Li Po

http://mettakaruna.gaia.com — Wed, 02 Aug 2006 03:56:46 GMT

War last year at the Sang-kan's headwaters,
war this year on the roads at Ts'ung River:

We've rinsed weapons clean in T'iao-chich sea-swells
pastured horses in T'ien Mountain's snowbound grasses,

war in ten-thousand-mile campaigns
leaving our Three Armies old and broken,

but the Hsiung-nu have made slaughter their own
version of plowing.

It never changes: nothing since ancient times but
bleached bones in fields of yellow sand.

A Ch'in emperor built the Great Wall to seal Mongols out,
and still in the Han, we're setting beacon fires ablaze.

Beacon fires ablaze everlasting,
no end to forced marches and war,

it's fight to the death in outland war,
wounded horses wailing, crying out toward heaven,

Hawks and crows tearing at people,
lifting off to scatter dangling entrails in dying trees.

Tangled grasses lie matted with death,
but generals keep at it. And for what?

Isn't it clear that weapons are the tools of misery?
The great sages never waited until the need
for such things arose.

The True Man

http://mettakaruna.gaia.com — Tue, 06 Jun 2006 14:32:54 GMT

by Chuang Tzu

What do I mean by True Man? The True Man of ancient times did not rebel against want, did not grow proud in plenty and did not plan his affairs. Being like this, he could commit an error and not regret it, could meet with success and not make a show. Being like this, he could climb the high places and not be frightened, could enter the water and not get wet, could enter the fire and not get burned. His knowledge was able to climb all the way up to the Way like this.

The True Man of ancient times slept without dreaming and woke without care; he ate without savoring and his breath came from deep inside. The True Man breathes with is heels the mass of men breathe with their throats. Crushed and bound down, they gasp out their words as though they were retching. Deep in their passions and desires, they are shallow in the workings of Heaven.

The Ture Man of ancient times knew nothing of loving life, knew nothing of hating death. He emerged without delight; he went back in without a fuss. He came briskly, he went briskly and that was all. He didn't forget where he began; he didn't try to find out where he would end. He received something and took pleasure in it; he forgot about it and handed it back again. This is what I call not using the mind to repel The Way, not using man to help out Heaven. This is what I call the True Man.

Gaia: The Sacred Pool - Masters, Mystics, Saints - Various Oriental

Li Po

The True Man