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LINES
We love drawing lines and borders. There are few things we do better than that. But increasingly we have lost our once finely honed skill at placing them where they ought to be. I won’t even get into walls on borders to keep out families, those like our families were once. I mean small lines…
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PROGRESS?
It is progressing, but thatshould not come as a surprise to you,for they told you it would happenand you accepted that as a fact. It is the speed at which it has progressed,much faster than you imagined,what was once clear, now vagueever more amorphous, half alreadyeffectively gone, and the other half? I imagine what would…
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THE POET?
He stood in front of the classin a more than half empty lecture halland leaned into the podium, almost smiling. He was here, a real poet, half famousby his own reckoning, totally so by ourssince he was rumpled, as a poet ought,his sport coat tweedy and ill fitting. Still we harbored some doubts,for there was…
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THE HALF TRUTH
As a Jewish kid in a small cityI suppose I had it pretty good, enoughof us that I didn’t totally stand out,and it helped living a single blockfrom the Jewish funeral home, somejust didn’t want to travel all that farwhen the inevitable time came. But we soon moved to the suburbs,the shtetl neighborhood was gone,and…
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CALLING THE MASTER 無門關 十二
Each morning ask yourselfif it is you who is thereand answer: “Of course.” Remind yourself“Do not be madea fool of today”and assure yourselfyou will not Each morningfour selves,each deluded, eachthe fool, of one selfwhich is no selffree of all delusion. A reflection on Case 12 of the Mumonkan (Gateless Gate Koans)
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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…
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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…
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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.
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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…
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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,…
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an old writer and his words 