This morning as the bell
signaled the end of morning zazen
the whistling ducks took up
their song, circling the wetland
as if inviting me to photograph them.
They quickly grew bored waiting
and flew off to a place
I do not know, can not imagine.
Perhaps they will return
this afternoon, circle
in a duck like pose as I capture
them with the long lens, and this
will satisfy them for another day,
but perhaps they will not return
and punish me again
for my morning absence.
The greatest problem
with our language
in the practice of zazen
can seem insurmountable.
We are lovers of tenses,
a dozen to choose from,
one spawning offspring,
time ever important to us.
In zen, on the cushion
there is no past, no future,
perfect or otherwise, nor
our friend the conditional.
We strive to always be
in the moment, there is now
and nothing else, and we
ought to strive to never be tense.
In the middle of a rouund of zazen
I hear the bells of a nearby church,
although I am nearby no church.
Zen teaches you to be present
in each moment, to be immersed
in and not witnessing life around you.
The bells break my struggle
to not think, they introduce time
again where there should be none.
Just as soon, the bells are silent,
and the silence of 1300 miles away
pervades our small zendo,
so just perhaps Zoom, or the ability
to control its transmission, is
after all, a mindful Buddhist tool.
The snow capped mountain
stares at the December sky
shredding laughing clouds.
I sit by the fire dreaming
of the slow approach of spring.
There is a moment
when all is only silence
the zendo in stillness.
In that moment I can hear
the entirety of Dharma
The temple bell tolls,
the deer assume their posture,
afternoon zazen,
I walk around Todai-ji
in futile search of Buddha.
The true artist,
when asked
to draw a perfect tree
will lead you to the garden
and have you sit
under the great maple.
The true master
asked to speak of Dharma
will silently
face the wall
in zazen.
A reflection on case 118 of the Shobogenzo, Dogen’s True Dharma Eye Koans
If you claim
this world weighs
heavily on you,
and ask what to do
you will be told
to simply sit.
If this is not
clear to you
you may say so.
When you carry
another world
to this place
you will understand
and be weightless
If you are able to speak
maintain silence,
If you can bear the silence,
listen to the song the sea sings.
If you can sing with the sea
count the grains of sand
that wash in on the next wave.
If you lose count, begin again
before the wave recedes.
If the wave recedes before
you finish counting, bid it farewell.
After you bid farewell
return to your cushion
and listen to the silence
which is the body of the dharma.
First Published in The Poet: Faith Vol. 1, Spring 2021
https://www.thepoetmagazine.org/spring-2021—faith
It is only
in the deep stillness
and silence
of zazen
that the words
of the Dharma
resound loudest
From the cushion
samadhi arises
like a Phoenix
takes wing
and with the final bell
all to often
flies off mindlessly
and it’s gone
until the next sitting.
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.
When the master
calls for a novice
do you answer?
When the inkin
bell is struck
do you begin
or end zazen?
As you follow your breath
when do you leave
your body, and who
returns when you next inhale?
Search instead
for an answer
that has no question.
Who is the novice now?
A reflection on case 31 of the Iron Flute Koans
an old writer and his words 