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BIG ISLAND
It is his hands you notice first – dark fingers bent and gnarled, several banded in silver, knuckles scratched by the cat curled at his feet, the tip of his index finger sacrificed to a distraction and the saw, untrimmed nails, rough, ragged a torn cuticle, liver spot rubbed raw. The fingers curl gently around the…
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DEMONS
In the night there are no demons, just the sound of your breathing, and your soft touch on my back, your foot against my calf.
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IF EINSTEIN WAS
If Einstein was correct relatively speaking, the arrow of time, rusted in place, indomitable, can be freed, torn from its mooring and set adrift defying its natural inclination. As the lights of Seoul were engulfed by a blanket of clouds which in…
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THREE VIEWS OF WINTER (HAIKU)
cat curls by the fire dreaming of summer flowers snow falls in laughter now barren branches of the locust tree shiver in the midnight breeze a raging sun sets as cranes raise wings in farewell winter awakens
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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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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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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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