Post by atman on Feb 22, 2008 14:04:11 GMT -5
Lateley I am seeing what could be called living saints. If I look at the dmv lady behind the desk this way, I see she is pleasant and seeingly glad to be there. Helping. She takes a personal call, (It's a small town,) greets an elderly client and passes on her mothers concern for her welfare. She gives my nephew his new license and entreats me to make sure that he gets more practice soon. She cared. She did her job...with love. If more of us could find our bigger heart, wouldn't we be on our own way to being saints? Not in the traditional sense completely, but rather in a real world way. Just caring.
What is a saint?
A saint is someone who has achieved a remote human possibility. It is impossible to say what that possibility is. I think it has something to do with the energy of love. Contact with this energy results in the exercise of a kind of balance in the chaos of existence. A saint does not dissolve the chaos; if he did the world would have changed long ago. I do not think that a saint dissolves the chaos even for himself, for there is something arrogant and warlike in the notion of a man setting the universe in order. It is a kind of balance that is his glory. He rides the drifts like an escaped ski. His course is the caress of the hill. His track is a drawing of the snow in a moment of its particular arrangement with wind and rock. Something in him so loves the world that he gives himself to the laws of gravity and chance. Far from flying with the angels, he traces with the fidelity of a seismograph needle the state of the solid bloody landscape. His house is dangerous and finite, but he is at home in the world. He can love the shape of human beings, the fine and twisted shapes of the heart. It is good to have among us such men, such balancing monsters of love.
- L. Cohen, Beautiful Losers (1966)
img403.imageshack.us/my.php?image=buddhaboyswz2.jpg
What is a saint?
A saint is someone who has achieved a remote human possibility. It is impossible to say what that possibility is. I think it has something to do with the energy of love. Contact with this energy results in the exercise of a kind of balance in the chaos of existence. A saint does not dissolve the chaos; if he did the world would have changed long ago. I do not think that a saint dissolves the chaos even for himself, for there is something arrogant and warlike in the notion of a man setting the universe in order. It is a kind of balance that is his glory. He rides the drifts like an escaped ski. His course is the caress of the hill. His track is a drawing of the snow in a moment of its particular arrangement with wind and rock. Something in him so loves the world that he gives himself to the laws of gravity and chance. Far from flying with the angels, he traces with the fidelity of a seismograph needle the state of the solid bloody landscape. His house is dangerous and finite, but he is at home in the world. He can love the shape of human beings, the fine and twisted shapes of the heart. It is good to have among us such men, such balancing monsters of love.
- L. Cohen, Beautiful Losers (1966)
img403.imageshack.us/my.php?image=buddhaboyswz2.jpg