Posted on Aug.08.2009 @ 10:58PM EDT by chontri
What, monks, is the world? The eye and shapes, the ear and sounds,
the nose and smells, the tongue and tastes, the body and tactile objects,
the mind and mental objects - these...
Posted on Jun.11.2013 @ 10:55AM EDTbycinchona
It was an interesting night at the poetry club on the weekend, There were people of religious order and a international selling poet. People read poems of love and hate, sex and drugs, flowers and stars, pets and lifestyles. Then a man wearing a peace symbol on his t-shirt went up and read some very descriptive poems on the destruction of the environment, racism, and violence, you could feel the tension in the air amongst the crowd as their hairs stand on end as he recites some horrific events of human history, then half way through a poem on poverty he gets drowned out by the abuse of the listeners whom he had just sat and listened to them read in praise of sex and drugs and lust and greed. Yet his words like a horror movie had people jumping out of there skin. The abuse got that bad he had to leave in a hurry.