tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3524364334037666877.post5257589223672369803..comments2024-03-25T15:16:59.631-04:00Comments on The Green Bough: Dreaming The World in ColourOriahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13153842083329682011noreply@blogger.comBlogger8125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3524364334037666877.post-78312264519503307392010-04-21T04:27:15.904-04:002010-04-21T04:27:15.904-04:00Oriah, your words on contentment made perfect sens...Oriah, your words on contentment made perfect sense to me.... So simple and yet so true.<br />Thank you, for Your words have nourished my soul!Annie Anoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3524364334037666877.post-9184541550411330062010-04-11T18:36:18.999-04:002010-04-11T18:36:18.999-04:00Your posts always coincide perfectly with my life....Your posts always coincide perfectly with my life. Perhaps it's the times I decide to check your blog: when I'm searching for something. Somehow you always manage to fulfill that.<br />Thank you Oriah.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3524364334037666877.post-66147439796750545282010-04-10T06:44:59.250-04:002010-04-10T06:44:59.250-04:00T.Dorsey- thank you for this- and thank you to you...T.Dorsey- thank you for this- and thank you to your father- a wise man.Oriahhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13153842083329682011noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3524364334037666877.post-13489050029059774752010-04-10T01:36:40.611-04:002010-04-10T01:36:40.611-04:00The first few lines of your post reminded me insta...The first few lines of your post reminded me instantly of a moment that happened over 30 years ago.<br /><br />I have been writing since I was old enough to hold a pencil. In my teenaged years, sorrow brought me to the page much more often than joy. I asked my father why I could not write about happy things. (My father, a poet himself, understood the artist within me.)<br /><br />My father's reply was in the form of a poem:<br /><br />This is suppose to be<br />a Happy Poem<br /><br />I saw my grandson<br />take his first steps today<br /><br />Ha Ha Ha<br />I am glad <br />I am aliveTAHIRA Akua TAHIRAhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/10098532361186562940noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3524364334037666877.post-2553482594896277772010-04-08T10:27:11.831-04:002010-04-08T10:27:11.831-04:00I like to think I too am dreaming the world into b...I like to think I too am dreaming the world into being, through my strong intentions to become fully engaged moment-to-moment, but also to relax into the now in inclusive acceptance, and to experience the joy of conscious awareness of our connectedness and the ability to make choices that serve us all in feeling more whole and content. Pure presence in contentment is a the gift we give ourselves by practicing being quiet, accepting and then loving ourselves and all of life. I like to think I join you in spirit in your contentment. LaurelLaurelhhhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/01526474490344383437noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3524364334037666877.post-11242121549605043712010-04-07T17:53:13.720-04:002010-04-07T17:53:13.720-04:00Sigh. I had written about contentment, and then th...Sigh. I had written about contentment, and then the blog ate the comment and it's completely gone. Now we shall see if it's easier to write from despair.<br /><br />Contentment is hard to write about because it is contentment. I've always believed that for most writing the driving force is tension: tension between where one is and where one wants to be, tension between people, tension between wanting to hold on to a glorious moment and the inevitable erosion of time. A Buddhist would call this suffering, and say it's caused by desire. But even Buddha said that the state of not-suffering cannot be put into words.<br /><br />I suppose the ultimate tension is the one we fell into as we left Eden, the knowledge of the difference between good and evil. Perhaps it is our cultural sorrow at leaving that Garden of Creation behind us that makes us so admire those for whom creation is continual and ongoing, such as the Aboriginals, or the Polynesians, my favourite of the Wayfinders series.<br /><br />But even if words and writing can't bring us to that place of contentment (words imply a space between us and our experience), I share your hope that writing can at least serve as signposts pointing us in the direction we take as we walk on the path towards contentment. Chuang Tzu told of having dreamt he was a butterfly,and added " I do not know whether I was then a man dreaming I was a butterfly, or whether I am now a butterfly dreaming I am a man." Our words can at least be those dreams.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3524364334037666877.post-75927030433632967952010-04-07T13:08:35.294-04:002010-04-07T13:08:35.294-04:00Oriah...thank you.
I am going to apply the follo...Oriah...thank you. <br /><br />I am going to apply the following: "Slowly, without any sense of needing to find “an answer,” I bring the practice of open inquiry that I often use for dealing with uncomfortable states to the moment, wondering:...." <br /><br />Last week the splinter that is in my stratosphere is: Why do some feel the need (compulsion almost?) to share as compared to those who don't? By share I mean--anything, from "ooo oriah, here is a link I found that you may like..." to "hey, i figured out an easier way to do this, let me offer." Why does the buck stop for some at 2 people and others 4 and others 40? <br /><br />Since google search wasn't enough on this point, I inquired family and they have all taken offense to this query so I am left to my own devices to figure it out. If the answer is there is no answer, at least I found some new questions along the way. :) <br /><br />thanks, <br /><br />~anniea.q.s.https://www.blogger.com/profile/08801359148548205987noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3524364334037666877.post-53418704235853094352010-04-07T12:02:29.626-04:002010-04-07T12:02:29.626-04:00Aaah Oriah, you Mountain Dreamer!
Here I am in a ...Aaah Oriah, you Mountain Dreamer!<br /><br />Here I am in a dull, drizzly London afternoon - there you are, in some other place and time zone. I read what you have written, and I suddenly remember beauty. Beauty of the spring that is coming, though late and slowly. The beauty of creativity. Even my own beauty. <br /><br />I see that that is not exactly what you were writing about, but that's what's landed with me.<br /><br />Many thanks and blessings to you, and may you have many more such moments.Pat Marynoreply@blogger.com