From the Lone Oak

The Broken Bowl

2011-12-18T09:14:00.000-08:00

His hands still marked

By scar and callus,

His kingdom now

A shattered palace,

We drink his cup,

No fear, no malice,

This broken bowl,

His sacred chalice.

Just whose hands are scared and callused? What kingdom is it that now is shattered? Whose cup is it at our lips? Why must we drink? Why no fear or malice? What is broken about the bowl? What makes this chalice sacred? Where does "sacred" live?

I wrote this poem yesterday, at noon, at work, in the middle of a very busy holiday retail workday. I'm not sure why the words came to me, but the poem formed itself pretty completely in just a few minutes and I had to stop and write it down on the back of some scratch paper. Several hours later I read it to a friend who dropped by the shop. After I did, her eyes widened and she told me she had just come from witnessing the death of a close friend of her husband.

He had died just a couple of hours earlier, in fact at noon. He died bitter with regrets over his perceived failure to express his love to friends, his failure to get together with friends from the past, the failure to appreciate the good times he had had with others and most of all his failure to help others whom he knew were in need when he could have.

I had been thinking of my poem in terms of this world that we live in as a shattered palace, once lovely now degraded by war, overpopulation, pollution and such, degraded by our own disappointments and false views. I had been thinking of ourselves as the suffering Christ and our own scared hands. The cup as the life that we live, drinking perpetually this less than perfect, wounded moment. This moment, this life itself, as the sacred chalice. If life is not sacred, then what could be? If "sacred" lives at all, surely it is living no other place than in our own hearts and minds. It is our knowing and living itself that gives life to the sacred. How could anything be sacred if tainted with fear or rancor?

But my friend's story forced home a more specific view. Here is one small life, one man, his life now ended. His body a shattered palace, certainly, but his dreams and cares, his feelings of love and friendship lie shattered too, now at an end and shattered by his own inaction. Up to the end, the bitter cup he was forced to drink was of his own making.

Lets us take heart and courage from the knowledge that we are the sacred chalice, we carry the light of life within us all. Lets us all, my friends and loved ones, take warning from the sorrow of another. Let us keep this cup we drink sweet with love, let us share the love we feel with others and when we depart, let us do so with a glad heart.

Use care as you prepare

The cup before you,

Sweet wine or gaul,

Remember,

It is you who

Will drink it.

The lovely broken chalice above is the work of craftsman Ron Chamberlain. It and more can be seen on his website: http://www.rdchamberlin.com/Home.html

Lines on Viewing the Full Lunar Eclipse

2011-12-10T07:42:00.000-08:00

Dawn's early light,

The full moon itself,

Drawing veil,

Eclipsing.

Face full masked,

She drops,

Glowing crimson,

Behind distant trees,

Now gone,

And morning fresh delivered.

- 12/10/11

Image from: http://www.wired.com/wiredscience/2011/06/lunar-eclipse-photos/

Dreaming of an Old Friend

2011-11-28T13:53:00.000-08:00

In the silent early hours,

When moonlight reveals

Those things that daylight misses,

The shades of memory

Are quite free to come and go.

Thus a visit from an old friend,

Dead now twenty years and more,

With a smile as warm as ever,

But a hand as ungraspable

As mind itself.

In June of 2008 I had a life-saving operation, a liver transplant. After regaining consciousness, I lay immobilized in intensive care for a few days and nights. One night, the nurse who usually hovered nearby, was called away to help deal with another patient in the next room who was dying. All of the staff became so focused on this man that I was left alone for a rather long time.

Lying there alone, I felt suddenly felt a great need to have someone there with me. I was dependent on an oxygen line and uncertain that I could keep breathing if I lost consciousness. Focused powerfully on my breathing, and powerless to move an inch, I turned to my own mind for help. I began to visualize an old friend of mine who had passed away a few years before.

Gene had suffered greatly in his life, surviving both tuberculosis in his youth and lung cancer as an adult. In the years we were friends, he walked with painful deliberation and struggled constantly for air. But he had such a powerful spirit, he never let his difficulties get in the way of his passion for the things he loved, art, music, history, literature and an appreciation for the beauty of women. Gene taught all that knew him by example how to face pain and adversity with courage, good humor and a relentless zest for life.

He was just the sort of friend I needed at that moment and so I conjured him up. I felt his presence and I could almost see him standing by my bedside. Gene was a fierce atheist, a product of an Irish upbringing that forever soured him on anything that smacked of God or an afterlife. I apologized to him for dragging him back from non-existence, for giving him a life of sorts again, if only for a short while, to help me in my moment of need. He seemed to understand and we had a great conversation about memory, existence and where it is that life actually lives. We agreed that it lives in the mind, where the past, the present and the future all have their existence, and where we were in fact having our conversation. It is also where we are at this moment, writing and reading this blog.

When the crisis in the other cubicle reached its' natural conclusion my nurse returned. I bid Gene farewell and allowed him to return to his beloved non-existence, thanking him for allowing me to use him in the way I had.

Now that three years have passed, I am once more undergoing another medical ordeal, this time it's interferon treatment to clear my system of the virus that has caused all the problems in the first place. It will go on for a year and it can be very demanding physically. I admit to feeling some anxiety about doing it, as it is not without serious risks. But a few nights ago, in the early hours when moonlight reveals those things that daylight misses, I had a dream visitor, my old friend Gene. He didn't say anything, he didn't have to. Although I could not grasp his hand, his smile told me all I need to know.

