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TODAI-JI
The snow capped mountainstares at the December skyshredding laughing clouds.I sit by the fire dreamingof the slow approach of spring. There is a momentwhen all is only silencethe zendo in stillness.In that moment I can hearthe entirety of Dharma The temple bell tolls,the deer assume their posture,afternoon zazen,I walk around Todai-jiin futile search of Buddha.
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JANUARY
It is an odd feeling, in the middleof January, to no longer considerbecoming a bear, choosingto hibernate until Spring arrivesdemanding an awakening. I did that for years, nevergrew the heavy fur coat neededand wasn’t much for digging densin the snow, so I sat insideand dreamed of bearishness. Living now among the birdswhere we shiver when…
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SNOW
At first it was just oddto think of snow as merelya concept, a memory softer,more pleasant than its reality. You can grow accustomedto concepts, they are generallysomewhat neat and tidy, easilyfiled and brought forth on demand. The concept of snow hasits great advantages, snowmenof perfect shape, never meltingand no one must shovel a concept. But…
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FEEDER
The seed specklesthe snow like buckshotpiled neatly under the branchwhere we, fingers numbed,tied the little chaletto the lowest limbof the ancient maple.The birds stand staringas the squirrel swingsslowly in the breeze. First Appeared in Echoes, March – April 1996.
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AFTER ALL
After all that has happened,after all of the changestumbling one upon another,after breathing again new air,after ceding fear to hopewhen I sit down to write itall I have at the endis a small glass of snowin the middle of July.
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A CAPPING VERSE
Snow always seemed so rightcapping the summit of Fujiyama,not dulled by the windowsof the Shinkansen to Osaka. You barely noticed the rice fieldsfanning out from its basewanted to reach out and touch itfor that is what you do with icons. Mount Hood had the same effectbut the chill along the Willametteurged you to retreat quickly…
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HAKUUN’S BLACK AND WHITE 鐵笛倒吹 十四
Like Hakuunshun the city,flee the townsand find a homein the forest onlyin the deepest partof winter, butdo not shun peoplein your solitude. Write versesof total silenceand dig deeply intonewly fallen snow.Let it drift over youuntil you black hairis all that appearson an endless field of white. A reflection on case 14 of the Iron Flute…
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WINTER
As I stare out the window and watchthe snow slowly build on the limbsof the now barren crab apple, paintingit with a whiteness that bears heavily,giving the smaller branches a betterview of the ground in which theirfruit of the summer lies buried. I am forced to wonder if the treecontinues to watch me, if its…
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INTIMATIONS OF MORTALITY
It is easier to think about deathon a wintery evening, when so muchof life slips into stasis, and there isnothing to do but concede your mortality,and with good fortune, then slipinto sleep before being lostin a sea of depression. I must be thankful for my dreamsfor they keep the night from becomingthe little death of…
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THE PROMISE
The moon has gone past full and as waning as I write, it’s slow retreat hopefully taking with it the burden of winter, that we now must measure in feet, the inches having been heaved up, one upon another. Spring will come soon for a taste of it, for spring is an inveterate tease, preferring…
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an old writer and his words 