-
TUESDAYS ONLY
Everything important, he declared, should happen on a Tuesday. Wednesday, he explained, was saddled with a deep burden of middleness, rendering it unfit for much else. Friday simply couldn’t be trusted, since five o’clock everywhere came earlier and earlier each year it seemed. The weekend was for battling Sabbaths and there would be no winners…
-
OF THEE I SING
My ancestors stole your tongue and left you mute in a world you could not grasp. Now as I search for words of forgiveness I can find none, for my voice is clogged with…
-
INDEPENDENCE DAY
It is Independence Day in Seoul and I am sitting in my room in the Ritz Carlton looking out over closed shops, traffic moving along the streets watching CNN and AFKN. The shops of Namdaemun are closed, you can walk the small alleys as vendors hawk jeans with mis-sewn Guess labels and T-shirts from the…
-
IN THE GARDEN
He imagined what it must have been like in the garden, before the snake, before the damned apple, though certainly not before the missing rib, that was a complete and utter bore, and yes beauty can be infinitely boring given half a chance. But to be blissfully ignorant, without the burden of knowledge, the taste…
-
THE THING OF IT
The thing he wants most is to experience life and all it offers. By that he means he wants to see what is there, to smell it, to engage it with all of his senses, for those are what he trusts, they provide him reality, without them his mind could not frame the moment. The…
-
INCEPTION
Morning arrived as usual today and we shook ourselves slowly from sleep to greet it. As we rose and drew open the curtains and blinds all that morning had to say, and said rather imperiously was “where is the coffee — you can’t expect a damn thing from me until I’ve had at least two…
-
IMPENDING DEPARTURE
I will be going soon and this is what I would leave you: I would leave you my dreams of a world at peace, where compassion comes as an expectation not a surprise, a place where the arrival of the sun is a source of joy for with it and the rains, you, no one,…
-
ANGUO’S “THE MASTER’S FLESH IS STILL WARM”
If you are asked “who are you?” how will you reply, and who is the person asking the question? If you answer, you are blind if you say nothing you speak loudly. The sage will tell you that there is no you and if you doubt him he will hold up a mirror and ask…
-
WALKING
He has been walking for hours, or, perhaps for days, it doesn’t matter since he is precisely where he should be at this moment. He is tired, so he sits in seiza and watches a colony of ants working away in a crack in the path, each doing his assigned task. He knows ants have…
-
MORNING
Each morning she looks at the small window in her bedroom, just after the sun has broken the horizon and the lake is set ablaze. Each morning she sees the small boat, its oars resting on the gunwale, dark against the orange water. She never asks how the boat got there, why it stays there,…
-
Subscribe
Subscribed
Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
an old writer and his words 