“But if I can bear the nights, the days are a pleasure. I walk out; I see something, some event that would otherwise have been utterly missed and lost; or something sees me, some enormous power brushes me with its clean wing, and I resound like a beaten bell.”
–Annie Dillard, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek
pleasure
Ears Full of Pleasure
Simply Pleased About Snow
Morning Trip (73)
“even before trees rocks I was nothing
when I’m dead nowhere I’ll be nothing
this ink painting of wind blowing through pines
who hears it?
sin like a madman until you can’t do anything else
no room for any more
fuck flattery success money
all I do is lie back and suck my thumb
one long pure beautiful road of pain
and the beauty of death and no pain
mirror facing mirror
nowhere else
passion’s red thread is infinite
like the earth always under me
a woman is enlightenment when you’re with her and the red thread
of both your passions flare inside you and you see
your name Mori means forest like the infinite fresh
green distances of your blindness
my monk friend has a wierd[sic] endearing habit
he weaves sandals and leaves them secretly by the roadside
no words sitting alone night in my hut eyes closed hands open
wisps of an unknown face
we’re lost where the mind can’t find us
utterly lost”
–Ikkyu
In Search of a May Pole–Purple Profundity: Poetry by Elisabeth Connelley
one hand
tulips
belly in the grass
listening
for May
across stone walls
boots
trod upon
musky
newly turned earth
well worn hands
search and grasp
the wood
with heft enough
to stand
in the center
unified to raise
the May Pole
–by elisabeth connelley
Morning Trip (12)
“We read of spiritual efforts, and our imagination makes us believe that, because we enjoy the idea of doing them, we have done them.
I am appalled to see how much of the change I thought I had undergone lately was only imaginary.
The real work seems still to be done.
It is so fatally easy to confuse an aesthetic appreciation of the spiritual life with the life itself – to dream that you have waked, washed, and dressed & then to find yourself still in bed.”
– C.S. Lewis
Elisa's Spot 