from BARDO

The stars are in our belly; the Milky Way our umbilicus.

Is it a consolation that the stuff of which we’re made

is star-stuff too?

– That wherever you go you can never fully disappear –

dispersal only: carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, oxygen.

Tree, rain, coal, glow-worm, horse, gnat, rock.

Roselle Angwin

Wednesday, 26 November 2014

just this

Clatter of woodpigeons from the losingleaf oak. 

This tightrope – birth, death, suffering, joy; cycling over and again.

One still, pure, moment on the hill – neither thinking nor not-thinking, neither lost nor found.

Taking refuge in the Buddha
meaning in wisdom teachings and the Buddha-nature in everything
Taking refuge in the Dharma
meaning my feet continuing to follow the path as and where it unfolds
Taking refuge in the Sangha, 
meaning in the All of it, in the human and other-than-human community of the Web of Being

Sanctuary in the present moment. As it is. Its pain. Its presence.

A breath. This moisty bosky air. How blessed I am.


To the north, Dartmoor's hills outlined charcoal, cloud-swathed. To the southeast, a brave assay of this tiny splash of sunlight penetrating cloud (the awakenened mind).

The Way leads between attachment which is not love and detachment which is not love.

This third thing: love – the compassionate heart that sees all, hears all, takes all in, holds all, lets all go, gently.

By the farm entrance, 47 new blue periwinkle flowers in this grey day. 

My feet, walking.

May he be free from suffering
May he be free from suffering
May he be free from suffering



  1. Roselle, your words – which, for me, portray the vital balance between conjoined opposites – took me vividly, intensely into your world. I'm very moved by them, particularly those last 5 lines and the final 3. That is exactly how it feels: the rhythms of walking and feeling, of all moods, and the blue against the grey in that heightened awareness of a time like this.
    I'm reminded of my first year on Iona with you in 2012 and how I saw and felt my father's spirit (he died in June 2011) in the stained-glass emerald of new leaves of yellow iris, high up in the just-rising sun between east and west coasts. It is an unforgettable moment.

    Thinking of you, feeling with you.
    Thanks as ever, Miriam x

  2. How kind of you, Miriam, and reassuring not to be alone with this. Lovely poetic words. Thank you.

    With love



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