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#impermanence — Public Fediverse posts

Live and recent posts from across the Fediverse tagged #impermanence, aggregated by home.social.

  1. John Brehm, 1955-2026

    The poet John Brehm passed away on Monday, in Portland, Oregon.

    John and I were friends, close friends when he lived just down the block from me, on Berkeley Place, here in Brooklyn. We’d listen to Brad Mehldau and McCoy Tyner at his place, eat lentil soup at a now-defunct Middle Eastern joint on 6th Avenue, and tomcat around town.

    His poems from that period are the ones I know best, many of which are collected in his 2004 book, Sea of Faith: “When My Car Broke Down,” “If Feeling Isn’t In It,” and the title poem, “Sea of Faith.” Reading its last lines again reminds me of the John I knew:

                                                                                      ...I wished 
    it was true, wished there really was a Sea of Faith
    that you could wade out into,
    dive under its blue and magic waters,
    hold your breath, swim like a fish
    down to the bottom, and then emerge again
    able to believe in everything, faithful
    and unafraid to ask even the simplest of questions,
    happy to have them simply answered.

    In “The Poems I Have Not Written,” John calls himself “wildly unprolific,” but that is just so much Brehmian self-deprecation. Poetic accomplishment isn’t measured by the bushel anyway. In John’s case, the art is in the intense focus and scrutiny he brings to particular details of a single moment in time (like the twelve raindrops hanging from the window sash in “Morning, East Wallingford”); it’s in the mix of precise observation and dreamy wonder, or the ease with which his verses follow the path of his wandering mind, or the surprise he shares with readers at finding humor even in the darkest moments.

    Just This, his most recent book, brings together about twenty-five years of John Brehm’s writing, and it’s a pretty good place to get to know his work. The book opens with new poems, including a whole section of haiku. I vaguely remember telling John, indelicately and as if what I had to say on the subject mattered, that haiku didn’t do much for me. He had probably forgotten, or long ago forgiven, my arrogant and clumsy remarks when I wrote to him just a few weeks ago about this poem, which now rings, as it were, especially true for me:

    just before dawn
    my tinnitus takes over
    where the crickets leave off

    He plays all kinds of variations on the form.

               looking up
    from looking something up --
    the whole world still there.

    Many of Brehm’s poems are about that interplay of self and world, the real and unrealized possibilities of a passing moment, the fleeting glimpse of some longed-for ecstasy or metamorphosis, a poet becoming fish, or becoming water, as in “Supplication at the River.”

    And then I would turn away
    and into something other,
    as if the way the water moves,
    confluence of sources, metaphor
    for everything, but essential and itself,
    would be my way of moving.

    This is the poetic situation, or at least the situation that shows up again and again in John Brehm’s poetry. Emotions may feel sticky, but everything’s ceaselessly in motion. The mind grasps at flickering images of what is and what could be, puts words to them, gives them form and definition; yet what’s done will easily come undone. The poems are record of the passing moment and some consolation for its passing. And things begin just at the moment when they seem to end.

    #Brooklyn #impermanence #JohnBrehm #poetry #reading
  2. John Brehm, 1955-2026

    The poet John Brehm passed away on Monday, in Portland, Oregon.

    John and I were friends, close friends when he lived just down the block from me, on Berkeley Place, here in Brooklyn. We’d listen to Brad Mehldau and McCoy Tyner at his place, eat lentil soup at a now-defunct Middle Eastern joint on 6th Avenue, and tomcat around town.

    His poems from that period are the ones I know best, many of which are collected in his 2004 book, Sea of Faith: “When My Car Broke Down,” “If Feeling Isn’t In It,” and the title poem, “Sea of Faith.” Reading its last lines again reminds me of the John I knew:

                                                                                      ...I wished 
    it was true, wished there really was a Sea of Faith
    that you could wade out into,
    dive under its blue and magic waters,
    hold your breath, swim like a fish
    down to the bottom, and then emerge again
    able to believe in everything, faithful
    and unafraid to ask even the simplest of questions,
    happy to have them simply answered.

