Friday, December 24, 2010

The pot is a God. The winnowing
fan is a God. The stone in the
street is a God. The comb is a
God. The bowstring is also a
God. The bushel is a God and the
spouted cup is a God.

Gods, gods, there are so many
there's no place left
for a foot.
There is only
one God. He is our Lord
of the Meeting Rivers.

-- Basvanna (12th century), translated by A.K. Ramanujan

1 comment:

Michael Schiavo said...

"When we have broken our god of tradition, and ceased from our god of rhetoric, then may God fire the heart with his presence."

Ralph Waldo Emerson, "The Over-Soul"