They sit on the barren tree staring at what we cannot fathom. They are strangely beautiful creatures and utterly odd looking as well. Their black plumage is entrancing, more so when put on display by extended wings. But inevitably it is their head and neck that draws the eye. Gray against the ebony of their bodies, and wrinkled as if wearing a chain mail balaclava. We can only imagine how strange we must look to them. And with the mutual nod we retreat to the house as they lift into the waiting sky.
The young child stares up into the sky and sees in the infinite space countless worlds take form and then die.
On the mesa coyotes cry seeing gods in what men deface the young child stares up into the sky
hears his ancestors’ mournful reply in an atom’s interstitial space countless worlds take form and then die.
Inside he sees his parents embrace he would never think to ask them why the young child stares up into the sky
At the edge of the sun, great planes fly drop their payloads, return to their base countless worlds take form and then die.
Tanks and Humvees simply mystify as young soldiers, brothers wave goodbye the young child stares up into the sky countless worlds take form and then die.
When you throw a pebble into a still pond what is it you look for? If you say the ripples the pebble has made I will say there is no pebble. If you point to the pebble on the bottom of the pond I will say there are no ripples. If you point to the sky you will have found the way.
A reflection on Case 28 of the Book of Equanimity ( 従容錄, Shōyōroku)
As stars go, of course it is rather nondescript, small, middle aged stuck in a distant corner of a not all that impressive galaxy.
Yet each morning it sweeps the sky storing all of its kin, even the biggest and brightest, into its own celestial closet where they will remain locked away until it decides it needs a rest and lets them return to once again paint the sky.
We are jealous of trees, anchored as we are to a grasping earth, able to tear free only momentarily or with the help of machines,
for trees can approach the clouds, swaddle all manner of birds, and, we are certain, know heaven more intimately than we can.
And trees are jealous of birds, able to fly well above their highest branches, knowing the true blue of the sky and the verdant base from which they took flight.
Just for the fun of it I asked ChatGPT to write a poem on this topic. Here is its effort:
In envy we gaze upon the sky, Watching birds soar with such grace and ease, Their wings taking them to places high, Leaving us on the ground to freeze.
We long to join them in their flight, To feel the wind beneath our wings, To escape the troubles of our plight, And spread our arms to feel the fling.
But alas, we are not meant to fly, Our feet firmly planted on the earth, While birds glide through the clouds on high, Showing us the true meaning of worth.
We may be jealous of their freedom, But let us not forget our own, For we have the ability to dream, And make our own paths to be shown.
So let us not dwell on jealousy, For we too have our own unique gifts, Let us embrace our humanity, And find joy in the life we’re given
How can I bring three worlds together? Sitting still, deep in silence, I can carry the mountain to the shore, where the sea, land and sky merge in perfect harmony.
A reflection on case 75 of the Shobogenzo (True Dharma Eye) Koans
It never rained when I visited Senso-ji and Todai-ji Temples. I attributed this to good fortune, the Buddha clearing the skies for my visit. The young monk said the Buddha cares nothing for weather, so I should thank the Japan Meteorological Agency although they never seem to give him the weather he truly wants.
an old writer and his words 