    In “The Poems I Have Not Written,” John calls himself “wildly unprolific,” but that is just so much Brehmian self-deprecation. Poetic accomplishment isn’t measured by the bushel anyway. In John’s case, the art is in the intense focus and scrutiny he brings to particular details of a single moment in time (like the twelve raindrops hanging from the window sash in “Morning, East Wallingford”); it’s in the mix of precise observation and dreamy wonder, or the ease with which his verses follow the path of his wandering mind, or the surprise he shares with readers at finding humor even in the darkest moments.

    Just This, his latest book, brings together about twenty-five years of John Brehm’s writing, and it’s a pretty good place to get to know his work. The book opens with new poems, including a whole section of haiku. I vaguely remember telling John, indelicately and as if what I had to say on the subject mattered, that haiku didn’t do much for me. He had probably forgotten, or long ago forgiven, my arrogant and oafish remarks when I wrote to him just a few weeks ago about this poem, which now rings, as it were, especially true for me:

    just before dawn
    my tinnitus takes over
    where the crickets leave off

    He plays all kinds of variations on the form.

               looking up
    from looking something up --
    the whole world still there.

    Many of Brehm’s poems are about that interplay of self and world, the real and unrealized possibilities of a passing moment, the fleeting glimpse of some longed-for ecstasy or metamorphosis, a poet becoming fish, or becoming water, as in “Supplication at the River.”

    And then I would turn away
    and into something other,
    as if the way the water moves,
    confluence of sources, metaphor
    for everything, but essential and itself,
    would be my way of moving.

    This is the poetic situation, or at least the situation that shows up again and again in John Brehm’s poetry. Emotions may feel sticky, but everything’s ceaselessly in motion. The mind grasps at flickering images of what is and what could be, puts words to them, gives them form and definition; yet what’s done will easily come undone. The poems are record of the passing moment and some consolation for its passing. And things begin just at the moment when they seem to end.

    #Brooklyn #impermanence #JohnBrehm #poetry #reading
  3. John Brehm, 1955-2026

    The poet John Brehm passed away on Monday, in Portland, Oregon.

    John and I were friends, close friends when he lived just down the block from me, on Berkeley Place, here in Brooklyn. We’d listen to Brad Mehldau and McCoy Tyner at his place, eat lentil soup at a now-defunct Middle Eastern joint on 6th Avenue, and tomcat around town.

    His poems from that period are the ones I know best, many of which are collected in his 2004 book, Sea of Faith: “When My Car Broke Down,” “If Feeling Isn’t In It,” and the title poem, “Sea of Faith.” Reading its last lines again reminds me of the John I knew:

                                                                                      ...I wished 
    it was true, wished there really was a Sea of Faith
    that you could wade out into,
    dive under its blue and magic waters,
    hold your breath, swim like a fish
    down to the bottom, and then emerge again
    able to believe in everything, faithful
    and unafraid to ask even the simplest of questions,
    happy to have them simply answered.

    In “The Poems I Have Not Written,” John calls himself “wildly unprolific,” but that is just so much Brehmian self-deprecation. Poetic accomplishment isn’t measured by the bushel anyway. In John’s case, the art is in the intense focus and scrutiny he brings to particular details of a single moment in time (like the twelve raindrops hanging from the window sash in “Morning, East Wallingford”); it’s in the mix of precise observation and dreamy wonder, or the ease with which his verses follow the path of his wandering mind, or the surprise he shares with readers at finding humor even in the darkest moments.

