who speaks?

there is a story of a great Master who said to his disciples, "in truth, i was there when the morning stars sang. and where were you?"

his followers, confused by his words, said amongst themselves, "it is just as we have said - the Master is the Avatar long prophesied." some of them took to wearing his photograph in a medallion hanging from the end of their prayer beads.

the Master, seeing this, grabbed one of the medallions and tore it from the neck of his frightened disciple, scattering the blood-red prayer beads on the ground.

"can you answer this question?" he said angrily to the disciple. trembling in fear, the poor fool nodded.

the Master stared into his eyes for a second, then said:



"who speaks? who listens?"




the disciple stared back at him, bereft of words. the Master shook his head, and walked on. his disciples followed in his wake, agreeing amongst themselves to leave this teaching out of the gospels.

my teacher

my teacher told me that just as the sun always shines and rain is ever falling, just as trees grow both below and above the ground, so the poet is always writing, even when paper and pen are set aside.




at first i was frightened by her words. later, after thinking on them, i felt comforted.

war

small ones fight wars.



great ones fight War.