A Buddhist seeks refuge in the Three Jewels: Buddha (the enlightened one), the Dharma, (the Buddha’s teachings of the four noble truths and the eightfold path), and the Sangha (the community of Buddha’s followers seeking enlightenment). The Sangha can be a formal community of monks living in a monastery or a community of laypeople who gather together.
Enlightenment is nearly impossible to achieve alone. A person must understand that we suffer as do all those around us; suffering comes from a cause; suffering can end; and the path to end suffering and achieve enlightenment is the middle way. A central aspect of Sangha is to gather with others who can mentor, as we in turn mentor others. As members of a Sangha we help each other on the eightfold path to right understanding; right intention; right communication; right engagement; right service; right energy; right mindfulness; and right concentration.
September brings cooler nights and turning leaves. The fruit trees are bringing forth figs, pears and persimmons and our thoughts turn to the harvest holidays. Morning skies are gray and foggy and afternoons are blessed with golden sunshine from a southern exposure. A melancholy rests lightly on my shoulders, realizing we’ve nearly completed the ritual cycle round the solar system, another year gone, mourning lost loves, preciously cradling what we hold dear, the future a mystery.
The song’s roots lay in Depression riddled Georgia, written and first performed in 1933 by Oliver Hood, a poem to lost love. A local bard, Hood’s authorship remained anonymous for many years, a man who loved music and making music every Sunday after church and dinner, sitting on his front porch with his friends and neighbors sharing songs and tunes. As Alan Lomax writes in The Folk Songs of North America describing the white ballad singer of roots music “carefully tune [s] his voice…his latent emotions must be kept under control…his solo…an act of memory, almost ritualistic.” A sharer of songs, Hood was not concerned about copyright in the early years of his music writing. Governor Jimmie Davis, bought the rights from the Rice Brothers, who recorded the song in 1939 claiming authorship.
The other night dear, as I lay sleeping I dreamed I held you in my arms But when I awoke, dear, I was mistaken So I hung my head and I cried.
You are my sunshine, my only sunshine You make me happy when skies are gray You’ll never know dear, how much I love you Please don’t take my sunshine away
I’ll always love you and make you happy, If you will only say the same. But if you leave me and love another, You’ll regret it all some day
You are my sunshine, my only sunshine You make me happy when skies are gray You’ll never know dear, how much I love you Please don’t take my sunshine away
You told me once, dear, you really loved me And no one else could come between. But now you’ve left me and love another; You have shattered all of my dreams
You are my sunshine, my only sunshine You make me happy when skies are gray You’ll never know dear, how much I love you Please don’t take my sunshine away
In all my dreams, dear, you seem to leave me When I awake my poor heart pains. So when you come back and make me happy I’ll forgive you dear, I’ll take all the blame.
You are my sunshine, my only sunshine You make me happy when skies are gray You’ll never know dear, how much I love you Please don’t take my sunshine away
Meander and mindful. Robin L. Chandler Copyright 2016.
Sitting quietly, I concentrate on my breathing. My thoughts float by like clouds and I meander among them until. I remember. Stop meandering. Remember. Concentrate on each breath. Mindfulness.
Bristlecone Pine in the White Mountains. Robin L. Chandler Copyright 2016.
The White Mountains are a high desert range situated between the Sierra Nevada Mountains and the Great Basin Desert and overlooking Death Valley to the South and the Owens Valley to the West. White Mountain Peak at 14,252 feet is third highest mountain in California following Mt. Whitney and Mt. Williamson. A big, empty, solitary place, created by dynamic geologic forces; it is a place where, Ancient Bristlecone Pines teach pilgrims about a higher consciousness. Time stands still, and peering down in the valley, pilgrims can see life’s journey, the forks in-the-road ahead, and path choices, guided by the wisdom discovered amongst trees – like the Bodhi Tree – over four thousand years old.
In the late 1930s, the ethnomusicologist Alan Lomax preserved for the Library of Congress Archive of Folk Song Down in the Valley. Captured in the Great Smokey Mountains of North Carolina, the song is written from the perspective of an empty, solitary, place – prison – where time also stands still. Peering into space, cut off from the earth and sky, the prisoner sees deep into life’s chasm, the forks in the road behind, and reflects sadly on choices made.
Down in the valley valley so low Hang your head over hear the wind blow Hear the wind blow dear hear the wind blow Hang your head over hear the wind blow.
Roses love sunshine violets love dew Angels in heaven know I love you Know I love you dear know I love you Angels in heaven know I love you.
If you don’t love me love whom you please Throw your arms ’round me give my heart ease Give my heart ease love give my heart ease Throw your arms round me give my heart ease.
Build me a castle forty feet high So I can see him as he rides by As he rides by love as he rides by So I can see him as he rides by.
Write me a letter send it by mail Send it in care of Birmingham jail Birmingham jail love Birmingham jail Send it in care of Birmingham jail.
alive in the sea of information 