    Just This, his most recent book, brings together about twenty-five years of John Brehm’s writing, and it’s a pretty good place to get to know his work. The book opens with new poems, including a whole section of haiku. I vaguely remember telling John, indelicately and as if what I had to say on the subject mattered, that haiku didn’t do much for me. He had probably forgotten, or long ago forgiven, my arrogant and clumsy remarks when I wrote to him just a few weeks ago about this poem, which now rings, as it were, especially true for me:

    just before dawn
    my tinnitus takes over
    where the crickets leave off

    He plays all kinds of variations on the form.

               looking up
    from looking something up --
    the whole world still there.

    Many of Brehm’s poems are about that interplay of self and world, the real and unrealized possibilities of a passing moment, the fleeting glimpse of some longed-for ecstasy or metamorphosis, a poet becoming fish, or becoming water, as in “Supplication at the River.”

    And then I would turn away
    and into something other,
    as if the way the water moves,
    confluence of sources, metaphor
    for everything, but essential and itself,
    would be my way of moving.

    This is the poetic situation, or at least the situation that shows up again and again in John Brehm’s poetry. Emotions may feel sticky, but everything’s ceaselessly in motion. The mind grasps at flickering images of what is and what could be, puts words to them, gives them form and definition; yet what’s done will easily come undone. The poems are record of the passing moment and some consolation for its passing. And things begin just at the moment when they seem to end.

    #Brooklyn #impermanence #JohnBrehm #poetry #reading
  4. John Brehm, 1955-2026

    The poet John Brehm passed away on Monday, in Portland, Oregon.

    John and I were friends, close friends when he lived just down the block from me, on Berkeley Place, here in Brooklyn. We’d listen to Brad Mehldau and McCoy Tyner at his place, eat lentil soup at a now-defunct Middle Eastern joint on 6th Avenue, and tomcat around town.

    His poems from that period are the ones I know best, many of which are collected in his 2004 book, Sea of Faith: “When My Car Broke Down,” “If Feeling Isn’t In It,” and the title poem, “Sea of Faith.” Reading its last lines again reminds me of the John I knew:

                                                                                      ...I wished 
    it was true, wished there really was a Sea of Faith
    that you could wade out into,
    dive under its blue and magic waters,
    hold your breath, swim like a fish
    down to the bottom, and then emerge again
    able to believe in everything, faithful
    and unafraid to ask even the simplest of questions,
    happy to have them simply answered.

    In “The Poems I Have Not Written,” John calls himself “wildly unprolific,” but that is just so much Brehmian self-deprecation. Poetic accomplishment isn’t measured by the bushel anyway. In John’s case, the art is in the intense focus and scrutiny he brings to particular details of a single moment in time (like the twelve raindrops hanging from the window sash in “Morning, East Wallingford”); it’s in the mix of precise observation and dreamy wonder, or the ease with which his verses follow the path of his wandering mind, or the surprise he shares with readers at finding humor even in the darkest moments.

    Just This, his most recent book, brings together about twenty-five years of John Brehm’s writing, and it’s a pretty good place to get to know his work. The book opens with new poems, including a whole section of haiku. I vaguely remember telling John, indelicately and as if what I had to say on the subject mattered, that haiku didn’t do much for me. He had probably forgotten, or long ago forgiven, my arrogant and clumsy remarks when I wrote to him just a few weeks ago about this poem, which now rings, as it were, especially true for me:

    just before dawn
    my tinnitus takes over
    where the crickets leave off

    He plays all kinds of variations on the form.

               looking up
    from looking something up --
    the whole world still there.

    Many of Brehm’s poems are about that interplay of self and world, the real and unrealized possibilities of a passing moment, the fleeting glimpse of some longed-for ecstasy or metamorphosis, a poet becoming fish, or becoming water, as in “Supplication at the River.”

    And then I would turn away
    and into something other,
    as if the way the water moves,
    confluence of sources, metaphor
    for everything, but essential and itself,
    would be my way of moving.

    This is the poetic situation, or at least the situation that shows up again and again in John Brehm’s poetry. Emotions may feel sticky, but everything’s ceaselessly in motion. The mind grasps at flickering images of what is and what could be, puts words to them, gives them form and definition; yet what’s done will easily come undone. The poems are record of the passing moment and some consolation for its passing. And things begin just at the moment when they seem to end.

