At the end
of a long day of discourse
the teacher may ask the student
what have you learned.
How should the student respond.

The student may raise a finger
and trace a line
in the air of a fading day.
Which, I ask you
is the teacher
and which
is the student?

A reflection on Case 83 of The Iron Flute



A man may own
may volumes of great knowledge
and never have time to read.
An illiterate may take such books
and fashion a stool
on which to sit in meditation.

Which of these is truly wise
which the greatest fool.
Wipe your mouth
with this page
at the conclusion
of the meal.

A reflection on Case 75 of the Iron Flute.


Lao Tse, venerable one
you would be pleased
as I sit here
drawing closer
to the center
quested for my Buddhahood
be not seeking it
amid the rain of fire
from the hills
above the blood
congealing in the streets.
I know not to ask
and am unseen
by the child and mother
running through the street
and untouched by
the hail of ammunition
biting at their heels.
I smell the lotus
mixed with the cordite
giving scent to the morning
and in the clouds
see the approach
of understanding.


One of the hardest things
about being a Buddhist
are the insects.
Setting aside their sentiency,
insects are a true test
of our ability to honor
the first of the four vows,
for while moths
can be captured in cupped hands,
the karmic dilemma
of how to deal with a spider
that refuses to crawl
onto the waiting piece of paper
and requires you to sacrifice
one or more of its legs
thus condemning it to a life
of unbalanced webs
leaves you Sekiso’s man
at the top
of the hundred foot pole.