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THE FINAL SCENE
For far too long he had beena marionette dancing to a tunehe could not hear, always staying silent,lost in a kabuki theater of the absurd.But he had grown tired of performingat their every demand, his life livedperpetually on call, no time truly his.He was drained by them, empty,not that they cared for they knewthe adulation…
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ROBE
Robe of liberationembodiment of emptinessin prescribed formonce Brahmin garbtattered strips of clothcarefully stitched togetherstitches made, pulledand resewn, bitsof dharma wornover the heartwanting silencebeneath the Bodhi treeawaiting the bell,the dawn,the triple recitation,the three prostrationsBuddhas and BuddhasIn waiting, abidingfailure and compassion.
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SAY WHAT?
In the heart of the night Iam wandering the back streetsand alleys of old Kyoto when Istumble across old Joshu staringplacidly at his acolyte monksgathered closely around him.“I ask you all again,” he says,“does a dog have Buddha Nature?”The monks consider this at length,each afraid to respond incorrectly.In this dream I am a cat out…
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THREE TANKA
As the sun riseseach morning the Great Egretslift into the skyas we stand fixed to the ground.We now can feel their pity. Little Blue Heronsstare into the clouded skyknowing that the sunwill soon reappear and stealaway with the morning chill In Todai-jisika deer await the bellthat signals the endof morning zazen and startlooking for tourist…
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AT THE TEMPLE
He stood stilljust outside the Buddha Hallhis back to the altar lookingat the great bell, watchingthe young robed monk approach.He knew what was coming,steeled himself for the momentas the monk walked into the shoro,pulled back on the suspended log,waited for that one instantwhen the log would strike the bell,the moment of atari, and he smiledknowing…
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A DRY GARDEN LAUGHING
In the heart of Nara Parkthere is a five story pagoda.Deer appear, standing sentinelalong the lantern lined walk.Up the unseen hillthe Temple bell announcesthe full arrival of morningas the Golden Buddha awakens.Young children can seeall of this through eyesunlensed, and fetter free.They watch cloudsrelease a cascadeof tiny maple leaveswhich flow over sitting monks,a stream washing…
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TOKYO NIGHT SCENES
Scene 1Just off Shinjuku chuo koen North,nestled in the courtyardof the Green Tower, hidesJyoufuji Temple, serenein the first light of morning,the sun dancing off the ceremonialbell its striker poised, as ifwaiting to catch the windand to it sing its resonant song.Inside, the prayer mats awaitthe first supplicants of the daybelow the sandalwood altarand above it…
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ON THE CUSHION
The day has slipped away,or mostly so, as they often doas if nature provided a hiddengrease that lets them outof our grasp no matterhow hard we try and hold them.It is little consolation, laterin life, that nights demonstrateand equal unwillingnessto remain very long, as ifour dreams must be hurriedas are our days and nights.Sitting on…
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CIRCLING
This morning as the bellsignaled the end of morning zazenthe whistling ducks took uptheir song, circling the wetlandas if inviting me to photograph them. They quickly grew bored waitingand flew off to a placeI do not know, can not imagine. Perhaps they will returnthis afternoon, circlein a duck like pose as I capturethem with the…
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IN SILENCE
Sitting in stillness, the silenceis at first shocking, deafeningin a way unimagined but there.Within the lack of sound liesa thousand sounds younever heard in the din of life.You hear the young monk at Senso-jiapproach the great bell and pullback on the log shu-moku, straining.You hear the laugh of school agedchildren hand in hand walking throughthe…
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an old writer and his words 