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Beautiful Superstition

VimalajātiVimalajāti Whitby, Ontario Veteran
edited December 2018 in Mindfulness

While cleaning pechay (bok choy) for vegetarian kare-kare, I noticed that one of my pechay had bloomed into a small goldenrod-like flower at the top.

What a lovely omen. What a lovely superstitiousness on my part, if you will forgive me the vanity of calling something associated with myself "lovely" (what lovely vanity? oh dear O.o ). Of course, there is no profound reason why my pechay bloomed in the fridge and another pechay did not. Still, how beautiful can nothing be? Very.

KundolobsterHozanFosdickBuddhadragonyagr

Comments

  • lobsterlobster Crusty Veteran

    @Vimalajāti said:
    Still, how beautiful can nothing be? Very.

    <3

    We open the fridge. A light goes on. Food has colours. The unusual event is noticed. The magic is always present ...

    Very.

    HozanVimalajātiBuddhadragonyagr
  • VimalajātiVimalajāti Whitby, Ontario Veteran

    @lobster said:

    Very.

    Very!

  • BuddhadragonBuddhadragon Ehipassiko & Carpe Diem Samsara Veteran

    Magic is in the eye of the beholder.
    To the soul that is open to wonder, epiphanies meet their eye wherever they go....
    ???

    lobsterHozan
  • lobsterlobster Crusty Veteran

    What a lovely omen.

    Indeed.
    Amazingly noticing the mundane wonders, seems to unfold a further blooming. The magickal comes to be noticed.
    Why or how I don't know ?‍♀️

    But it do. It is some kind of resonance or attunement ... ?????

    HozanBuddhadragon
  • federicafederica Seeker of the clear blue sky... Its better to remain silent and be thought a fool, than to speak out and remove all doubt Moderator
    edited December 2018

    SONG OF MYSELF.

    Walt Whitman.

    I CELEBRATE myself, and sing myself,
    And what I assume you shall assume,
    For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.

    I loafe and invite my soul,
    I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.

    My tongue, every atom of my blood, form'd from this soil, this
    air,
    Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their
    parents the same,
    I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin,
    Hoping to cease not till death.

    Creeds and schools in abeyance,
    Retiring back a while sufficed at what they are, but never forgotten,
    I harbor for good or bad, I permit to speak at every hazard,
    Nature without check with original energy.

    (1st stanza only. The poem is very long (see link) and bears reading slowly, to one's self, over a period of time.

    It's a masterpiece.)

    Vimalajātilobster
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