MEOW

Again today I am inside this so called
box, unchanged perhaps, but who
is to say, not you, still Schrodinger’s cat.

Don’t bother to ask if I am dead
or alive, for like the Master Daowu, you
can bet that I won’t say, so there.

And do not assume I know what I am,
for if I were dead, I’d hardly know it
and what guarantee is there that

I’m actually alive merely because
I think I am, or is it that I think
I think that I am, it’s all so Descartean

that I’m never quite certain, so let’s just
assume that old Schrodinger was right,
I’m alive and dead, and leave it at that.

SPACED OUT

The question you must answer,
and the one question I am certain
you cannot answer correctly is this:

Does space define us
or do we define space?

Hints, of course, abound but we,
myself included, fail or choose
not to see them or outright deny them.

We are all comfortable at home,
the adventurous among us declare
that wherever they are is home.

The sane ones among is say this is
nothing more than self-sophistry
or bullshit dressed in elegant cliche,

We want not only to limit space,
for then the cliche might have
more than a small kernel of truth,

but we need to declare it mine
so that it cannot be yours as well,
get your own damn space if you want.

Do you see the answer now, is it
clear to you once and for all, are
you willing to admit to the world

that space defines you
just as you define space

for it is on this evanescent foundation
on which your whole sense of self
resides and your ego dwells.

HEAVEN, ONLY SLIGHTLY OUT OF REACH

God is fixed in the firmament
seen as puppet master by some
patrician uncle, small child
endlessly shifting blocks
in new, transitory universes.
All things recede from a point,
have since the creation
and that point, dimensionless
is God, vast and infinite.
It swings lazily, back, forth
a needle in its cusp tracing
lines in the bed of sand
in constant motion as we
and earth, and all of our
universe spin slowly
around its focus, it swings
lazily back, forth, tracing
an ever-shifting path
marked in displaced sand
ponderous from its fine
steel tendril which rises
to a point without size,
shape, or time, frozen
a singularity from which
all else emanates. God lives, bat-like
on the ceiling of
the San Francisco Science Museum
and the Hayden Planetarium
and countless other buildings
given to science,
omnipresent yet fixed
dimensionless and infinite
always a ladder’s climb
just out of reach.

Published in The Raven’s Perch (August 3, 2020)
https://theravensperch.com/heaven-only-slightly-out-of-reach-by-louis-faber/

FREEZE FRAME

When you see a photograph of a drop
of water hitting a still pond, you realize
that it is nothing at all like what you see.

The photo freezes time, and that is why
we are so taken, for we want nothing more
than to slow or stop that unerring arrow

for we know all too well where its target
sits and we will never see its point
for the intended point is infinitely far

and we are but a small interstitial step
on its path, and so we want to freeze
the arrow’s flight , to grasp it, to turn

it around if possible, certain we can
wish it, certain that the archer knew
we would, certain in the end we will fail.

WORMHOLE LOGIC

Getting a headache, are we? You feel like Schrodinger’s cat. It’s really like asking yourself if the Big Bang was the beginning of everything, what was there in that split second before the Big Bang? If God created everything, what created God? If time begins with the Big Bang, what time was it before there was time? And who are you really, if you know your are merely an illusion created by you? And please tell me, what time is it? Find the black hole, for there is freedom.

SHUZAN’S SHIPPEI 無門關 四十三

Osho holds up a staff
and cradles a small
long haired dog. What
do you call these, he asks
the gathered assembly
in both fact and reality?

A chattering din brings
the hall to silence,
until the ghost of Joshu
unfolds himself, strides
to the zendo door, and
while bowing, shouts
MU!


A reflection on Case43 of the Mumonkan (Gateless Gate)