Thanks, Gene.

"The past is ungraspable, the present is ungraspable,

the future is ungraspable."

~ The Diamond Sutra

Our photo today is of the eery beauty of a night-blooming cactus, photographed hours before the dawn.

Why Sigh?

2011-10-22T07:15:00.000-07:00

With their leaves as fine as feathers,

The graceful trees must sway and sigh

With every passing breeze,

But why, like they, must we?

These trees have been swaying since the dawn of time, for as long as there have been eyes to see them and a heart to feel the breeze of loss. "While loved, flowers fall" says old Dogen and he wasn't wrong. "All the world is falling" sings Antony in "The Rapture", and I think he has the right of it. But "Don't let it bring you down, it's only castles burning." Trees sigh, flowers fall and castles burn, it's the heart that doesn't fail. It is because we love these ones that fall that we feel the breeze at all.

So be brave. Live and love. And when it's blowing, feel the breeze and know that you are alive.

The feathery leaves seen above are the shadows of a pepper tree the afternoon sun casts on my bedroom window.

Without Effort

2011-10-12T21:09:00.000-07:00

Unattended and without effort,

The Earth spins on,

Endlessly describing its arc

Around a star that never blinks.

Rain, without urging,

Always finds its way

Back to the sea.

The Earth, star, rain, rivers and the sea perform their endless action without intent and without effort. Our bodies function in a similar fashion, cells beyond number live and thrive without premeditation of any sort. Acting in concert, their wet net gives rise to the forms we call ourselves. The natural function of these collective cells gives rise to cognition, but its very easy to get lost in our thoughts. In meditation, we may still the busy mind and restore our perspective. With balanced mind, we are free to enjoy our effortless world once more.

Enjoy!

Today's handsome image comes from a copyright-free archive at:

http://www.123rf.com/photo_6956303_earth-and-sun-space-sunrise.html

The Real Way of All Flesh

2011-10-03T12:28:00.000-07:00

All flesh that’s fallen,

It is found,

Lies ever changing

In the ground,

Sustaining empires of

Small hungry creatures.

Beetles, ants and fungi

And bacteria all thrive

On the remains of those who

Were once themselves alive.

Scattered ashes in

Garden soil or sea

Nourish numberless now,

As well as those who

Are still yet to be.

Life circles all,

Both Feed and Fed,

And not even

Those who die

Are dead.

What's all this fuss about life and death? None of us getting out of the chain of life anytime soon, so don't bother running, you can't get away! Just relax and enjoy being fed while you can, your turn to play food will come soon enough. Those salmon were having a pretty great time up until the moment they got caught. And now? Delicious!

Life has been thriving on this mud ball for a long time and will go on thriving for a long time to come. So what if the Empire of the Meat Eating Monkeys slowly passes away or is gone in a flash? Those of us writing and reading this are the part of the process that got to sit up and admire the scenery. Enjoy the view, my friends, that's why you're here. It's a truly rare privilege to be here now, so pay close attention!

The cool customers pictured above made their brief appearance at Seattle's Pikes Place Market earlier this year. How about you?

A Fundamental Truth

2011-09-08T07:57:00.000-07:00

What's so fun

About being demented?

Eager office seekers

Claim to be,

Washed in the Blood

Of the Lamb.

But who would trust

Their precious flocks

To the care of

Such hungry wolves?

There are some days that I just shouldn't open the newspaper. I originally included a second, very angry verse here, but after a few moment's calm reflection I decided to redact it from this page. Angry words, like angry deeds, have a way of bouncing around and coming back to one. We could all do well to keep that in mind. I'll keep trying.

Disturbing image is from PhotoshopTalent.com

Zen's Chinese Heritage

2011-09-04T16:04:00.000-07:00

"A monk asked, "Why did the First Ancestor come from the west?"

Sansheng said, "Spoiled meat draws flies."

Wait, did he just compare Bodhidharma, the founder of Zen, to a rot seeking fly?

Yep!

These irreverent words were the response of Sansheng Huiran, prominent disciple of Linji Yixuan. Sansheng was a well-traveled Zenist, having sharpened his abilities with the likes of Yangshan, Xiangyan, Deshan, Daowu and many other well-known teachers of the Tang Dynasty Chan, or Zen, milieu. The words of all of these illustrious characters and many, many more may be found in the pages of the new revised edition of Andy Ferguson's monumental "Zen's Chinese Heritage".

Americans with only a casual familiarity with it may be forgiven for thinking that Zen is a Japanese creation. The art and architecture, calligraphy, tea ceremonies and the tranquil gardens of the famous Japanese monasteries are all familiar images to Westerners today. It's fair to say the the Japanese culture has deeply absorbed many of the values and perspectives of Zen into its' very core.

Zen was first transmitted to these shores by pioneering Japanese masters, its' foundational texts such as the classic koan collections "The Blue Cliff Record" and the "Gateless Barrier" came to us through Japanese texts, texts that used the traditional Japanese names for the seminal Chinese masters.

But Chinese they were and Ferguson has delved into the pages of the previously untranslated and unavailable Chinese Chan classic Wudeng Huiyuan (Compendium of Five Lamps) as well as several other similar sources to bring to life twenty-five "generations" of Chan masters from the years 480 to 1260 C.E.. Some of these stories are already familiar to serious students in slightly different form from the previously mentioned koan collections and Japanese "Lamp Transmissions", many more will be brand new to all western readers.

