Sparkling Waters

A poem from an inspiring winter day along the South Fork Elk River.


by David LaFever

Witless Wanderings of Nibbling Sheep

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Sparkling waters speaking, a language their own

Bursting bubbles everywhere

Hearing sounds, not understanding words

Intertwining in meaning

Deepening redwoods, mossying alders

Graying jay, downying woodpecker

Spawning salmon, flowing water

Lengthening shadows

Elk River, a winter day.

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It Very Well May

Here is a poem that I wrote. Hope you enjoy it!

Witless Wanderings of Nibbling Sheep

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I love you more with each passing day

I don’t know what more to say.

Is there an way to convey

There is no place where we can stay?

So lets jump and romp and play

Or lie quiet and watch the branches sway.

Lets love and live as if this were our final day;

Which is very well may.


by David LaFever

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The Illusion of Significant Improvement

Witless Wanderings of Nibbling Sheep

Wheat Field and Poppies, Amghas, Morocco
Turning away and touching are both wrong, for it is like a massive fire.
~Dongshan Liangjie (China, 807-869)

I just got Mark’s last letter in the mail. It’s been almost two years of knowing him, 18 letters in all, a strange relationship that has been at once both distant and intimate. I guess that comes with the territory; letters can be so intimate because we assume that no one else will read them so we give voice to things we may not otherwise say. There is also the intimacy or understanding of two Buddhists conversing with one another. It was also distant because, well there is distance involved – both the literal distance of miles of separation and the figurative kind born from leading two very different lives. He inside, me outside although in reality there is no inside or outside.

There wasn’t much in this last letter – just…

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Planted from the Heart

Witless Wanderings of Nibbling Sheep

It is the sufferings and insecurities of our lives that, although painful and distressing, teach us not to cling to the impermanent things of this world. Not even the greatest master could teach us so well. We should honor and respect them, not shun their company.

~ Dongshan Liangjie (9th Century Chinese Ch’an Master)

 

Kristin placed a dollop of peanut butter carefully upon each round of sliced banana and then artfully arranged it all on a plate in the shape of a smiling face with eyebrows raised in a quizzical look. The girls devoured this dessert like ravenous wild dogs until there were only two pieces left. Juniper, the younger, grabbed one piece and quickly popped it into her mouth and then grabbed the second one and as I was saying, “that’s for Maddie” popped it in too. As Maddie bounded down the hallway to where we were…

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Scraps of Paper Come Alive

Here is one I wrote on Witless Wanderings that I thought was appropriate for this site as well. Its about the delight of the moment and the beauty of warm chicken eggs on cold hands. I hope you enjoy it!

Witless Wanderings of Nibbling Sheep

I just found a half-sheet of yellow paper ripped off a legal pad, stained with coffee and displaying the beginnings of what looks like an excellent round of crayon doodling by a toddler. The title says, “Blog Post” and under that I wrote a list of things to write about:

  • The warmth of eggs on cold hands
  • The crescent moon slowly slicing its way across the western sky
  • The huskiness of coastal dusk

Finding this list this morning stopped me in my tracks and brought a smile to my face for it is a brief glimpse into my life, into a day in my life showing something about the richness in which I live and the mind that I try to cultivate – a mind without walls that can be present, aware and appreciative of whatever is occurring in the moment.

How wonderful is it to know the delight warm…

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The Sweetness of It All

Here is an essay I just posted at the blog Witless Wanderings of Nibbling Sheep. I wanted to share it here also.

Witless Wanderings of Nibbling Sheep

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Dawn is breaking over a fuzzy and opaque coast range. Just as slits in a crocheted blanket let in light so too do the slender gaps in the velvety gray clouds, revealing the clear sky and sun rising aove. I walk along a well-known path in the half light and partial darkness of early morning. This is a time of day when day and night, light and dark seem to merge and I cannot tell which I am in. Is this still night or has morning begun already? With my eyes cast downward looking at the path before me, I find myself lost in thought. My mind wanders and finally settles on an ancient Chinese Zen text – the Sandokai. Often translated as the “Harmony of Difference and Sameness”, the Sandokai was written by Shitou Xiqian, a Chinese Zen master in the 8th Century. As I strode an…

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