Wednesday, October 28, 2020

October 28, 2020

 Silence.


Silence is pliant, supple, malleable, 

yet willing to accept its own potential.

Silence is basic and necessary, ever present, 

yet concealed beneath the slightest din.

It is the stage upon which players perform,

It is the uncarved block.

It is the turnkey of a music box.



Silence is... until broken.

By the cry of life initiated.  By the actors on opening night.  By the first note of the poet composer crafting his image from silence, his uncarved block, his blank canvas.  He issues a second note. One note becomes two, two becomes three. Each parting the silence, joining with still others by the poet composer's design.  Notes of a single tune coalesce into chords with rhythm entwined to become melody.  Individuating melodies converge to create harmony and harmony embellished, wrought with passion and purpose becomes symphony.  Symphony with its conjoined rhythm, harmony, and timbre, conjures emotion.  All too familiar, yet elusive to direct introspection.  The Spring, the wind, fondness.  None of these exclusive yet all tacitly present.  

Symphony's crescendo of Spring hearkens of family, young children, birthdays, first days at school, the last days of school, the dog days of summer, and flights of fancy.  The vibrant summer of symphony brings carnivals, vacations, graduation, track meets, as the musical prose of the poet composer matures.  At its apogee and highest step, the symphony becomes rhapsody exclaiming its awe and rapture, pointing directly at life incarnate, unconditional and impassioned with clarity of the present moment. In times direct, and unequivocal, others in silhouette and side-ways glances.  And yet at its highest point, as it seems potential has been expended, the poet composer turns the bend from Summer to Fall, inventing while appreciating the adolescent climb to the acme of his work.  In its descent the symphony's melodious fall tells of children grown, studies completed, jobs retired, books read, and races won.  You chance to remember with clear mind and fond heart, the joyous days of that feverish rhythm, while Fall wanes to Winter.  The symphonic Winter heralds the slowing rhythm, the deepening of tone, and inevitable conclusion to the poet composer's work.  The step slows like the snowflake falling in an untracked glen, gently tumbling, reaching for the end of its singular journey to join its like.  With a melancholy hand, the symphony bids farewell as the melody rises in place.  Melody becomes chord, chord becomes notes, three becomes two, two becomes one, and one becomes silence.

In this silence we appreciate the sculpted work.
In this silence we reflect on symphonies in which we are but notes.
In this silence we hold our bated breath straining to hear the remnants of songs that, although hushed, are never forgotten.

Silence.

 - by Jim Little.

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Our ZHS on-line schedule

  • Mondays: 7-8:30pm - zazen, short service, lecture/discussion
  • Tuesdays-Fridays: 5:30-6:10pm - zazen, offering of merit/bows
  • M-F: 7-7:30am - zazen
  • Saturdays: 8:00-10:15am - zazen, short service, tea, discussion/study
  • For more information:  www.zenheartsangha.org) 
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Special bows for today: 
  • Please offer bows for all those families who have lost their lives or their homes in the recent fires in Oregon, California, and Washington
  • Please continue to offer bows of well-being for:   
    • Phyllis Merrill, Misha's mother, who died on 10/18/20
    • Charles Kennicott Leech, Nancy's father who died on 10/9/20
    • David Shaw, who suffered a stroke on 9/30/20
    • Takiko Kawakami, Fumiko Arao's mother who died 9/2/2020
    • Rev. Les Kaye, Misha’s Zen teacher, who is recovering at home undergoing chemotherapy
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Wonderful links shared by sangha members and friends:

 



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