Category Archives: 1960s

Lost in Zen

Lost in Zen

Born like a dream

in this dream of a world,

How easy in mind I am,

I who will fade away

like the morning dew. — Zen poem


Born like a dream

Says the poet, 

This dream of a world.

Ah, but 

Even Issa,

troubador of liberation,

wept when 

his child died,

his little girl.

This world may be a dewdrop, 

he said,

This world–

 and yet….and yet…
Keenest of Zen poems and
the most awakened.

Don’t believe that Zen monks

in their mountain abodes

Did not weep,  were not lonely.

Even Satori may not bring peace

from the grasp for 

child- warmth,

From heart loss of the smile

That lit the mornings?

We are not awakened who do not love.
Even those who see Being

Illusory, transient, 

reach for the  sudden reflection on the water

of the  vanished image,

May listen, heart beating for the absent one,

To the calling of night birds

Under stars and pines

in the hut on the hillside.
…Deep Autumn,

How does my neighbor live,

I wonder?

How happy to drink

wine with a visitor,

If only in memory.

Alone with the rocks

And tathata, oneness,

We still hope to see  a

human form on the hillside.

…As I gathered firewood

You came to visit!

Your sandals stirred the dust on the floor,

But I was not here.

…Don’t worry, Spiders,

I keep house casually–

you are my companions

among the jagged granite,

the ever more windblown hemlocks.
Even a Zen master

May long to see Buddha

On the road… to kill him?

Look first in his eyes to

see your true nature,


As the gray mouse

Appears  and whisks away

Behind these thin pine walls.

The human eye,

Better to look into than to

Gaze upon God!

Said  Melville,

The master of destruction,

Shiva Nataraja who

Dances away the world!

Blake,  thought, 

eternal seer,


Sorrow is not fit for immortals

And is useless to anyone.


No loss.
The forest stirs in  soft wind,

Rain patters the hut roof

And I sleep, again in peace

With transitory being.

I have washed my bowl.

After the Zen poets, especially Issa.

–Ladybelle Fiske
(Isabella Fiske McFarlin)

March 1 2017



Nelson Mandela; Great Beings; The Rights of Woman


Jim Drougas and I exchanged chat messages tonight. He said that “The Onion” had said that never in the history of the world had mourning for a politician affected so many people in so many parts of the world (If I understood him correctly). I said that I thought that John F. Kennedy’s mourning, 50 years ago, had been pretty substantial. I hope that Jim understood that I didn’t mean that I thought that JFK and Mandela were exactly the same sort of person, only that Kennedy was mourned and missed and sorrowed for in a way that spread over the world and affected everyone then living. It was a great shock to all to have an American  president assassinated.

I think JFK would have been a very interesting president, and probably a great one, had he been fortunate enough to live as long as Mr. Mandela. But I was not saying that the 2 men had achieved the same thing or that they were equal in their ability to understand the human condition or to affect those around them.

Nelson Mandela’s was the more remarkable achievement, in that after going into a terrible, hardworking, Alcatatraz-like jail for 27 years, he emerged in a beautiful dignity, and clothed in the wish for nonviolence and a wish for peace and reconciliation for S. Africa. Who has done anything like him in terms of saying “Throw your knives and guns into the ocean”  when he saw that young Blacks were rising up in fury and violence that he himself would perhaps have espoused if he had been the man he was when going into prison so many years before? I heard one person on National Pub. Radio saying that Mandela had made a sensible and thoughtful decision, on coming out of jail, to embrace nonviolence, in a world that had changed immensely since he had gone in. I think that he himself had also seen enough suffering, enough pain and enough death and had come to decide that, as in Southern North America in the Civil Rights years, nonviolence was the only way to finally end the struggle, win over the minority of whites who still held so much power. But then, when he had won, when he was in place, when he became President of S. Africa, he very sanely and sensibly gave all the South Africans, Black and White, a way out. He asked them to confess and to forgive one another. When in the history of the world has this been done before? No one has done it. If MLK (Dr.King) had lived, if it had been possible in those racist days here in the US, for him to become President (he could not have), possibly he would have thought of such an act– a further development of Gandhi’s Satyagraha. But it was for Mandela and his government to create a way to make peace in their nation. It is difficult to imagine America being able to do such a thing– to confess crimes in exchange for being forgiven. Here, no doubt, someone would blow the head off of anyone who confessed to having raped a daughter, killed a father, tortured a brother.

But in any case, it worked in South Africa. It is not perfect there and they still have many problems, I am sure — but who doesn’t?
I will very profoundly miss the greatness of having a Bodhisattva like Mandela in the world. We have been lucky in my (The Baby Boomer) generation. We have had many wonderful scientific advances and we have lived among true Buddhas, many of whom, as my father, Irving, used to say, did not even realize they were Buddhas.

