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Will be in the old country 4/27 – 5/13

Henk Pander

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Jens Nieth

Like an empty vessel in space (the knower of Truth) is empty both within and without, while at the same time he is full within and without like a vessel immersed in the ocean.
Sage Vasistha

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yogena cittasya padena vacam
Yoga for consciousness, grammar for speech

malam sarirasya ca vaidyakena
medicine for the ills of the body;

yopa karottam pravaram muninam
he gave us these things the sage

patañjalim pranjalir anato’smi
Patañjali to whom I pay my respects.

abahu purusakaram
His upper body (arms) of human form,

sankha chakrasi dharinam
holding conch and disc,

sahasra sirasam svetam
thousand headed cobra [over his head]

pranamami patañjalim
I pay my respects to Patañjali

yastyaktva rupamadhyam
prabhavati jagato’nekadhanugrahaya
praksinaklesharasir visamavisadharo’nekavaktrah subhogi
sarvajnana prasutir bhujagaparikarah pritaye yasya nityam
devohisah sa vovyat sitavimalatanur yogado yogahyuktah

Salutations to Lord Adisesa of the myriad serpent heads and
mouths carrying noxious poisons, who came to earth single-headed to eradicate ignorance and vanquish sorrow. We respect Him, repository of all knowledge, amidst his attendant retinue. His primordial form shines with pure and white effulgence, pristine in body, a master of yoga who bestows yogic light to enable mankind to rest in the house if the immortal self.

Tara Donovan Untitled

I was often unable to think of external things as having external existence, and I communed with all that I saw as something not apart from, but inherent in, my own immaterial nature. Many times while going to school have I grasped at a wall or a tree to recall myself from this abyss of idealism to the reality.

William Wordsworth

In spring it is the dawn that is most beautiful.
As the light creeps over the hills, their outlines
are dyed a faint red and wisps of purplish cloud
trail over them.

In summer the nights. Not only when the moon
shines, but on dark nights too, as the fireflies
flit to and fro, and even when it rains, how
beautiful it is!

In autumn the evenings, when the glittering sun
sinks close to the edge of the hills and the crows
fly back to their nests in threes and fours and
twos; more charming still is a file of wild geese,
like specks in the distant sky. When the sun has
set, one’s heart is moved by the sound of the wind
and the hum of the insects.

In winter the early mornings. It is beautiful
indeed when snow has fallen during the night, but
splendid too when the ground is white with frost;
or even when there is no snow or frost, but it is
simply very cold and the attendants hurry from room
to room stirring up the fires and bringing
charcoal, how well this fits the season’s mood!
But as noon approaches and the cold wears off, no
one bothers to keep the braziers alight, and soon
nothing remains but piles of white ashes.

Sei Shonagon