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SEOUL NIGHTS
they wander up and down cluttered streets alleys under blazing signs OP.10 Nightclub Club Alaska Hesed Disco streets taped with posters Dancoh Discotheque young men flicking business cards cardboard confetti Venturi “Coffee and Whiskey” neon flashing Bulgari Nigh…
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ECHU EXPELS A DISCIPLE 鐵笛倒吹 語十三
If you come upon Echu napping do not disturb him, but retreat to the zendo or walk in the small garden where enlightenment may be found. If the search is successful leave quickly, tell no one, for it is very fragile and the tongue is sharper than the sword and infinitely more deadly.
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THE FLY
The fly hovers before me I stare at it trying to freeze its diaphanous wings to hold it, still, in my mind’s eye locking it in a moment that might last my eternity. I sit calmly in the chair staring out at the storm building outside the window as the fly stares at me seeing…
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DISCOVERY
In a small storefront, in an older neighborhood of the city, I found it. Sepia coated with a fine sheen of dust and neglect, it lay on the table amid a stack of others, as though a leaf of phyllo in a poorly made stack fresh from the oven. I knew it as I looked…
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TRANSITIONS
Dusk is that hour when the mind and eyes mark the slow transition from light to dark. As day slides off, things that were obvious, things that once were simple, grow in complexity until the intricacy threatens to overwhelm you. When night fully settles, sanity returns grudgingly and the memory of dusk is but a…
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PEACE MANDALA
The saffron robed monks stoop carefully, dropping single grains of colored sand onto the mandala of peace. They rock gently as the intricate wheel takes shape and form. They are drawn to its center, closer day by day, countless hours focussed to a singularity. They interlace fingers bow a collective head and pray silently for…
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A POET IS
A poet is a child who on seeing a blank page must fill it with dreams hears the song of the nightingale in the din of passing traffic comforts the lonely mother recalling the pain of a thousand births sees in each passing cloud the tears of a generation feels the heat of the sun…
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JOSHU’S FOUR GATES 正法眼蔵 四十六
If you ask me who I am, I will have you close your eyes and walk behind you, or I may step to your left and take your right hand. If you are perplexed, I will ask you: do the four gates open into the city or out to the world beyond, and if I…
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SEOUL: A TALE OF TWO CITIES
Namdaeman is a ghetto of shops and stalls, where men squat cupping cigarettes and gesture, their hands grasping stacks of bills, rocking on their heels until they leap up to a patron, asking this price or that, assessing the will of the buyer by the thickness of his or her wallet. An old woman sits…
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THE RIVER
The river, flowing through the heart of the city never pauses to note the cafés and shops lining its banks. The couple in the wine bar look out over the river’s waters but can not imagine the sea. Among them, river, man and woman a thousand stories will go untold.
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an old writer and his words 