This is what I wrote today using too many words:
When events of a remarkable nature are considered as the petals of a flower, then one may imagine many remarkable events becoming even more significant when considered together, irrespective of the separation of time or distance. One may then be free to interpret the adjectives 'remarkable' and 'significant' in such a way as to allow very subtle events to settle on the consciousness like dew before the dawn. Then, as one is illuminated by the rising sun, all the many petals light up together and everyone around can experience the reflection of ordinary life upon one's countenance. In this way, without intervention by rational thought, one may share with the world the opening of a baby's fist, the swaying shadow of a maple sapling, the smell of summer rain on freshly cut hay, the last content sigh of a dying grandmother- altogether one event that fills one moment, and then is gone.
Then, when that moment is gone, one must release it as utterly insignificant in its non-existence. There is an endless parade of moments exactly like it, and perfectly unique, and attachment to one of them does an irredeemable disservice to all those neglected in its shadow.
This becomes the source of all joy, and all despair. It depends only on how one chooses to perceive.
Gassho
Tobiishi
When events of a remarkable nature are considered as the petals of a flower, then one may imagine many remarkable events becoming even more significant when considered together, irrespective of the separation of time or distance. One may then be free to interpret the adjectives 'remarkable' and 'significant' in such a way as to allow very subtle events to settle on the consciousness like dew before the dawn. Then, as one is illuminated by the rising sun, all the many petals light up together and everyone around can experience the reflection of ordinary life upon one's countenance. In this way, without intervention by rational thought, one may share with the world the opening of a baby's fist, the swaying shadow of a maple sapling, the smell of summer rain on freshly cut hay, the last content sigh of a dying grandmother- altogether one event that fills one moment, and then is gone.
Then, when that moment is gone, one must release it as utterly insignificant in its non-existence. There is an endless parade of moments exactly like it, and perfectly unique, and attachment to one of them does an irredeemable disservice to all those neglected in its shadow.
This becomes the source of all joy, and all despair. It depends only on how one chooses to perceive.
Gassho
Tobiishi
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