The Sound Keeps Coming

The Temple bell stops –
but the sound keeps coming
out of the flowers

 

– Bashō (1644-94), translated by Robert Bly.

No attachments

Quite the contrary.  I must say I have grown fond of writing down thoughts that came to my mind, sharing it with you, your comments and banter.  To read so many good post of essays, haiku, poems, personal thoughts, humour, arts and photography, I will sorely miss.  And that is an attachment in some ways.  One thing that I don’t want to lose sight is my belief and faith.  And that is not an attachment.  It’s my life.

On the other side of life, I received notices from friends in Facebook that they will be off-line during Lenten season as part of fasting.  Thinking about fasting, I will be participating as well not in Facebook but from posting blogs.  In Facebook that’s where I do most of the spiritual side of me.  Lent will start on Ash Wednesday and ends on Easter Sunday, March 5 to April 20, 2014.

The good news about fasting during Lent, weekend is not counted.  Maybe, just maybe, I will participate on the Weekly Photo Challenge and post the Sunday Snippet.  Whew, that is relief for me. This does not mean that I will abstain from reading your post and liking it. I will still be hovering around at a lesser frequency during weekdays.

What I will abstain from is commenting, thus the sound of silence.

Grass, what are you telling me?

It was high noon, the sun was its peak, and the heat was scorching in an open arena in the middle of nowhere in Denver, Colorado.  There is a light breeze, not a single bird flying yet I could hear the chirping in the sound of silence.

Where is everybody?

Moving towards the hill, I could see a mirage of two people.  When I came closer to the top, there is a lake and the figure I saw where two men fishing silently.  I walked towards them, nodded my head to acknowledge their presence and walked away quietly to keep the sacredness and not to scare the fishes away.

Returning to the threshold that I walked through, I sat on the ground, leaned against the fence to shelter me from the heat.  The tall grass covers me and we settled down in the quiet of our being.

Gently I touch the blades of grass, caressing it and in return, the grass tickles me.  We are both pleased with each other’s company.  Giving and receiving the sheer pleasure of doing nothing.

What a wonderful afternoon, feeling what is that I cannot name and then suddenly, I started crying, uncontrollably.  It was so strange to feel the joy and grief at the same time.

Grass, what are you telling me?

When the emotional state I was in subsided, I said goodbye to the grass and thank it for having me.  Then I returned to my friend’s place that I was visiting.  Tomorrow, I am going home to Canada.

The following day before departing I quickly run to the fence, cross the threshold to say hello and goodbye to the grass. Shocked, I was so devastated what I saw.  The grass was cut down.  Gone.

Grass, is this what you were telling me yesterday?

Painting: Van Gogh