    #Brooklyn #impermanence #JohnBrehm #poetry #reading
  5. ✮ Talking to a Stone ✮

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    Subscribe #Air #Baggage #BewitchedWithRegret #BoardingPass #BoundToGrowCold #BrushItOff #CemeteryRituals #CherishMoments #Compassion #ContemporaryPoetry #conversations #ConversationsWithAir #Craft #DanglingFlames #Death #DonTSeeEyeToEye #Dying #EmotionalDepth #EmotionalHealing #EmotionalImprints #EnduringLove #Erwinism #EtchedOnStone #Etching #ExistentialPoetry #Farewell #FlickeringFlame #flowers #Forgiveness #FreeVerse #FYP #GatesOpenedInPeace #GriefAndRemembrance #GriefProcessing #Heartfelt #HeartfeltVerse #Hope #HopeAndSoaring #Horizon #HorizonOutline #HumanConnection #Impermanence #InfusedWithPrayers #Inspiration #IntrospectiveWriting #JaggedEdges #JourneyMetaphor #LastingImpact #Learning #leather #LeavingDaysBehind #LeftUndone #Legacy #LettingGo #Life #LifeAndDeath #LightingCandles #Love #LoveAndLoss #LyricalPoetry #ManicuredGrass #MeditativePoetry #MemorialPractices #MemorialStones #Memory #MemoryAndLegacy #ModernPoetry #MortalityAndAcceptance #Motivation #MutedBreath #Nature #NatureImagery #NoExcessBaggage #NoLongerSquabble #NoLongerYearn #OfferingFlowers #PaintingStones #Peace #PeopleOnceWere #PhilosophicalReflection #PhysicalMemorials #Poem #PoeticProse #Poetry #PresenceAndAbsence #Progress #Reconciliation #Reflection #Regret #RememberedAndHonored #ReminisceDaysGoneBy #Reminiscence #RestfulNight #retro #RumpledBlankets #Seared #SearedIntoHeart #SharedHumanity #SkyBlushedPink #Solitude #SomberOrange #Songs #SongsFromHeart #SpiritualReflection #StayBehind #SteadfastLink #Stone #StonesLeftBehind #SunWilting #Sunrise #Sunset #SunsetImagery #SwayingInWind #TalkingToAStone #Togetherness #TransientLife #TravelMetaphor #UnbrokenBond #UnsungStories #vintage #Vulnerability #Warmth #WarmthOfCompany #WingedMetaphor #Writing #YellowingPillows
  6. ✮ Talking to a Stone ✮

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    Become a paid subscriber to get access to the rest of this post and other exclusive content.

