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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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THEN, NOW
It was easier then, so let’sgo there, the spring of 1970,the location is less important,so long as it’s a coffee housewhere those barely old enoughto drink, or barely short of thatage congregate, waiting forsomething to happen or, Iseriously hoped, someone,someone with little hair, butwho carried James Joyce inhis jeans pocket, Portrait ofthe Artist the only…
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THE POND
Along the shoreof the pond wishingit was a lake,the anhinga proudlyshows off the small fishthat will be hismid-morning snack. The egret findsthis show of ostentationabhorrent and returnsto her searchfor bugs on the reedsfringing the shore. The alligator swimslazily off shorehoping we willsoon pass, andconsiders whetherhe wants only to sun,or if an anhinga wouldmake a good…
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MELODY
The melody arose from the most unexpected place.They heard it deep within the woodsand even the birds fell silentpeering around, searchingfor its unrevealed source.It carried on for several versesand then, as quickly as it cameit was gone, the final notecarried off by a spring wind.No one entered, no one leftthe woods that dayand though many…
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詩
The Japanese inventedhaiku certain that a paintingof great beauty couldbe completed with onlya few strokes of the brush. The Japanese have no wordfor what we claim is higherorder poetry, academic andpedantic are two other Englishwords which easily apply.And the Japanese are hard putto comprehend so much of whatwe deem experimental, the result,a friend named Yoshi…
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UTEKI ASKS BUDDHA 鐵笛倒吹 四十語
While out for a walkon a sun filled Spring dayif you happen across the Buddhahow will you recognize him? If you offer gasshoto Buddha surelyit will be returned, butis it he or merelyyour reflection offthe surface of a still pond?Does this matter to you? A reflection on case 45 of the Iron Flute Koans
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THE PROMISE
The moon has gone past full and as waning as I write, it’s slow retreat hopefully taking with it the burden of winter, that we now must measure in feet, the inches having been heaved up, one upon another. Spring will come soon for a taste of it, for spring is an inveterate tease, preferring…
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an old writer and his words 