The last few days I have been staying home, recuperating from my latest liver biopsy, a yearly event in the transplant world. This, coupled with the long Labor Day holiday has given me a golden opportunity to dive into this marvelous book in an unhurried fashion, getting to know the ancestors of Zen. As the book is chronologically arranged, the reader can trace the development of the vocabulary and traditions of the various schools from master to student down the line.

I've been lying around for hours reading and making notes for myself in the margins. I've been reflecting and pondering and laughing an awful lot, these old Chan johnnies were a hilarious bunch by and large. Here, laughter and enlightenment go hand in hand. Indeed, the soul of humor is the sudden breaking of mental barriers and realization of surprising new perspectives, and what else is Zen after all?

Just as Andy Ferguson has gone straight to the source to bring us this text, you can go straight to the source to purchase a copy. Publisher, Wisdom Publications, has a great on-line deal on the book, 20% off cover price. Click right here for a link to them if you want. (By the way, this is not any sort of paid ad, I just really like this book and I would like to share my pleasure with you, my gentle readers.)

Let me leave with two stories that particularly tickled my fancy.

This one's for my old friend James Ford over at Monkey Mind.

Baoshou asked a monk, "Where did you come from?"

The monk said, "From West Mountain."

Baoshou asked, "Did you see the monkey?"

The monk said, "I saw it."

Baoshou said, "How clever was it?"

The monk said, "I saw that I was not the least bit clever."

Baoshou hit him.

This other is a classic case of an hapless monk asking a damnfool question and having it turned back on himself. The reader can well imagine the sudden sweat and look of terror on the face of the poor fellow!

A monk asked, "What is the talk that is beyond the buddhas and ancestors?"

Qianfeng said, "I ask you."

The monk said, "Master, please don't ask me."

Qianfeng said, "If I ask you, it doesn't make any difference. So I ask you, what is the talk that is beyond the buddhas and ancestors?"

Black Crows at Dawn

2011-07-29T16:17:00.000-07:00

Were I to engage in recriminations,

I would have only myself to berate,

Wasting all those years in

Coming and going,

All that time spent on this and that.

Dear readers, list while I sing,

Sit Zazen while you are still young!

Now grown old and quirky,

My seated body squawks and complains,

Like the cranky black crows

That gather at my window,

Daily with the dawn.

"Caw! Caw!"

Every Monday morning I arise at 5 AM to take a bone density medicine that requires I have an empty stomach and that I must remain upright for at least a half hour after taking. I find it to be a good opportunity to do a little pre-dawn meditation. Meditating with a mind that has not yet been engaged in performing tasks or conversations can be a very powerful practice.

But, if undisturbed by thought, my early morning mind seems to be more closely connected to my aging body's aches and pains, especially if the night has been a cool one. At such times I sometimes wish I had practiced seated meditation more regularly when I was young and in better shape, perhaps I wouldn't find the discomfort quite so distracting if I had. Perhaps such thoughts are just black crows themselves, reflexive complaints that come as predictably as the dawn.

After I've been sitting in my darkened room awhile, "rosy fingered dawn" begins to make her appearance through the curtains, and with her come her raucous heralds, a flock of crows that make their home in the trees surrounding our Lone Oak manse. Bela Lugosi's Dracula famously observes of his baying wolves "Listen to them, the children of the night. What music they make!" Let me tell you, Dracula's night children have nothing on our "children of the dawn"! Their song is hard to ignore.

I wish to thank Jiyu Jake Gage, Sensei, for the inclusion of the actual song of the crows as the last line here. I often present first draft poems aloud to him at the Vista Zen Center first thing in the morning. "Caw! Caw!" was his immediate response and a good one, I think. It adds a touch of the real and the immediate moment, bringing the lines up to the "now".

Today's image is from an unattributed fine art print I found through Google Images, "Black Crows Gathering"

The Nameless Ones

2011-07-07T16:24:00.001-07:00

The tales are true,

I can show you the scars,

The twisted cables

And the broken spars.

They don't care about shutters,

They're not stopped by bars,

The Nameless Ones

Filtered down from the stars.

Three poisons drive Man,

Hate, Delusion and Lust,

But the Nameless Ones

Simply feed when they must.

Some men are from Venus,

Some women from Mars,

But the Nameless Ones

Filtered down from the stars!

This weird little poem owes a great deal to the writings of the great American master, Howard Phillips Lovecraft, the virtual father of the genre of cosmic horror. Central to Lovecraft's take on our place in Space and Time is the view that vast forces and intelligences are at play across the vastness of existence and that these "nameless ones" care not one whit for the concerns of the hapless hairless apes dwelling on this little planet.

In one of his finest stories, At The Mountains of Madness, he describes the discovery of the remains of an ancient space-faring race who settled on Earth millions of years ago. Along the way, we learn that all life on Earth is the accidental by-product of their bio-engineering projects. In classic Lovecraft fashion, the protagonists find themselves in a mind-blowing encounter with these elder beings and find all of their previous views and opinions of reality and their place in it blasted away forever in an instant of terrible realization!

I confess that I have been a dedicated fan of Lovecraft since shortly before I began shaving, 43 years or so ago. The dark grandeur of H.P.L.'s vision fascinates me. Over the years I've come to find in it a good deal of the scope and reach of Mahayana Buddhism, sort of a Dharma seen through a glass darkly. This may be just a crazy stretch on my part, but I think Lovecraft might have found the star-spanning wonder of the Avatamsaka Sutra highly interesting. But unlike the Flower-Garland Sutra, Lovecraft's dark dharma holds no hope of liberation, only a blind idiot god howling away at the center of all existence. Any jeweled net Lovecraft would have imagined would turn out to be some sort of horrible trap!

