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ON ARRIVING
They arrive after a long flightfrom tyranny, from oppressionfrom the nightmare of endlessfear, from hunger, from faithdenied, from the bottomlessdepths of poverty, scarredmemories etched in their souls,hoping for an ending as muchas wishing for a new beginning.They have been here, a newgeneration, raised on the stories,versed in the painful history,still residual anger bornof love for…
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WORKSHOP
Grace settles into the chair,less an act of sitting thanof floating down onto the seat.She has borrowed my grandmother’ssmile, kind, gentle, inviting.She pulls a book from her bag,its pages or most of themdog eared, and I glimpsesome annotations in the margins.We sit around her like childrenawaiting presents on a holiday,as acolytes seeking knowledgefrom a font…
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STRANGE BEAUTY
There is a strange beautyin the slow loss of sight,for there is a progressivetransition, a discoveryof much that went unheard,unfelt, missing in the glareof the need to see, to categorizeand organize, memoriesneatly arranged in an arrayof curated visual files. But without sight what oncewas cast aside as noise isan intricate tapestry of soundand undistracted, you…
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WHERE?
It is hard,painfully hardto realizeyour guidedoesn’t knowwhere youneed to go. And the onewho could guideyou isn’tthere, doesn’tknow youat all, hadyou whenshe couldonly place youfor adoption. So you wanderguideless,self-guided,deeper intothe unknown.
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SURGERY
Preparing it to undergothe knife, its core excised,stem cast aside, slicedthen cut into piecesI pause to consider thatthis pear was oncea blossom, a delicatewhite flower, its cranberryred anthes soon to turnblack, picked carefully,cradled into a bushel,by a knowing hand,washed, and gentlypacked for shipment.For me it was justplucking it from the binat the market, holdingit in…
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MORNING
In that momentwhen the gentle chirpingof a small birdresounds as a poundingspring deluge, washes awaythe creak and thrumof passing cars, when she singsonly to you, her small voicedrawn in to your ears, yourmind, until it fadesslowly like the belland you wait for itto strike again, to feelit seep down your spine,ooze into your fingersand toes,…
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ENO DOESN’T UNDERSTAND 正法眼蔵 語十九
You ask meif I understandthe preceptsand follow them.You frown whenI say I do not.Remember wellthat the young childhas no understandingof the preceptsand walks easilyalong the Way. A reflection on case 59 of the Shobogenzo Koans (Dogen’s True Dharma Eye)
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IN MY BAG
I carry my pastin a monk’s bagthat rests on my shoulder. In it you will findmy history, or bitsof it, names I havebeen given, given up,memories of childhood,pictures of my parentswho I never knew,aged in my mind fromthe photos in yearbooks,all that I have of them.. I still have roomin my bag, perhapsmore room than…
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SPRING
She says her favorite monthis May, when spring’s gripis tightest, but most of allshe cherishes the rain.She is intimate with the rain,there is a privacy that onlyshe can concede, if she wants.She can take a drop of rainand it is hers alone, she needonly share it with the sky,it is always clean on her tongue.She…
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INTO THE BRUSH
I have carefully peeledback the skin of a hundred snakesand left their twisted formscurled around mesquiteas so many skirts. Canadia geesefollow carefully worn pathsacross an October skyundeterred by storm cloudsgiving chase from the west.A wolf wanders downfrom the tree line to the edgeof the highway. She can tastethe approach of winter,bitter on her tongue, her…
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an old writer and his words 