I am reminded of a great poet,
a famous man.
He wrote about beauty.
He was the court poet, poet to the King and lived in the palace.
All about him was romance and beauty.
Suddenly he ran out of poems, he became like a river without water, he felt dry..
He turned to the books in the palace, the old writings, looking, seeking for words that would help to start the flow.
The poet had only one candle in his room and the light was dim, his eyes hurt and even in the old books he couldn't find words about beauty.
All about war, hatred, hell,
lots of burning in hell.
Tired and frustrated he blew out the candle and couldn't believe his eyes.
There, suddenly from the window and under the door, the moonlight poured in.
The poet rushed outside and was transported into another world.
He looked at the moon,
at the silence of the night,
the reflections on the river.
He saw the dark forrest behind the silvery river.
This was beauty.
The poet had been looking into a book for beauty and here it was, waiting just outside the door.
The small yellow candle light had prevented him from seeing the magic of the night.
He had been occupied with books and had completely forgotten the beauty of a full moon night.
He threw books away and that was the last day he thought about beauty.
Thinking won't help, writing about it is not enough,
beauty is all around us.
We have to be available to it.
We must blow out the candle,
the small candle of the ego.
Then our Buddha nature can enter.
Nathan.
Sent from my iPhone and
http://www.dharmamaster.com
With love
