This morning as the bell
signaled the end of morning zazen
the whistling ducks took up
their song, circling the wetland
as if inviting me to photograph them.
They quickly grew bored waiting
and flew off to a place
I do not know, can not imagine.
Perhaps they will return
this afternoon, circle
in a duck like pose as I capture
them with the long lens, and this
will satisfy them for another day,
but perhaps they will not return
and punish me again
for my morning absence.
Sitting in stillness, the silence
is at first shocking, deafening
in a way unimagined but there.
Within the lack of sound lies
a thousand sounds you
never heard in the din of life.
You hear the young monk at Senso-ji
approach the great bell and pull
back on the log shu-moku, straining.
You hear the laugh of school aged
children hand in hand walking through
the Temple grounds as pigeons gather.
You hear the cat, sitting at the foot
of Daibutsudan, staring out
and the deer waiting at the gate.
You hear your breath and that
of a million others as they sit
on their cushions sharing what is.
Publshed in As Above, So Below, Issue 9, August 2022
https://issuu.com/bethanyrivers77/docs/as_above_so_below_issue_9
In that moment
when the gentle chirping
of a small bird
resounds as a pounding
spring deluge, washes away
the creak and thrum
of passing cars, when she sings
only to you, her small voice
drawn in to your ears, your
mind, until it fades
slowly like the bell
and you wait for it
to strike again, to feel
it seep down your spine,
ooze into your fingers
and toes, pool in bent
knees and elbows, folded hands.
In that moment
the gentle chirping
is your voice, and you
are perched in the weeping
cherry tree in the garden
preening in the morning sun.
First published in Creatopia, Issue 5, Spring 2022
https://creatopia.studio/creatopia-collection-magazine/spring-2022-renewal-magazine/
Tokusan carries bowls
as though expecting a meal.
He is asked, “have
you been called, for
I have rung no bell.”
He returns to his room
in silent response.
You may say he retreated
in defeat, be he will have
the final answer.
A reflection on Case 13 of the Mumonkan (Gateless Gate) Koans
The snow capped mountain
stares at the December sky
shredding laughing clouds.
I sit by the fire dreaming
of the slow approach of spring.
There is a moment
when all is only silence
the zendo in stillness.
In that moment I can hear
the entirety of Dharma
The temple bell tolls,
the deer assume their posture,
afternoon zazen,
I walk around Todai-ji
in futile search of Buddha.
He should have known
that the day was doomed
from the moment he woke
to see his alarm clock in pieces
on the floor by his bed, the cat
grinning at him from the place
where the clock had always sat.
Finally arriving at the office,
he was no sooner at his desk
when the fire alarm bell rang.
Within moments of reentering
after the all clear, it rang again,
and his own, very private
Chinese fire drill was under way.
The day calmed until, after lunch,
the Regional Manager arrived,
gathered everyone at the great
round conference table, and
demanded to know who
had made a simple error,
and watched as the inevitable
circular firing squad began.
The cat likes nothing better
than to sit atop the kitchen cabinets
within easy reach of the ceiling.
We thought at first it was
a place of safety, less to fear
in a new home, new people.
We know better now, for she
goes to high places, cabinets
bookcases, when the meditation bell rings.,
She’ll climb down after
the ending bell rings, when we
emerge from our home Zendo, look
at us to see how our sitting went,
toss her head to indicate that she
came this close to kensho
or perhaps, she notes quickly
it was merely a brief nap, for we
cats are given to both in equal measure.
It is only
in the deep stillness
and silence
of zazen
that the words
of the Dharma
resound loudest
From the cushion
samadhi arises
like a Phoenix
takes wing
and with the final bell
all to often
flies off mindlessly
and it’s gone
until the next sitting.
1.
A millennium ago
the army of the lord
dressed in mail and rode
proud steeds across
barren lands, swords
flashing in a red roasting sun
washed in the blood
of the infidels.
They stopped for prayer
blessing the bodies
left along the dirt track
left by their hooves,
a common grave
for common faces
differing only in the color
of skin and hair.
2.
In this millennium
the army of the lord
slouches outside the mall
rubbing hands against
the chill, the bell bleating
against the night,
a barren moon reflects
off the red kettle.
As they locked the doors
he pulled the flask
from his hip pocket
and thought of the bodies
passing by, swerving
to avoid him, and the
forty dollars he would get
would warm
his frozen skin.
First Appeared in Lullwater Review, Vol. 9, No. 1, 1998. Reprinted in Legal Studies Forum, Vol. 29, No. 1, 2005.
listen carefully
to the sound of the great bell
before being struck
cat stares at Buddha
pigeons flock to ignore him
people see nothing
there is no city
inside the large gate, only
Buddha and pigeons
an old writer and his words 