Although disturbing, we should not be alarmed by all this, Lovecraft's dark dharma was created to entertain. Written for his own amusement and for that of his large circle of like-minded friends, the highly rationalistic Lovecraft wrote his scary stories to tease the rational mind. He gives us a close brush with the vast unknown from the safe distance of our armchair.

My little exercise in "dark dharma" came about at the end of a very intense morning of sitting Zazen. It began with the appearance in my mind of a phrase of H.P.L.'s, "filtered down from the stars". The Nameless Ones and the Three Poisons came rushing in close behind and the poem was finished before lunchtime. Phew!

If you have the slightest interest in Lovecraft and his writings, you must check out the outstanding H.P.Lovecraft Literary Podcast!! Hosts Chris Lackey and Chad Fifer have been doing an absolutely fantastic job, working their way through the Master's works in chronological order, discussing each story in depth and having a heck of a lot of fun along the way. I listen to each new episode in my car going to work and they totally make my entire day!

Today's image is a NASA image from the Hubble telescope of the Swan Nebula, a small section of M17, a "hotbed of star formation". Check it out on the blog where I found it, Ecodigerati.

Attachment, Impermanence & Suffering

2011-06-07T06:21:00.001-07:00

That day that you told me

That you loved me,

I didn't realize

That you

Were

Talking to

My hair.

I've asked Hakuin's Daruma to be our poster boy for impermanence today. Tradition does not tell us what his hair looked like when he had it, other than to tell us that his beard was red. What ever it looked like, I'm guessing it looked pretty good when he was young and that he probably didn't spend a lot of time brooding about its' loss when he shaved it off. Would that all of us could face the changes wrought by the passage of time so well.

This poem really isn't about hair loss, it is about the pain caused by attachment, lost love, false perceptions, foolish attractions, impermanence and most importantly, realization. This poor person has just had a moment of clarity, lucky devil!

That's a lot of heavy lifting for such a little poem!

I'll leave you with a quote from the ever quotable Dogen Zenji, from Thomas Cleary's translation of Genjokoan.

"Because the Buddha Way originally sprang forth from abundance and paucity, there is birth and death, delusion and enlightenment, sentient beings and Buddhas. Moreover, though this is so, flowers fall when we cling to them, and weeds only grow when we dislike them."

Today's image is a photo taken at the Hakuin exhibition at the LACMA, currently on display. If you live in California, you should make it a point to go see this, the largest such display ever assembled. For information, go to:

http://www.lacma.org/art/exhibition/sound-one-hand-paintings-and-calligraphy-zen-master-hakuin

The Dogen quote is taken from The Zensite's Dogen section, a wonderful font of all things Dogen, see:

http://www.thezensite.com/MainPages/Dogen_teachings.html

Emulate the Wise

2011-05-25T20:58:00.001-07:00

When bombs are falling,

Even the very brave

Would do well

To emulate the wise,

And leap

Into a hole,

Of any size.

There seem to be a lot of falling bombs and things exploding these days. Not just the metaphorical bombshells we all experience in the day to day, but actual bombs, exploding in places all around this troubled globe. Many are falling on young people facing up to the dictators who have held their countries in the grip of fear since before they were born. I marvel at their courage and I wish them well.

When I was a young soldier myself, lo these many years ago, I had occasion to come under fire a few times and was even knocked on my ass twice by very powerful explosions . I learned a valuable lesson from this, which I have given voice to above. Forget the heroics, get your head down when necessary and with any luck at all, you may live to write your own poem about it.

Our image this time is from the Korean War. It can be seen in numerous books or on the web at: http://www.thefirstpost.co.uk/47914,in-pictures,news-in-pictures,in-pictures-the-korean-war,3?print=print

Where Can It Be Seen?

2011-05-23T16:21:00.001-07:00

Though we sit at the shore

Of the world-spaning sea,

We marvel at the Moon

Reflected in a drop of dew.

When a single drop

Returns to the sea,

Where can it be seen?

In his "Genjo-koan" Dogen Zenji says;

"Enlightenment is like the moon reflected on the water. The moon does not get wet, nor is the water broken. Although its light is wide and great, the moon is reflected even in a puddle an inch wide. The whole moon and the entire sky are reflected in dewdrops on the grass, or even in one drop of water."

"Enlightenment does not divide you, just as the moon does not break the water. You cannot hinder enlightenment, just as a drop of water does not hinder the moon in the sky."

and

"Though there are many features in the dusty world and the world beyond conditions, you see and understand only what your eye of practice can reach. In order to learn the nature of the myriad things, you must know that although they may look round or square, the other features of oceans and mountains are infinite in variety; whole worlds are there. It is so not only around you, but also directly beneath your feet, or in a drop of water."

Master Dogen certainly has a way of getting to the heart of the matter. Sometimes I feel as though my thoughts are like my moon-reflecting drop, when I read Dogen, it is like catching a glimpse of that world-spaning sea. Sometimes we may think of our understanding as some kind of great realization, but any realization that we may have is limited to what our "eye of practice can reach". If we were ever to reach the understanding of that vast sea in its' entirety, in what way would that realization actually be called "ours"?

