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Flowers fall even though we love them, and weeds grow even though we dislike them.

— Dōgen Zenji

Who says my poems are poems? My poems are not poems. When you know that my poems are not poems, Then we can speak of poetry!

— Ryōkan

No amount of anxiety makes any difference to anything that is going to happen.

— Alan Watts

I use RSS everyday. Practically everything I read arrives on my screen via RSS. So it matters that my RSS readers work for me by getting out of the way.

I’m always trying new ones out, most recently Micro Blog’s Inkwell. It’s good. It works. I like it. But it’s missing something and I don’t know what.

In contrast I have never stopped using Sublime Feed for medium to long form reading. It works just the way I want. I couldn’t really tell you how or why, it just works for me.

For brief scanning of short form posts, news and social accounts, I use Reeder, to which it is very well suited. The opposite of Sublime Feed.

Horses for courses.

Other good readers I have used, like Inkwell and Unread, fall between the two short form and long form stools.

The right time is any time that one is still so lucky as to have.

― Henry James

Every word is like an unnecessary stain on silence and nothingness.

— Samuel Beckett

Although I might have thought otherwise at the time, I have never known, nor know now, what I am or what I am doing.

Having imported a ton of old posts from Wordpress I stumbled across this from four years ago…

There is no Buddhism here, no Zen, no Advaita, no Dzogchen, no awakening, no enlightenment, no spirituality, no tradition, no duality or non duality. Just the cool brush of breeze through the window, the exquisitely simple pain of loss and these words appearing out of nowhere.

A big thank you to Vincent at Scribbles for the new Wordpress import feature! 🙏

I have no idea what I’m doing but just imported over a thousand posts from old Wordpress blogs in a matter of a few minutes. No problems. No errors. Simple as.

Sitting quietly, doing nothing, spring comes, and the grass grows, by itself.

— Matsuo Bashō

Back to evening dog walks which is really nice.

Twenty minutes of shared solitude.

Very peaceful and quiet but for the patter of paws and the tinkle of tag on collar.

For all their potential complications, pets are remarkably adept at simplifying life.

Now that we are blessed with having a dog in our lives once again I was, today, reminded of the simple and grounding fact of finding an unused poo bag in my pocket.

The myriad complications and worries of the world collapsed in an instant as I was reminded of the basic, immediate duty of care.

I love Luke O’Nein, he’s my favourite ever Sunderland player, but…

…if Dan Ballard had played instead we don’t lose.

Hey ho.

When I see dogs being dogs I smile. I recognise the simplicity of unconditional, spontaneous being.

I'm suspicious of nostalgia, looking back with rose tinted spectacles to alleged golden ages. They don't exist. The world has been both progressing and going to hell in a handcart forever. Today is no different.

I can think I am doing all sorts of things but that’s merely retro-fitting a will and a narrative over an infinitely unknowable movement of energy.

Bill our new rescue dog.

Picked him up yesterday and he’s settling in really well.

A gentle soul, already got himself into our hearts.

When I’m feeling low, I can always go do something for someone or something else. It works every time. A day unfolds into an unknown day I have never seen before, as M. Oliver offers. Maybe being useful is the only reality there is in such a context? Maybe being kind and compassionate is the only thing that seems to make sense? And lifts us all.

Bryan Wagner, A Tao of Useful

The smallest act of kindness is worth more than the greatest intention.

— Kahlil Gibran

In spirituality, the following law often seems to me to be verifiable: the more people cluck and chuckle, proclaim and fret over an experience, the more insignificant and/or fabricated it actually is.

Notes & Silence

Meaningful things

Happen quietly

Without fanfare or performance

Acts away from the spotlight

Of the ego or the crowd

Deeds done

Doer invisible

Have spent much of the day tearing my arms and legs to shreds using only nature’s finest overgrown brambles and gorse while knee deep in a freezing stream.

Get back to nature they said…

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