I was listening to Ram Das yesterday as I was walking and he was speaking about all of the ways one might meditate and one suggestion he had was to open a book to any page and take a passage and try to live that day from within the framework of that passage. So today I took Walt Whitman and opened to this passage and will try to adhere to the tenets that dying is living:<\/p>\n
A child said, What is the grass?<\/strong><\/p>\n A child said, What is the grass? fetching it to me with full I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord, Or I guess the grass is itself a child. . . .the produced babe Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic, And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves.<\/p>\n Tenderly will I use you curling grass, This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old O I perceive after all so many uttering tongues! I wish I could translate the hints about the dead young men What do you think has become of the young and old men? They are alive and well somewhere; All goes onward and outward. . . .and nothing collapses, I was listening to Ram Das yesterday as I was walking and he was speaking about all of the ways one might meditate and one suggestion he had was to open a book to any page and take a passage and try to live that day from within the framework of that passage. So today I took Walt Whitman and opened to this passage and will try to adhere to the tenets that dying is… <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"nf_dc_page":"","_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[562,547,560,561],"class_list":["post-13168","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-main","tag-a-child-said","tag-ram-das","tag-walt-whitman","tag-what-is-the-grass"],"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p1kHSD-3qo","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.dangermond.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/13168","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.dangermond.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.dangermond.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.dangermond.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.dangermond.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=13168"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.dangermond.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/13168\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":13169,"href":"https:\/\/www.dangermond.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/13168\/revisions\/13169"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.dangermond.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=13168"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.dangermond.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=13168"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.dangermond.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=13168"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nhands;
\nHow could I answer the child?. . . .I do not know what it
\nis any more than he.<\/p>\n
\ngreen stuff woven.<\/p>\n
\nA scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropped,
\nBearing the owner’s name someway in the corners, that we
\nmay see and remark, and say Whose?<\/p>\n
\nof the vegetation.<\/p>\n
\nAnd it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow
\nzones,
\nGrowing among black folks as among white,
\nKanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the
\nsame, I receive them the same.<\/p>\n
\nIt may be you transpire from the breasts of young men,
\nIt may be if I had known them I would have loved them;
\nIt may be you are from old people and from women, and
\nfrom offspring taken soon out of their mother’s laps,
\nAnd here you are the mother’s laps.<\/p>\n
\nmothers,
\nDarker than the colorless beards of old men,
\nDark to come from under the faint red roofs of mouths.<\/p>\n
\nAnd I perceive they do not come from the roofs of mouths
\nfor nothing.<\/p>\n
\nand women,
\nAnd the hints about old men and mothers, and the offspring
\ntaken soon out of their laps.<\/p>\n
\nWhat do you think has become of the women and
\nchildren?<\/p>\n
\nThe smallest sprouts show there is really no death,
\nAnd if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait
\nat the end to arrest it,
\nAnd ceased the moment life appeared.<\/p>\n
\nAnd to die is different from what any one supposed, and
\nluckier.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"