The Dogen quotes are from the Translation by Robert Aitken and Kazuaki Tanahashi found at:

http://www.thezensite.com/ZenTeachings/Dogen_Teachings/GenjoKoan_Aitken.htm

The image above is a reworked version of an image found at:

Africanalchemy.wordpress.com

Almost No Words

2011-05-12T07:40:00.000-07:00

Lately this poet

Finds himself

At a loss for words.

Looking at this tree,

I see,

And I am lost.

You see?

I photographed this amazing bonsai cedar on opening day of the new home of the San Diego Bonsai Society at the Wild Animal safari (formerly The Wild Animal Park) in San Pasqual, San Diego County.

Grass

2011-04-14T20:39:00.000-07:00

Grasses beyond number

Together growing,

All sway in the same breeze.

Although each stalk of grass stands as an individual, all grasses are subject to the same basic conditions. Although each is separate, each is surrounded by a multitude of kindred, all related to each other. The winds that blow, blow upon all. The rains that fall, fall upon all. The rays of the sun warm all alike.

Perhaps we like to think of ourselves as individuals, standing alone in our field. But it is also true that we all stand together in one great field, surrounded by our kindred beings. We are all related to each other by our common humanity. When the wind blows or the earth moves, we may for a brief while see our interconnectedness more clearly.

Palm Sunday

2011-03-14T10:08:00.000-07:00

I hold the world

In the palm of my hand,

And certainly,

You hold it too,

And just as surely,

It is true,

It holds

All of us,

And you.

Here's a re-working of last week's poem. We're still holding on, but don't hold too tight! In fact, if you let go, and let go all the way, you'll find out just how true it is that the whole world is holding you, and all of us. Not only does it hold our bodies, it also holds our attention as well. Just try for a moment to look away and you'll see what I mean!

The dazzling yellow flowers blossom on a tree that grows in front of a plant nursery just up the street from our house. Although I don't know it's name, it is a desert plant common to our region and blooms in the winter months. And yes, my friends the bees absolutely adore this small tree's flowering display. Their busy humming fills the air in mid-day should you be so fortunate as to pass by. This photo was taken in early January.

Cactus Flower, Open Palm

2011-02-27T12:23:00.000-08:00

With hand steady

And breath calm,

I hold the world

In my open palm.

It has been quite a while since I last posted. It's not that nothing has been happening, but that my poetic voice has been quiet of late. Some who read this may say "A good thing, too!" But, ah well! The above four lines I found neatly written in a little notebook at my desk that I seldom use. Although written sometime in the last few months, I can't clearly recall actually writing it or the events surrounding its' origin. So, let it stand as a somewhat mysterious message from the recent past.

Clearly, I was feeling very good in that moment. This is the open palm of the hand that holds the world, in the world that holds the hand that opens its palm. The hand is steady and the breath is calm, this is no manic moment, but a serene realization of the complete connection that underlies all existence. I hold it in my palm just as you hold it too, and it holds you and all of us. It supports all things and gives them life, demanding nothing, in the perfect freedom of that open palm.

The photo was taken two steps from my office door, where the most beautiful cacti grow in terra cotta pots. When they bloom, they fill the air with the most ethereal scent, sweet honey and a high, piercing mineral tang that knocks me out whenever I smell it. The bees are crazy about it too, and swarm about in the morning air. One sniff of this is should be enough to convince any of us that being present in this moment is the place to be.

The Unborn

2011-01-20T20:43:00.000-08:00

Mysterious realm,

No other...

Unborn.

Without walls,

Where can the Mind

Not go?

This little poem was written several weeks ago, during a period when I was reading several books on the seventeenth century Japanese maverick/reformer Zen priest Bankei. Bankei was an interesting character, he came onto the Zen scene at a time when traditional Zen seemed to have lost it's way in empty ritual and form. Bankei attempted to cut through this with his preaching about "the Unborn", the unborn, deathless, eternal Buddha-mind that is the basis of all consciousness, in fact , the basis of all everything!

"When your awake, you're awake in the same Buddha-mind you were sleeping in. You sleep in the Buddha-mind while you sleep and are up and about in the Buddha-mind while you are up and about. That way, you always stay in the Buddha-mind. You're never apart from it for an instant."

He urged his followers (and he had many followers, his message spoke directly to a great many people in his day) to observe the Unborn at work in all things, especially in the sounds of birds, the rustling of leaves and the like. He said that the fact that we can instantly recognize these sounds for what the are without even trying in any way was the proof of the functioning of the Buddha-mind.

Even though he had put himself through the wringer of austerities and severe practices in his youthful quest for enlightenment, Bankei came to reject these extreme measures (like the Buddha himself), in favor of simply sitting Zazen and keeping the functioning of the Unborn in mind at all times.

There are two pretty good translations of Bankei's talks in print in English, Norman Waddell's "The Unborn: The life and Teaching of Zen Master Bankei" and "Bankei Zen" by Peter Haskel. There is also a chapter on him in the newly published "Zen Radicals, Rebels, and Reformers" by Perle Besserman and Manfred B. Steger.

Eternal Now

2011-01-04T15:35:00.000-08:00

Sit quite still

And you will see,

Freed from the bonds of

Was and will be,

Into the boundless realm

Of is.

If you watch attentively,

You'll see that what is,

Endlessly,

Changes every moment,

Yet remains.

That's the nature of this

Perpetual domain,

Morphing constantly into something

Quite the same.

