A nothing day full of
wild beauty and the
timer pings. Roll up
the silver off the bay
take down the clouds
sort the spruce and
send to laundry marked,
more starch. Goodbye
golden- and silver-
rod, asters, bayberry
crisp in elegance.
Little fish stream
by, a river in wat
Blog: Pictures-Books-Reflections
Ode to Adversity
Posted on by James Woodward
Daughter of Jove, relentless power,
Thou tamer of the human breast,
Whose iron scourge and torturing hour,
The bad affright, afflict the best!
Bound in thy adamantine chain
The proud are taught to taste of pain,
And purple tyrants vainly groan
With pangs unfelt befor
roast chorizo chicken
Posted on by James Woodward
Tried this yesterday and guests enjoyed it - all in one dish = less washing up!
Ingredients
500g/1lb 2oz new potatoes, such as Charlotte
1-2 tbsp rapeseed or olive oil
salt and freshly ground black pepper
8 skinless and boneless chicken thighs (approximately 500g/1lb 2oz)
perhaps the roses
Posted on by James Woodward
Time will say nothing but I told you so,
Time only knows the price we have to pay;
If I could tell you I would let you know.
If we should weep when clowns put on their show,
If we should stumble when musicians play,
Time will say nothing but I told you so.
There are
bring wine
Posted on by James Woodward
Bring wine, my thirst is desperate, God has taken hold of me, he is holding me so close.
For love, for the essence of love, bring wine that is the envy of the sun.
All that I know or care about is love.
Bring that whose name my mouth cannot say, that which breaks the bou
And what of our old age?
Posted on by James Woodward
From a lecture given 17th October 2012
Chichester
WHAT ARE OLDER PEOPLE FOR?
The profit motive, the mass media’s love affair with the new, and the anxiety provoked by growing old in a youth obsessed culture have led millions to surrender their faces to the war on wrinkles
Saying Sorry
Posted on by James Woodward
Someone hurts you. Someone does you wrong. No doubt about it. They were wrong. So what do you do? You start holding a grudge. You feel bitter and rehearse their hurt and nurse your wound. You feel superior. You refuse to forgive. Your inner ecology begins to change; your inner c
surprise
Posted on by James Woodward
Expect nothing. Live frugally
On surprise.
become a stranger
To need of pity
Or, if compassion be freely
Given out
Take only enough
Stop short of urge to plead
Then purge away the need.
Wish for nothing larger
Than your own small heart
Or greater than a star;
Tame wild
THE SENSE OF WONDER
Posted on by James Woodward
"Ralph Waldo Emerson once asked what we would do if
the stars only came out once every thousand years. No one
would sleep that night, of course. The world would create
new religions overnight. We would be ecstatic, delirious,
made rapturous by the
blue
Posted on by James Woodward
A slash of Blue—
A sweep of Gray—
Some scarlet patches on the way,
Compose an Evening Sky—
A little purple—slipped between—
Some Ruby Trousers hurried on—
A Wave of Gold—
A Bank of Day—
This just makes out the Morning Sky.
Emily Dickinson
What are we becoming?
Posted on by James Woodward
A person who is impartial, fair, calm, gentle, serene, accepting and open-hearted is indeed a refuge.
In the person of the Buddha, who had gone beyond the limitations and partialities of selfhood, many experienced a humanity that made them feel that life was endurable. A truly
Wrestling with the self
Posted on by James Woodward
Enmity shapes our consciousness and identity. The people we hate haunt us; they inhabit our minds in a negative way, as we brood in a deviant form of meditation on their bad qualities. The enemy thus becomes our twin, a shadow self whom we come to resemble.
Nations may also fe
Let all beings be happy!
Posted on by James Woodward
Let all beings be happy!
Weak or strong, of high, middle or low estate,
small or great, visible or invisible,
near or far away, alive or still to be bom —
May they all be perfectly happy!
Let nobody lie to anybody or despise any single being anywhere.
May nobody wish ha
green
Posted on by James Woodward
Meanwhile the mind, from pleasure less,
Withdraws into its happiness:
The mind, that ocean where each kind
Does straight its own resemblance find;
Yet it creates, transcending these,
Far other worlds, and other seas;
Annihilating all that's made
To a green thought in
vine leaves
Posted on by James Woodward
When I found the door
I found the vine leaves
speaking among themselves in abundant
whispers.
My presence made them
hush their green breath,
embarrassed, the way
humans stand up, buttoning their jackets,
acting as if they were leaving anyway, as if
the conversation had
selfishness?
Posted on by James Woodward
If we remain trapped in this greedy, needy selfishness, we will continue to be unhappy and frustrated. But as we acquire a more realistic assessment of ourselves, we learn that the envy, anger, fear and hatred (which often spring from thwarted egotism) have little to do with us
What is your task?
Posted on by James Woodward
W H Auden wrote, in A Certain World,
“In this world, so long as we are vigorous enough to be capable of action, God, surely, does not intend us to sit around thinking of and loving Him like anything. Aside from rites of public worship in which we bring our bodies to God, we s
music
Posted on by James Woodward
Music.
The breath of a statue.
Or, perhaps:
the silence of a painting. The words beyond
where all words end. Time
at a true right angle to
the transience of the heart.
A feeling? For whom? No, no, a feeling
moving, changing. To what? To a landscape you can hear.
Oh,
thorns
Posted on by James Woodward
Indignant at the fumbling wits, the obscure spite
Of our old paudeen in his shop, I stumbled blind
Among the stones and thorn-trees, under morning light;
Until a curlew cried and in the luminous wind
A curlew answered; and suddenly thereupon I thought
That on the lonely
Honesty
Posted on by James Woodward
Novelist and essayist C. S. Lewis used to ask, ‘What is the most significant conversation you have every day?’ People would respond piously, ‘Your conversation with God, of course.’ ‘No,’ Lewis would reply. ‘It’s the conversation you have with yourself before y