"There is something wonderfully bold and liberating about saying yes to our entire imperfect and messy life." — Tara Brach
Bringing Tara Brach back (first appearance here) because her explorations of equanimity changed me in a powerful way. I really wasn't conscious of how the line between peacefulness/ease and apathy/indifference lived inside of me and traveled through my relationships with the world until I heard Tara Brach speak on "duck meditation." Now I am friends with my inner duck. And I'm grateful for this part of me, this place and identity and awareness.
* * *
The Little Duck
by Donald Babock
Now we’re ready to look at something pretty special.
It is a duck,
riding the ocean a hundred feet beyond the surf.
No it isn’t a gull.
A gull always has a raucous touch about him.
This is some sort of duck,
and he cuddles in the swells.
He isn’t cold,
and he is thinking things over.
There is a big heaving in the Atlantic,
and he is a part of it.
He looks a bit like a mandarin,
or the Lord Buddha meditating under the Bo tree.
But he has hardly enough above the eyes
to be a philosopher.
He has poise, however,
which is what philosophers must have.
He can rest while the Atlantic heaves,
because he rests in the Atlantic.
Probably he doesn’t know how large the ocean is.
And neither do you.
But he realizes it.
And what does he do, I ask you?
He sits down in it!
He reposes in the immediate as if it were infinity
– which it is.
He has made himself a part of the boundless
by easing himself into just where it touches him.
I like the duck.
He doesn’t know much,
but he’s got religion.
Bringing Tara Brach back (first appearance here) because her explorations of equanimity changed me in a powerful way. I really wasn't conscious of how the line between peacefulness/ease and apathy/indifference lived inside of me and traveled through my relationships with the world until I heard Tara Brach speak on "duck meditation." Now I am friends with my inner duck. And I'm grateful for this part of me, this place and identity and awareness.
* * *
The Little Duck
by Donald Babock
Now we’re ready to look at something pretty special.
It is a duck,
riding the ocean a hundred feet beyond the surf.
No it isn’t a gull.
A gull always has a raucous touch about him.
This is some sort of duck,
and he cuddles in the swells.
He isn’t cold,
and he is thinking things over.
There is a big heaving in the Atlantic,
and he is a part of it.
He looks a bit like a mandarin,
or the Lord Buddha meditating under the Bo tree.
But he has hardly enough above the eyes
to be a philosopher.
He has poise, however,
which is what philosophers must have.
He can rest while the Atlantic heaves,
because he rests in the Atlantic.
Probably he doesn’t know how large the ocean is.
And neither do you.
But he realizes it.
And what does he do, I ask you?
He sits down in it!
He reposes in the immediate as if it were infinity
– which it is.
He has made himself a part of the boundless
by easing himself into just where it touches him.
I like the duck.
He doesn’t know much,
but he’s got religion.
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