Today's Image: Xiena sits and watches the unfolding moment with her tiny robot friend during our family's recent Christmas celebration.

Don't Go to Hinksville

2010-12-03T09:10:00.000-08:00

Oh I don't want to move to Hinksville,

The life they lead there is no damn good,

They like to tell you God is love,

But they'd kill you if they could.

I love ride this old blue marble

As it spins its' way through space.

I'd much rather sit on a grassy hill

And stare at my own true face.

No, I'm not moving to Hinksville,

For it's just a state of mind.

Where we think our thoughts unkind

And the blind deceive the blind.

My friend Barry Briggs over at oxherding.com has been running a thoughtful and thought provoking series this week on the topic of Wrong Speech. So I post this poem today with more than a bit of trepidation. It's pretty much a grumble about the daily world of samsara, the unhappy realm where we all spend far too much time. You all know the place, where we say one thing and think or do another, and where we impose our expectations on others in a similar fashion. I hope I'm not bringing you down, dear reader, with this rather negative meditation on one of our more unfortunate states of mind.

It is the hope, however, of all who practice mindfulness, to escape the snares of samsaric mind and dwell instead in the reality of the present moment, free from the self-deceit that makes Hinksville such a pain in the butt! Free to enjoy the ride on this lovely blue marble.

Today's image is an uncredited work I found on:

http://pointofview.bluehighways.com/

Old Fool

2010-11-06T17:44:00.000-07:00

Call me an old fool,

But while others may chatter

About a search for the soul

And all...

I hold this world lightly

In an open palm

And smile anew at each

Passing breeze.

Sweet Drum

2010-10-23T11:52:00.000-07:00

I left the many

And I took the one,

Now I dance to the beat

Of my own sweet drum,

And I don't have a care

For what may come,

Now I dance to the rhythm

Of my own sweet drum.

When you add the columns

And you read the sum,

You may gain the many

When you take the one.

And you won't be ruled

By the days to come,

When you dance to the beat

Of your own sweet drum.

This image of Shiva as Nataraja comes from the Exotic India site.

http://www.exoticindiaart.com/article/nataraja

Son House - Death Letter Blues

2010-10-01T10:23:00.000-07:00

Over on facebook James Ford posted a clip of the Max Fliesher animation of Cab Callaway's Saint James Infirmary, citing it as an example of Zen master endorsed ultra-cool. I agree with its' ultra-cool character and in a similar spirit offer up this clip of the amazing Son House. Here he performs his classic Death Letter Blues, an unblinking musical look into the face of death. Son House does not flinch or look away, but rather tells it like it is! Does it get cooler than this?

Bodhisattva, Take My Blood!

2010-09-28T17:22:00.000-07:00

Her ID card now so close

That even I can read it,

"Sandra C Espinosa - CPN

Certified Phlebotomy Tech"

So it reads,

But I don't believe it.

Surely this is Avalokiteshvara,

Bodhisattva of Compassion,

Fresh stepped from his/her Tusita Heaven

Or sprung to life from some far Ankor wall,

To plunge a painless needle

Into my pre-dawn arm,

Softer than a mosquito's kiss.

Bodhisattva, take my blood!

My latest operation at UCSD Hospital was a success! After a 9 day post-surgical stay, I am home and healing. I've actually been home for over a week, but have only now felt well enough to post here. I am delighted to report that the biliary drain I have had sticking out of my side for the last two years is now gone! Gone too are the 30 or so metal staples across my battle-scared abdomen, in their place a row of plastic tape strips which will drop off one by one over the next week or so.

The Biliary drain was a legacy of my liver transplant from two years ago, a blod clot in my new liver damaged the bile ducts. This leaking made me a very sick fellow and gave us all some rough moments. A trans-hepatic drain was installed to save my bacon and it did the job, but at a terrible cost. It had to be exchanged 17 times over a nearly two year period. Nearly every drain exchange (usually a out-patient procedure) landed me in the hospital for a couple of days with a variety of bacterial infections.

One positive thing I gained from my two year medical odyssey is a great deal of respect for all of the hardworking professionals at UCSD Hospital. Docs, nurses, techs of all sorts, even the folks in admissions who put the little wristbands on me. During this latest stay, I awoke one morning to find my blood being drawn by a young lady who bore a striking resemblance to the the amazing sculptured figures from the Ankor Wat temple in Cambodia. Sandra is Philippina by background, but she told me that one of here grandfathers has very classic "chinese" features. Whatever the specifics of her blood-line, she's a skilled phlebotomist and her needle indeed painless. Hurray!

Today's image comes from a very interesting blog recounting a Sabbatical trip to Ankor Wat, illustrated with many fine photographs. Check out Robert's Sabbatical at:

http://www.robertsabbatical.blogspot.com/

Two Poems and a Time Out

2010-09-06T21:30:00.000-07:00

Though you cast your net

A thousand times and more,

A million shinning fishes

Live and wriggling on the sand,

You can never catch the Sea,

Or hold it in your hand.

As some readers of this blog may know, I was the recipient of a liver transplant a little over two years ago. It was, in fact, the transplant experience that first stimulated me to begin writing poetry on a regular basis. Within a few weeks of the transplant I developed a persistent bile leak that has been a constant source of trouble for me, causing constant pain and landing me in the hospital on a regular basis. The doctors placed a trans-hepatic drain through my new liver in an attempt to allow the leak to heal. It has failed to do so. As a result, I am having corrective surgery done on Wednesday morning, September 8th.