    Subscribe #Air #Baggage #BewitchedWithRegret #BoardingPass #BoundToGrowCold #BrushItOff #CemeteryRituals #CherishMoments #Compassion #ContemporaryPoetry #conversations #ConversationsWithAir #Craft #DanglingFlames #Death #DonTSeeEyeToEye #Dying #EmotionalDepth #EmotionalHealing #EmotionalImprints #EnduringLove #Erwinism #EtchedOnStone #Etching #ExistentialPoetry #Farewell #FlickeringFlame #flowers #Forgiveness #FreeVerse #FYP #GatesOpenedInPeace #GriefAndRemembrance #GriefProcessing #Heartfelt #HeartfeltVerse #Hope #HopeAndSoaring #Horizon #HorizonOutline #HumanConnection #Impermanence #InfusedWithPrayers #Inspiration #IntrospectiveWriting #JaggedEdges #JourneyMetaphor #LastingImpact #Learning #leather #LeavingDaysBehind #LeftUndone #Legacy #LettingGo #Life #LifeAndDeath #LightingCandles #Love #LoveAndLoss #LyricalPoetry #ManicuredGrass #MeditativePoetry #MemorialPractices #MemorialStones #Memory #MemoryAndLegacy #ModernPoetry #MortalityAndAcceptance #Motivation #MutedBreath #Nature #NatureImagery #NoExcessBaggage #NoLongerSquabble #NoLongerYearn #OfferingFlowers #PaintingStones #Peace #PeopleOnceWere #PhilosophicalReflection #PhysicalMemorials #Poem #PoeticProse #Poetry #PresenceAndAbsence #Progress #Reconciliation #Reflection #Regret #RememberedAndHonored #ReminisceDaysGoneBy #Reminiscence #RestfulNight #retro #RumpledBlankets #Seared #SearedIntoHeart #SharedHumanity #SkyBlushedPink #Solitude #SomberOrange #Songs #SongsFromHeart #SpiritualReflection #StayBehind #SteadfastLink #Stone #StonesLeftBehind #SunWilting #Sunrise #Sunset #SunsetImagery #SwayingInWind #TalkingToAStone #Togetherness #TransientLife #TravelMetaphor #UnbrokenBond #UnsungStories #vintage #Vulnerability #Warmth #WarmthOfCompany #WingedMetaphor #Writing #YellowingPillows
  7. ✮ Talking to a Stone ✮

    Subscribe to keep reading

    Become a paid subscriber to get access to the rest of this post and other exclusive content.

    Subscribe #Air #Baggage #BewitchedWithRegret #BoardingPass #BoundToGrowCold #BrushItOff #CemeteryRituals #CherishMoments #Compassion #ContemporaryPoetry #conversations #ConversationsWithAir #Craft #DanglingFlames #Death #DonTSeeEyeToEye #Dying #EmotionalDepth #EmotionalHealing #EmotionalImprints #EnduringLove #Erwinism #EtchedOnStone #Etching #ExistentialPoetry #Farewell #FlickeringFlame #flowers #Forgiveness #FreeVerse #FYP #GatesOpenedInPeace #GriefAndRemembrance #GriefProcessing #Heartfelt #HeartfeltVerse #Hope #HopeAndSoaring #Horizon #HorizonOutline #HumanConnection #Impermanence #InfusedWithPrayers #Inspiration #IntrospectiveWriting #JaggedEdges #JourneyMetaphor #LastingImpact #Learning #leather #LeavingDaysBehind #LeftUndone #Legacy #LettingGo #Life #LifeAndDeath #LightingCandles #Love #LoveAndLoss #LyricalPoetry #ManicuredGrass #MeditativePoetry #MemorialPractices #MemorialStones #Memory #MemoryAndLegacy #ModernPoetry #MortalityAndAcceptance #Motivation #MutedBreath #Nature #NatureImagery #NoExcessBaggage #NoLongerSquabble #NoLongerYearn #OfferingFlowers #PaintingStones #Peace #PeopleOnceWere #PhilosophicalReflection #PhysicalMemorials #Poem #PoeticProse #Poetry #PresenceAndAbsence #Progress #Reconciliation #Reflection #Regret #RememberedAndHonored #ReminisceDaysGoneBy #Reminiscence #RestfulNight #retro #RumpledBlankets #Seared #SearedIntoHeart #SharedHumanity #SkyBlushedPink #Solitude #SomberOrange #Songs #SongsFromHeart #SpiritualReflection #StayBehind #SteadfastLink #Stone #StonesLeftBehind #SunWilting #Sunrise #Sunset #SunsetImagery #SwayingInWind #TalkingToAStone #Togetherness #TransientLife #TravelMetaphor #UnbrokenBond #UnsungStories #vintage #Vulnerability #Warmth #WarmthOfCompany #WingedMetaphor #Writing #YellowingPillows
  8. Expérience humaine

    On pourrait résumer l’expérience humaine comme une quête de sens entre les stratégies mise en place afin de vivre le plus longtemps possible, par les avancées au niveau de la médecine, de la science et de la sécurité et celles visant à composer avec un flux en perpétuel changement. Cette tension entre le désir de permanence et l’acceptation de l’incarnation dans l’impermanence explique en grande partie les incohérences de l’histoire humaine. Ce qui explique en grande […]

    dandanjean.com/2026/08/19/expe

  9. Due to its impermanence, there is nothing in this world truly worth doing, except working to escape.

    (According to Buddhism, neither salvation by a deity nor physical death/suicide is an escape from rebirth. Meditation is the only escape.)

