Not so much watched
as casually gazed at, and
not a pot but a smartphone,
which had best not boil.
No ring, not this day
lost in what, an absent
mind, thoughts of self,
not unexpected but wanted.
Distance real becomes
distance virtual, empty
later explained, words
of apology, forgiveness
but a lingering scar that
will recede, reappear
that laughter may cover
but never fully erase.
If you must
follow the Way, you
may read the Dharma
for hours on end
or you may brew
a pot of tea
for your teacher, or
bring your student
a towel and basin.
Which two steps
along the way
will you take?
A reflection on Case 61 of Dogen’s Shobogenzo Koans (True Dharma Eye)
We stood trapped between
slack-jawed and reverent
looking at the woman sitting
cross-legged outside the doorway
lovingly fashioning a pot,
her gnarled fingers gentle
on the yielding clay.
Others this day fashioned
rings and pendants
simple tools on silver
and one of a kind treasures
they would lay out
on blankets hoping we
would want more
than just a photograph.
Our day on the Taos Pueblo
ended too early, its
memories lingering
a lifetime.
an old writer and his words 