Nelson Mandela, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., and his many helpers; Rosa Parks, Robert Kennedy (if he had lived, I hope he would have kept his promise to get out of Vietnam); John Kennedy if he had lived and developed to be all he could be; Gandhi died only a few years before I was born; The Dalai Lama… and many women who are just now beginning to be known in their own struggle for women’s rights and safety all over the world; their work for women and girls to be able to go to school, and their right to dress as they wish, drive a car,and NOT have their genitals ripped out without anesthesia (or at all). I am against all circumcision unless an adult chooses it for themselves, but “female circumcision” as practiced in many Muslim societies, even here and in CAnada, is one of the most horrific and brutal tortures ever invented. And the only crime those who receive this terrible punishment have committed is to be born female, and to have sexual desire…

I have defended (on Twitter, notably) Muslims and their right to live peaceably without being harassed for what extremists in their society have done. Female genital mutilation has nothing to do with Muslim belief or with the teachings of the Koran, I understand. And so it is not that I am changing my mind about the right of those who believe in Allah to live as they believe, but all people, women, have the right to live with their bodies whole and unharmed and their psyches unravaged by having their own mothers, aunts or grandmothers arrange to have them cut in horrific ways meant to make them “pure.” I beg women in these societies to use their influence, if any, with the men who command the situation to forego having their daughters mutilated, and please, send them to school (if they wish to go), so they can become a part of the world on their own terms one day.

This has nothing to do with poetry and fiction, and other kinds of artistic expression, but perhaps one may consider it a kind of essay. Here it is at QH’s “arts” page, anyway.

Thanks for reading.

Ladybelle Fiske


By Dillard K. Henderson, QH’s Poet Laureate

Sonnet Number Fifty
All in one flowing moment free from time,
I sat upon a mighty mountainside
Beneath great metal booming wind-blown chimes
Above Zen terraced gardens with my guide.
I saw below, beyond the knoll and stream, 
Another mountain breath and undulate.
Awaking slowly from delusion’s dream,
I entered then a much more mindful state.
Then beauty’s beings, radiant as suns,
Each sang her sacred spirit song to me.
The spirit world and this one too were one.
The moon arose, and I began to see.
I heard all music, then, in but one chime
And knew forever, then, in Earthly time.

The Vermont Movie

See this amazing film, years in the making, and featuring Quarry Hill among other Vermont community-type living arrangements.  Freedom and Unity forever! You’ll be able to see where it will be screening near you, and get tickets as soon as you can.

Thanks to our friend Nora Jacobson, a great filmmaker, we are in it, and I look forward to seeing it (though a bit shy about seeing myself).

Have fun!

Elegy for Prospero


Written in about May, 1990, after my father died on April 25, 1990.

I speak here as Miranda, returning to “the magic isle” to see the place once more, and to seek for the magic her father renounced, hoping to find in it a sign of him.

Elegy for Prospero 
The landscape is without its central figure:
No gleam of silver hair
Nor laughter in the grove.  Gone is the wizard.
Singing birds move among the trees,
The sun is hot and rich, but he is gone.
I land my yellow boat upon the shore
And pull it in. Fish splash in reed and lily cluster
Round my bare feet in clear, still water.
Climbing the sandy path, I brush
An ancient, silvered stump which long ago
Served me for castle. Acorn kings dwelt there:
They, too, have gone.
This lush and tropic afternoon
A thousand-memoried scent
Emits from tiny budding figs
That he’ll no longer taste.
The ivy vine he raised around his window
Curls: abundant, and untroubled by his death.
Prospero, you are gone. Your absence
Permeates all. This red clay road, the stars,
The water– filled with your presence,
Filled with your absence.
Forlorn now the owl’s cry:
´There was lived here so vast, so powerful a life
That they who journeyed to our strange abode
Lingered, enchanted and amazed.
Yea, in this magic place,
A thousand spells were cast, a thousand dramas played,
Here miracles were wrought,
Here human and spirit did cavort,
But our revels now are ended.’
Unto this mysterious island I now return in wonder:
Into the silence, into the singing of birds
I inquire. The sky is deepening, empty.
Prospero, whence does that magic go
When the conjurer has renounced it?
Has it gone hence with he
Who stirred the storms?
Pine forest and memory answer:
“It yet awaits. It is in you.”
The whippoorwill begins its evening incantation.
–Isabella Fiske McFarlin


The Great Being who was born to Ellias Lonsdale and myself in 1971. We heard her "knocking" from the other side of Heaven't door.

The Great Being who was born to Ellias Lonsdale and myself in 1971. We heard her “knocking” from the other side of Heaven’s door.

Joya Lonsdale, brilliant and beautiful being who  came to this Earth some years ago to help it. So far, she is doing a remarkable job!

I love you.

Joya Lonsdale, brilliant and beautiful being who came



I am sorry about the bombings in Boston. We have tried to help with a little money (we can’t afford much). I will give blood soon. Hope others will too.

I was so relieved to hear that Joya and Brem are all right. Yet, others aren’t, and I am really sad for the families of those killed and for those injured.

I am — as a pacifist and a Quaker– also sorry for innocents (esp. children) killed in drone strikes and all acts of war.

— Ladybelle