    #buddhism #impermanence #value #worth #meaning #purpose #substance #essence #salvation #liberation #deity #god #death #rebirth #reincarnation #meditation

  10. Due to its impermanence, there is nothing in this world truly worth doing, except working to escape.

    (According to Buddhism, neither salvation by a deity nor physical death/suicide is an escape from rebirth. Meditation is the only escape.)

    #buddhism #impermanence #value #worth #meaning #purpose #substance #essence #salvation #liberation #deity #god #death #rebirth #reincarnation #meditation

  11. Due to its impermanence, there is nothing in this world truly worth doing, except working to escape.

    (According to Buddhism, neither salvation by a deity nor physical death/suicide is an escape from rebirth. Meditation is the only escape.)

    #buddhism #impermanence #value #worth #meaning #purpose #substance #essence #salvation #liberation #deity #god #death #rebirth #reincarnation #meditation

  12. Due to its impermanence, there is nothing in this world truly worth doing, except working to escape.

    (According to Buddhism, neither salvation by a deity nor physical death/suicide is an escape from rebirth. Meditation is the only escape.)

    #buddhism #impermanence #value #worth #meaning #purpose #substance #essence #salvation #liberation #deity #god #death #rebirth #reincarnation #meditation

  13. Due to its impermanence, there is nothing in this world truly worth doing, except working to escape.

    (According to Buddhism, neither salvation by a deity nor physical death/suicide is an escape from rebirth. Meditation is the only escape.)

    #buddhism #impermanence #value #worth #meaning #purpose #substance #essence #salvation #liberation #deity #god #death #rebirth #reincarnation #meditation

  14. The whole 'room' of awareness is an impermanent mental fabrication -- both your perceived self and your perceived environment. Like a dream, it's a packaged self-world which either all appears together or all disappears together.

    #buddhism #mind #awareness #consciousness #impermanence #fabrication #construction #hallucination #perception #duality #dream #dreaming

  15. The whole 'room' of awareness is an impermanent mental fabrication -- both your perceived self and your perceived environment. Like a dream, it's a packaged self-world which either all appears together or all disappears together.

    #buddhism #mind #awareness #consciousness #impermanence #fabrication #construction #hallucination #perception #duality #dream #dreaming

  16. The whole 'room' of awareness is an impermanent mental fabrication -- both your perceived self and your perceived environment. Like a dream, it's a packaged self-world which either all appears together or all disappears together.

    #buddhism #mind #awareness #consciousness #impermanence #fabrication #construction #hallucination #perception #duality #dream #dreaming

  17. The whole 'room' of awareness is an impermanent mental fabrication -- both your perceived self and your perceived environment. Like a dream, it's a packaged self-world which either all appears together or all disappears together.

    #buddhism #mind #awareness #consciousness #impermanence #fabrication #construction #hallucination #perception #duality #dream #dreaming

  18. The whole 'room' of awareness is an impermanent mental fabrication -- both your perceived self and your perceived environment. Like a dream, it's a packaged self-world which either all appears together or all disappears together.

