SPACED OUT

The question you must answer,
and the one question I am certain
you cannot answer correctly is this:

Does space define us
or do we define space?

Hints, of course, abound but we,
myself included, fail or choose
not to see them or outright deny them.

We are all comfortable at home,
the adventurous among us declare
that wherever they are is home.

The sane ones among is say this is
nothing more than self-sophistry
or bullshit dressed in elegant cliche,

We want not only to limit space,
for then the cliche might have
more than a small kernel of truth,

but we need to declare it mine
so that it cannot be yours as well,
get your own damn space if you want.

Do you see the answer now, is it
clear to you once and for all, are
you willing to admit to the world

that space defines you
just as you define space

for it is on this evanescent foundation
on which your whole sense of self
resides and your ego dwells.

AMONG THE MISSING

We can sit for a time, and speak
of our pains, how they cause us
to stop and look inward while the world
proceeds on it’s axis, in a slow march
through time and space, and we
share the anger and anguish
of our too fallible bodies which
time reclaims in slow progression.

We do not pause and cast eyes
on the egrets, heron and ibis returning
for the night as the retreating sun
paints the clouds in colors known
best to flames consuming all,
to wings flapping as perches are
taken adjusted, as conversations
are continued while night settles
slowly over the preserve, the birds
marvel at how we allow ourselves
to be absent from the simple
beauty of the world that surrounds us.

OBSCURITY

a winter night
clouds digest the moon
cars drive
turning lights out
disappearing
neon signs
stare
beckoning
vacancy
open space
super condensed matter
she moans
I love you
to starched sheets
shrouds
wrap her loins
a cat
scampers
into a bush
dragging
the sun
melting
the highway
electrons
run crashing
into nothing
quantum
leaps


First appeared in Erothanatos, Vol. 3, No. 3, July 2019 at Pg. 43

DAIJI’S INNER CULTURE

Eyes can look within
and discover a boundless universe
but the tongue alone
can speak only sounds
that go false
as they dance away unseen.

The silence of zazen
speaks the dharma,
the teisho is offered mutely.

The space between
eye and tongue
is but three inches
or an unbridgeable void.


A reflection on Case 15 of the Iron Flute Koans.

DIMENSIONS

It is far less a matter of space
for we have that in profusion
if mostly always beyond reach, but
unnecessary anyway given our pervasive
fear of being alone while always trying
to define our particular uniqueness.
The universe has a vastness we
can never hope to grasp and so
we turn inward, where space is constrained,
and we can imagine impenetrable borders
that exist solely within the mind.
But the dimension that gives rise
to fear and loathing is time, for it
despite its vastness, is always finite
and always, in our deluded eyes
shrinking as the universe expands,
and we know there is a point
when time becomes a deathly singularity.

DREAMING OF GOLDILOCKS

The universe is more vast
than we could begin to contemplate
forty billion galaxies of
forty billions stars, thrust out
a child, an aged one bent by time
mothers with children in tow,
giants standing above with
names belying their stature.
Sitting here, pen in hand
it is comforting to know
there is another, and another
stretching infinitely, secure
in their uniqueness, in the shadow
of their suns, casting
words into the void.

ALONG THE WAY

 

There are those desperately searching,
who stumble along the way, tripping
over the dharma gems lying in their path.
Others proceed slowly, pausing
to examine each pebble, each twig
uncertain if it, just possibly,
was the key to enlightenment.
I wander along, going nowhere, knowing
that is where the path must lead,
and I am always where the path
and I must intersect in time and space.
A young child seeing this
merely smiles and returns
to his seat beneath the Bodhi tree.

A POINTED REPLY

Between this point and that
lies a vast uncharted space
noted on every cartographers chart.
If you ask how this
could be possible, I reply
it’s like listening to silence
and hearing each sound
deeply embedded in the one
next to it, a glissando of
what exactly? Uncertainty?
That is the whole point
in the final analysis, for
between that point and this one
everything exists in that one place.