suavedave
Senior Don Juan
I love this. I am spending some time getting inspired. The best quotes from "Ikkyu and The Crazy Cloud Anthology" are here for you PUAs. But damn, in this vancouver library ... HBs!!!
I post this so you can know that even "saints" can PU... this guy seems to do so EASILY. This guy, I have read (and am sure) is a Buddhist master. Recently deluded by my religious friends that I can't PU and get enlightened, I figure that you can do BOTH: anytime anywhere.:::::::
In the depths of the boudoir, how much poetic inspiration.
Sing before the wind-blown flowers, this fragrant feast's purity.
Cloud-rain on the pillow, the feeling of river and sea.
Mandarin ducks spend their remaining life sleeping on the water.
On the first day of the ninth month, my attendant Mori borrowed a paper cloak from a village monk to protect herself from the cold. How fresh and lovable!
My hand , how it resembles Mori's hand.
I believe the lady is the master of loveplay;
If I get ill, she can care for the jeweled stem.
And then they rejoice, the monks at my meeting.
Blind Mori every night accompanies my singing;
Under the covers, mandarin ducks, intimate talk always new;
Promise anew to meet in the damn of Maitrya
Here at the home of the old Buddha, all things are in spring.
How painful, when physical attachment is very deep:
Suddenly everything is forgotten, prose and verse;
I never knew before this natural happiness;
Still delightful, the sound of the wind soothing my thoughts...
The Arhat has left the dust, no more desire.
Playful games at the brothel, so much desire.
This one is bad, this one is good.
The monk's skill, Devil-Buddha desire.
A beautiful woman, cloud-rain, love's deep river.
Up in the pavilion, the pavilion girl and the old monk sing.
I find inspiration in embraces and kisses;
I don't feel at all that I'm casting my body into flames.
Those who keep the rules are asses, those who break the rules are men.
With as many different names as the sands of the Ganges are the ways of teasing the spirit.
The newborn infant is bound with the threads of marital alliance.
How many springs have the scarlet blossoms opened and fallen?
Ten years spent in brothels, elation difficult to exhaust.
Now, forced to live amid empty mountains and gloomy valleys.
Thirty thousand miles of cloud spread between here and those delightful places;
The wind in the tall pines around the house grates upon my ears.
I post this so you can know that even "saints" can PU... this guy seems to do so EASILY. This guy, I have read (and am sure) is a Buddhist master. Recently deluded by my religious friends that I can't PU and get enlightened, I figure that you can do BOTH: anytime anywhere.:::::::
In the depths of the boudoir, how much poetic inspiration.
Sing before the wind-blown flowers, this fragrant feast's purity.
Cloud-rain on the pillow, the feeling of river and sea.
Mandarin ducks spend their remaining life sleeping on the water.
On the first day of the ninth month, my attendant Mori borrowed a paper cloak from a village monk to protect herself from the cold. How fresh and lovable!
My hand , how it resembles Mori's hand.
I believe the lady is the master of loveplay;
If I get ill, she can care for the jeweled stem.
And then they rejoice, the monks at my meeting.
Blind Mori every night accompanies my singing;
Under the covers, mandarin ducks, intimate talk always new;
Promise anew to meet in the damn of Maitrya
Here at the home of the old Buddha, all things are in spring.
How painful, when physical attachment is very deep:
Suddenly everything is forgotten, prose and verse;
I never knew before this natural happiness;
Still delightful, the sound of the wind soothing my thoughts...
The Arhat has left the dust, no more desire.
Playful games at the brothel, so much desire.
This one is bad, this one is good.
The monk's skill, Devil-Buddha desire.
A beautiful woman, cloud-rain, love's deep river.
Up in the pavilion, the pavilion girl and the old monk sing.
I find inspiration in embraces and kisses;
I don't feel at all that I'm casting my body into flames.
Those who keep the rules are asses, those who break the rules are men.
With as many different names as the sands of the Ganges are the ways of teasing the spirit.
The newborn infant is bound with the threads of marital alliance.
How many springs have the scarlet blossoms opened and fallen?
Ten years spent in brothels, elation difficult to exhaust.
Now, forced to live amid empty mountains and gloomy valleys.
Thirty thousand miles of cloud spread between here and those delightful places;
The wind in the tall pines around the house grates upon my ears.
