-
GREATLY EXAGERATED
Many now say the age of great literaturehas died, the mortal woiund inflictedby the advent of the self-correctingIBM Selecric typewriter, when wordsbcame evanescent, as suddenly goneas when they spilled onto the page. Others, I count myself among them,believe the wound was not fatal,deep certainly, but yet there remainsa faint pulse, ressuscitation possiblewith the application of…
-
WRITING MY STORY
With the stroke of a pen,they enabled me to write the story,gave a framework on whichI could hang all mannerof dreams and assumptions,inviting a search I neverquite got around to making. I wandered the beachesof Estoril in my dreams,stalked the avenues of Lisbon,looking for a familiar face,but found only ghosts. With the stroke of a…
-
TODAI-JI
The snow capped mountainstares at the December skyshredding laughing clouds.I sit by the fire dreamingof the slow approach of spring. There is a momentwhen all is only silencethe zendo in stillness.In that moment I can hearthe entirety of Dharma The temple bell tolls,the deer assume their posture,afternoon zazen,I walk around Todai-jiin futile search of Buddha.
-
A BUFFALO PASSES 無門關 三十八
Staring out, watch the bullwalk slowly pastalong the old road.Marvel at his horns,the flare of his nostrilsin his massive head,his breath hangingin the early morning chill. Mark each leg, itsmuscles rippling, as it passes.You feel you know the beastbut only if you close your eyescan you grasp its tail. A reflection on Case 38 of…
-
RETAINER
I had a meeting this morningwith a number of the birdsthat inhabit our wetland. The said they wanted to retainmy services, although howthey discovered I was a lawyeris wholly beyond me as Iretired several years ago. They asked me to drafta cease and desist letterto all Americans, demandingthat we stop tweeting, ormore to the point,…
-
TRIPTYCH
A triptych hangs in the gallery of memory. Admission is by invitation only. The first panel is a time fogged mirror into which I stare. The adopted image hides behind the tarnished silver. My adopted mother’s voice is heard from a hidden speaker: “You were named after my father.” I want to tape his picture…
-
DIFFERENT TODAY
The air we breathe is different today,and we inhale more deeplywith the energy of our youth. The tears we cry today are notsolely tears of loss and sorrow,but also of promise and hope. The wine that we drink todaywill be the same as before, butnow sweeter on the tongue. The sleep that we sleep tonightwill…
-
HUANG PO’S GOBBLERS OF DREGS
You have heard that whenthe student is ready the teacher appears,and you believe you are ready,but no teacher has appeared.I can tell you that you are ready,that you will never be ready,that I am not the teacher,that the teacher is here,and that the teacher will never appear.But the path you seek to findwith a teacher…
-
IN THE JUNGLE
If you close your eyesyou can imagine that this gardenwas once a tropical jungleas imagined by some cleverFloridian striving to separatemore tourists from theirdwindling travellers checks. It has been carefully done over,plants native and ornamentalreplacing the vines and trees,the alligators, real and imaginarygone, now an exhibit of Lego animals,the orchids in bloom, andyou wonder why…
-
JANUARY
It is an odd feeling, in the middleof January, to no longer considerbecoming a bear, choosingto hibernate until Spring arrivesdemanding an awakening. I did that for years, nevergrew the heavy fur coat neededand wasn’t much for digging densin the snow, so I sat insideand dreamed of bearishness. Living now among the birdswhere we shiver when…
-
Subscribe
Subscribed
Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
an old writer and his words 