I'll be in hospital for a week or so and laid up for the better part of a month. Before I do so, I would like to thank my friends and readers for your encouragement and support through these last two years. I hope to be back soon and posting new work here.

I'm posting two poems today, the first above this text was written earlier today, inspired by something I was reading in the classic "Blue Cliff Record" , Case #38, where Feng Hsueh speaks of "... scouring the oceans fishing for whales, I regret to find instead a frog crawling in the muddy sand". The second, below, is one of those nagging little intruders that appear sometimes during meditation. I'm often not exactly clear on what they mean. What, for instance, is the handout that the self comes looking for so tenaciously? Any thoughts?

Who is this,

Tugging at my eyelids?

Just myself, again, I'll wager,

Come poking 'round

Between the breaths,

Looking for a handout!

The net-casting image was taken from:

http://www.depthastrology.net/tools/for-entrepreneurs-part-v/

Shine

2010-08-20T18:37:00.000-07:00

Everywhere, it shines.

In its light, all things are bathed.

Every eye is set upon it,

And we cannot look away.

No matter which direction,

We face a radiance undimmed.

Which Bird?

2010-08-10T13:31:00.000-07:00

Look now, there in the garden!

Tell me what you see.

Is that the Blue Bird of Happiness,

Or just a gray bird of regret?

No matter either way,

Don't be concerned.

For no bird alights for long...

Gone on the next breeze!

We all know these birds. We see them in the garden of our mind, coming and going without end. No need to try to catch one, you're bound to see it again soon enough, with any luck at all. Find a comfortable spot to sit and simply watch them come and go, you'll find a great peace settling about you.
Now, that's a rare bird!

This saucy Scrub Jay is just like the one's who daily great me as I leave the house every morning. The above image was created by Sherlocdonatello.
You'll find it at: http: //www.zazzle.com/sherlockdonatello

Imprisoned and Free

2010-07-30T10:45:00.000-07:00

The warden's in his locked cell,

Crying out that he can't see.

When he learns he is the prison,

Then he'll know that he is free.

This little poem came to me today while sitting Zazen at the Vista Zen Center. Perhaps I should have not allowed myself to become so distracted, but these poems often force themselves on me and are most insistent!

Rembrandt's Peter in Prison from Zenit.org @; http://www.zenit.org/article-18082?l=english

Baizhang Was A Very Bad Man

2010-07-16T10:22:00.000-07:00

That Baizhang was a very bad man.

Since I met his wild fox

My eyes are open day and night,

Fixed on the wheel

That follows the foot

Of the ox that draws the cart.

If you're fond of sleepy dreaming, beware!

One look at this red-tailed devil

And the Age of Miracles

Is at an end.

"Cause and effect are very clear, and not a personal matter."

"Baizhang's Fox" is Case #2 in the seminal koan collection Mumonkan. It has been widely studied and commented on by many Zenists through the ages, but no more thoroughly or cogently, I think, than by Master Dogen. In addition to the famous essay in his Shobogenzo, he spoke in reference to it on six occasions in the chronicle of his dharma talks, Eihei Koroku. This poem was born while reading one of these, Dharma Hall Discourse #94 (pg. 135, Dogen's Extensive Record, trans. Leighton & Okumura.) Cause and effect are indeed not a personal matter, the Universe plays no favorites. If this were not so, gods and demons would crowd the landscape, leaving nowhere to even put one's foot down!

The wheel that follows the foot of the ox that draws the famous cart is from the opening passage of the Dhammapada, the Pali text that was the very first Buddhist text I ever laid eyes on, an image that has stayed with me all my life.

This fine looking fox comes from the Flicker Hive Mind site. To see more of their great photo selection, check 'em out at:

fiveprime.org/hivemind/ Tags/animals,fox

Drop by Drop

2010-07-03T08:17:00.000-07:00

There is a quiet

Mountain brook,

Running peacefully and

Clear.

I put it in my mind,

Drop by

Drop.

I awoke at 1:30 this morning with this poem fully composed in my dreaming mind, complete just as you read it here. To anticipate your question concerning this running water image, yes, I did have to go to the bathroom! But I went there only to turn on the light and write the poem down in my notebook, not wanting to wake my wife with the light. Once written, I went back to bed, only to get back up a few minutes later to write down the following lines, which popped into my head and would not leave me alone until also written down. My poetry-composing mind was simply racing and would not let me sleep until I did its' bidding and committed these lines to print!.

I can't predict,

It's true,

The midnight poem's

Sudden birth.

But well I know

The 5 AM alarm

That's coming with

The dawn.

A cloudburst

Followed by

A steady

Drizzle.

The photo image above is the work of the very talented nature photographer B.K. Bishar, and is used with his kind permission. Thanks Bishar!

No Thorns in the Void

2010-06-25T10:44:00.000-07:00

There are no thorns in the void,

Though you may pull

With all your might

You never can extract them.

There are no thrones in the void,

Though you may strive

All the days of your life,

You never will ascend them.

Mistaking one for the other

Will not make your task any easier,

For there are no thorns,

There are no thrones

In the void.

Now just answer me this,

Who is it that pulls?

Who is it that strains?

Who is it that puts their bloody

Shoulder to the wheel?

When there are no thrones,

You see,

No thorns,

In the Void.

