Author: Jamie Dedes

JOY … in the poetry of Thích Nhất Hạnh

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Thích Nhất Hạnh during a ceremony in Da Nang on his 2007 trip to Vietnam “We often think of peace as the absence of war, that if powerful countries would reduce their weapon arsenals, we could have peace. But if we look deeply into the weapons, we see our own minds- our own prejudices, fears and ignorance. Even if we transport all the bombs to the moon, the roots of war and the roots of bombs are still there, in our hearts and minds, and sooner or later we will make new bombs. To work for peace is to uproot war from ourselves and from the hearts of men and women. To prepare for war, to give millions of men and women the opportunity to practice killing day and night in their hearts, is to plant millions of seeds of violence, anger, frustration, and fear that will be passed on for ge

JOY . . . in spring, Easter, and a visitor from long ago and far away

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“Put your mouthful of words away and come with me to watch the lilies open in such a field, growing there like yachts, slowly steering their petals without nurses or clocks.” ― Anne Sexton, The Complete Poems Dan (Now Father Daniel Sormani, C.S.SP) and me circa 1962 - last time I was taller than anybody! In honor of springtime and Holy Week (coming up), my hunger for rest and renewal, and a visit (Hooray!) with my cousin Daniel, whom I haven't seen in over forty years, I plan to take a serious vacation from Facebook. I won't be visiting blogs, reading email, or posting regularly to my site until after Easter. for Dan ... there’s little i’d want to live overbut a few moments, with special people, their memory held safe, gently wrapped, with
JOY … where the wisteria grows

JOY … where the wisteria grows

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Wisteria at Nymans Gardens. Public domain. “A garden to walk in and immensity to dream in--what more could he ask? A few flowers at his feet and above him the stars.” Victor Hugo, Les Misérables WHERE THE WISTERIA GROWS At the flower market this morningI thought of us and our naked livesDid you notice the star lilies bowingand the whirling cups of green calyxes? A painter’s pallette of color therefretting in terra-cotta, feral and windblownA fabulous fusion of scent and form,forests of nectar-pots on knobby stems,the stuff of heaven for the anthophilousIn just a day or two, they’ll be gone I couldn’t help but think that theseyes!… these are our human daysour days to sow or steal our human joysAnother day will inevitably transform usThe moon will stew u