, and the inevitability of fixing and personalising. Your term “relative silence“ feels helpful in embracing both. It reminds me of Issa’s beautiful poem (translated by Robert Hass)
“a world of dew”
The world of dew
is the world of dew
……and yet, and yet–
Thanks for your good reflectiond Sherre ...
They link in to what I see you doing, discovering the sounds of the world to deflect us from the noise that normally consumes us. Sound as a way toward silence.