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OLD MONK
The old monk stooped carefully, gingerly picking each browning leaf from the dry garden and gently placing it in the sack he carried. With each leaf he would increase his count, always certain that it fully fell into the sack. When the last leaf was picked and even the autumn tree dared not drop another…
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HAWK
A red tailed hawk watches carefully from the tall pine that stands proud in the next yard. It is not clear for what he is watching, perhaps it is nothing at all, or something my human vision cannot discern. I stare at him, but he does not return my stare, and after some time lifts…
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KINHIN (WALKING MEDITATION)
The entirety of this practice is to learn to walk with a lightness, so that you contact the earth, the grass, not tread on it, so that the earth and the grass caress your feet and not try to push them away, and all the while there must be a gentleness of breath, so the…
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THE LAKE
Sitting out in the middle of the large lake is a very small island. It’s more of a large rock just sticking out of the water, but everyone calls it an island. Moss grows all over the exposed part so you don’t know it’s all stone unless you row out to it, which no one…
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A MONESTARY HEAD IS SELECTED 鐵笛倒吹 七十四
A starving man will prefer a crust of bread over an invitation to a future feast. When asked what you seek, what do you say? When asked why you seek it, what is your answer? When you expect nothing you will not be disappointed. A relection on case 74 of the Iron Flute.
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TIME PASSING
We spend countless time trying to find silence, and when we find it it drives us to distraction. We can lose ourselves in noise as we never can in silence, and being emotionally naked alone is the scariest place this side of death, and we know that death promises only silence eternal.
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TWO SEASONS (HAIKU)
Blue heron takes flight giant wings stir wispy clouds April emerges. December garden faceless Buddha loudly laughs wriggling toes in snow.
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RESURRECTION
In the picture he is young, wearing a uniform that fits him, has his name over the breast, but his hair is longer. The picture is a bit askew, there is a clock on the wall but the time does not matter. He knows it was the radio studio but others would not, the mic…
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FERRYMAN
He comes to me in the dead hour of night the old shriveled man poling his poor ferry across the river of my dreams. He comes when the moon has fled and the stars fall mute and he beckons me holding out the copper coins stating his fare. He comes to me, beckoning, and for…
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ROAD TRIP
Two nights gone and sleep has come fitfully, and I stir each time I reach across the bed and you aren’t there, and there is only the faintest smell of bleach and cleaning solvent. I want very much to dream of you, to trace your cheek with dream fingers, to taste your lips on mine,…
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an old writer and his words 