HEART OF NIGHT

The morphology of dreams
is partially reliant
on the whims of a single
god, and Morpheus
is, to say the least,
a truly fickle bastard
who dangles before us
joy and nightmare
each always just
out of reach, but never
out of sight or hearing.
So we are left
to grasp like marionettes
operated by an unseen hand.

AWAITING THE WAVES

“Describe yourself,” she said
“that I might capture you
if only for this moment
a footprint left once you
have departed this place and time.”
I am, I should think,
biologically plausible
though straining the bounds
of reason once and again.
I tend to philosophic androgyny
hovering on the fulcrum of paradox.
I am the cynic, hurling
great brick bats at God,
relying on her forgiving nature.
I am the imprisoned child
who can see through
unclouded, smiling eyes
beauties and joys just beyond reach.
This is the impression my foot
will leave, until the first wave
erases it from memory.

SUN-FACED BUDDHA, MOON-FACED BUDDHA

Life is joy and pain,
two sides, one coin –
death is caused by birth –
stop and consider this.

Look into the face
of the evening sun,
will it retreat
from your eyes
or linger in memory?
Look into the face
of the full midnight moon,
does she have
the sun’s face
only until morning?


A reflection on Case 3 of the Blue Cliff Record (碧巌録)