    #buddhism #mind #awareness #consciousness #impermanence #fabrication #construction #hallucination #perception #duality #dream #dreaming

  19. Où est le problème?

    Ce qu'on appelle la confusion, le chaos, ce sont les mouvements de force qui échappent à nos capacités de compréhension. Paradoxalement, le chaos participe à l'équilibre. L'équilibre parfait, ce serait l'immobilité, le non-mouvement. Seul le Tout est logiquement immobile, contenant tout le temps et tout l'espace. Dans notre monde relatif, rien n'est immobile. Nous avons un aperçu de l'équilibre quand on ressent de l'harmonie. Donc le moi est toujours en recherche de l'équilibre […]

    dandanjean.com/2026/08/13/ou-e

  20. A Letter to the Karmapa, Ogyen Trinley Dorje

    For the past few days, I have been listening to the Karmapa’s teachings from this year. I keep returning to them because Buddhism is important to me—although I have never seen it as a religion. I feel closest to it in its raw, original form: as a path of recognizing reality, flowing from the same Source as all authentic paths. I call that Source the Monad—the Divine Plan shared by every human being, though understood and described in different ways. I do not listen, then, as […]

    kronikaduszy.wordpress.com/202

  21. Yesterday, or: One last exhale

    A Sijo

    a heavy mourning cloak hangs
    in your familiar closet;
    no gatekeeper keeps this gate
    that was not there yesterday;
    mere rice paper divides two worlds
    one last exhale and it gives way

    d’Verse poetics: But no, a butterfly

    At d’Verse, we are encouraged to write a poem in any form using at least three complete butterfly names from the provided list, though the poem itself does not need to be about butterflies.

    List of butterfly names

    Appalachian azure, Autumn leaf, Clipper, Clouded yellow, Crimson Patch, Duke of Burgundy, Fatal Metalmark, Fiery skipper, Gatekeeper, Golden birdwing, Golden Hairstreak, Green marble, Large Tortoiseshell, Lustrous copper, Miami Blue, Monarch, Mourning Cloak, Orange Sulphur, Painted Lady, Peacock, Pine Satyr, Rice paper, Rusty-tipped page, Silver Emperor, Silver-banded Hairstreak, Small Wood nymph, Sonoran Blue, Speckled wood, Spring white, Velvet rose, Wandering skipper.

    Sijo?

    A Korean verse form related to haiku and tanka and comprised of three lines of 14-16 syllables each, for a total of 44-46 syllables. Each line contains a pause near the middle, similar to a caesura, though the break need not be metrical. The first half of the line contains six to nine syllables; the second half should contain no fewer than five. Originally intended as songs, sijo can treat romantic, metaphysical, or spiritual themes. Whatever the subject, the first line introduces an idea or story, the second supplies a “turn,” and the third provides closure. Modern sijo are sometimes printed in six lines.

    Let’s write poetry together!

    When it comes to partnership, some humans can make their lives alone – it’s possible. But creatively, it’s more like painting: you can’t just use the same colours in every painting. It’s just not an option. You can’t take the same photograph every time and live with art forms with no differences.

    Ben Harper (b. 1969)

    Would you like to create poetry with me and have a completed poem of yours featured here at the Skeptic’s Kaddish? I am very excited to have launched the ‘Poetry Partners’ initiative and am looking forward to meeting and creating with you… Check it out!

    #Death #Fragility #Grief #Impermanence #Mortality #Mourning #Poem #Poetry #Sijo #Transformation #Transition
  22. After developing the ability to watch thoughts and feelings from a mental distance, an even greater freedom is to detach from the subjective feeling of a watcher (which is also impermanent). The result is ungrounded experience, where there is knowing but no knower.

    #buddhism #earlybuddhism #detachment #thoughts #feelings #freedom #mind #mental #subjectivity #duality #dualism #impermanence #awareness #meditation

  23. After developing the ability to watch thoughts and feelings from a mental distance, an even greater freedom is to detach from the subjective feeling of a watcher (which is also impermanent). The result is ungrounded experience, where there is knowing but no knower.

    #buddhism #earlybuddhism #detachment #thoughts #feelings #freedom #mind #mental #subjectivity #duality #dualism #impermanence #awareness #meditation