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MADNESS
There are things in life that are quite clearly beyond any rational explanation. Take, as an example, the song that crawls into your head and absolutely refuses to leave. If it were Mozart or Bach it might be excusable, if Beethoven at least reluctantly forgivable, but it is never the great masters. Tonight, it is…
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A SIMPLE SONG
This morning’s song is drawn from the whispers of the passing clouds as the last snow flows gently down the street.
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ON AGING
Ensconced on the couch, the cat hears a bird singing outside the window. Once, she would have pressed her face against the screen, imagining a great chase. Now she listens, content to let the birds sing into the fading sun.
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A SIMPLE SONG
Much as every person is a Buddha every guitar can play a simple song. Some will lay it badly, some will break a string, some will play with an unspoken regret, but all have the capacity, recognized or not, to create a moment of memory. On this night there are two, both skilled, honed of…
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I AM ODOBENUS ROSMARUS, WHO ARE YOU?
From time to time it sneaks back into my mind, and once there is so hard to ignore or dislodge. It begins softly, “I am he, as you are he, as you are me.” It grows ever more present, foreground, “I am the eggman, they are the eggmen,” and all to soon, I become the…
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A MISTAKE IN SPEAKING 無門關 三十九
When you speak the words of the Buddha you are lost. Light is everywhere in silence but the tongue must hide in the dark of the mouth. Buddha’s words are flowers unfolding in the dawn by the side of the still pond, the eyes hear the song and respond in silent chorus. A reflection on…
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DISTANT SONG
I thought I heard a woman singing somewhere in the distance, an ethereal song whose melody floated over me, dropping momentarily into my consciousness then as quickly flitting away. I walked off the carefully tended path stepped into the clutching brush, the smell of Juniper filled the air. Pushing through a thicket I thought I…
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CHORUS
The man sits, waiting patiently for the wolf to arrive. It has been far too long, this wait, as the Wolf has his lair in the distant mountain, and has little use for the people in the city, in the place where the man sits waiting. The man is sure they met once, although he…
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THE MUSIC OF SPRING
The music hides, just out of sight, beyond the edge of hearing. We assume it must be something by Mozart or at least Bach, a tocatta and fugue, swallowed by the trees, the cardinal singing faintly, mirroring the tune, but there is only the wind meandering throught the pines which have cast off the weight…
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AS THE CROW FLIES
Leaving the fields of the countryside for the city, it is the birds that tell you when the invisible boundary has been crossed. There are usually signs along the roads bolted to steel poles but the birds know better. In the country, birds sing long arias to the day, to cornstalks making the slow green…
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an old writer and his words 