I find myself these days spending far more time in the hospital than I would like. But I also have found the enforced quiet time of a three day stay to be quite conducive to study, reflection and especially to writing poetry. This poem had its' genesis in the reading of Thomas Cleary's translation of the Sui dynasty classic "Mo-ho Chih-kuan", or "Great Stopping and Seeing".

Written some time in the Sixth century, this work is a collection of lectures by the great T'ien-t'ai master Chih-i, and is a comprehensive course on the practices of Buddhist meditation. This work was one of the so-called Three Great Works of T'ien-t'ai Buddhism, but was also a source book for both Pure Land and Zen practitioners. Cleary's translation covers only the first quarter of the massive text, but it is a fascinating read.

It was rather late one night when I came across the line "There are no thorns in the void.", but my tired eyes at first saw "throne" instead of "thorn". I realized my error right away, but the thought took hold, a juxtaposition of these two words seemed to yield intriguing associations and a poem was born.

If you'd like to read "Stopping and Seeing" for yourself, it is available in the collection "Classics of Buddhism and Zen - Volume Five" by Thomas Cleary, from Shambala Publications.

Is It Just Me?

2010-06-16T07:15:00.000-07:00

This from this morning's paper. Who else on Earth gets this kind of press?

Sunset

2010-05-13T21:14:00.001-07:00

Sunset flares,

Blue, crimson and white.

Vast dome of twilight

Stretches empty,

Full of light.

Birds take flight

Borne on chilly breeze.

Standing silent, we watch,

No words,

Save these.

My Own Left Hand

2010-04-27T06:42:00.000-07:00

Old friend, dread killer,

We met first so many years ago,

In a moonbeam stream

On a jungle floor.

When I saw your coiled power,

Your razor talons and bonecrack jaws,

Did I not gasp with fear?

Though your jagged stripes rippled

In the blue-beam light,

Though you crept ever toward me,

Your feet never touched the broken stones

And twisted roots of Mother Earth.

It was then I knew that you stood not

Amid those darkened tress,

But in the darker forest of my heart.

Now forty years have vanished

Like sooty smoke from a camp-fire,

Caught by a sudden breeze,

But still I know that you are with me.

My constant friend,

My own left hand.

I see your eyes in my own eyes reflected

In the still pool of night,

The full moon, silver, riding high

Above our shoulder in the sky.

I found this amazing tiger image by Getsu Tora at: www.uniquedaily.com/ electric-tiger/

This site has many very cool photos and graphics. Check it out!

A Possibility

2010-04-12T10:58:00.000-07:00

In this troubled time,

Dear brother,

Consider this possibility;

God may find our tears

As beautiful as

He does our smile.

It will come as no surprise when I say that this poem is the product of adversity. The dear brother I address is really no one other than myself. The tears are my own, as is the smile. All is not well in Transplant Land, and my medical situation grows slowly worse. But, strange to say, as my body becomes more problematic my spirit seems to grow brighter, or at least, clearer.

A view has been growing in me that no one moment that we experience is any more significant or special than the next. Loss and gain, victory or defeat, all pale when we live just in this present moment, taking it just as it is, thoroughly examining it and living it. What appears good one moment may look bad the next, one's latest misfortune may reveal itself as to be a lucky break. When we rush to judge the quality of one moment, we may miss the arc of the trajectory of time, the face of the whole. The one contains the whole, the whole contains the one. Be still, and watch this lovely petal unfold!

"The Way is not difficult for those who avoid picking and choosing."

The photo is one I took recently during a rainstorm in Utah, just south of St. George.

Buddhas of Gold and Jade

2010-04-05T21:00:00.000-07:00

Buddhas of gold and jade

Come and go,

Arriving on the 15 th,

Departing on the 1st.

Thousands came to see the statue,

How many saw the Buddha?

That Question

2010-03-20T07:32:00.000-07:00

To that question

You could never

Ask me,

I still

Don't have

An Answer.

What are those questions that we can never ask? Too personal, too painful, too close to the answer we think we already know, to the answer we don't wish to hear? Is there knowledge we really don't want to have? Skeletons better left in closets? Loves that ought not speak their names? Dead better left buried and forgotten?

Questions hang unasked in the air, potentials not actualized, thresholds unpassed. How can we reply? Perhaps we feel that unformed question and strain to hear it. We lean into the moment to catch a hint. Do we dare to break the spell of silence and give voice to the question we feel is hanging between us? Can we tear away the veil?

To act in response to unasked questions, to projections of questions that really are our own gives rise to a world of shadow boxing, puppets dancing in thin air. What you think that unasked question is may be really nothing more than your own question to yourself. Do you have an answer now?

Scottish Zen?

2010-03-08T14:45:00.000-08:00

I love this commercial. Here we see the teaching o' th' Dharma as done in my ancestral home, the Scottish Highlands. Notice the grandmotherly care our Scottish Master shows for his poor students! How fortunate indeed they are to have found such a kind teacher! Even Lin-Chi could not have been so diligent with the dip-stick. Lucky lads!

Mu Monday

2010-03-08T10:42:00.000-08:00

Sitting very still, I go with the pain,

Following breath, in and out are the same.

Now I go to hang my hat on the wall,

But there is no hook on which to hang the hat,

There is no wall to hang the hook.

There is no hat to hang or fall.

There is no floor onto which to fall.

There is no one to hang this non-existent hat.

Has a dog Buddha nature?

No!

Void of any and all characteristics,

This Buddha nature is.

There is no dog to have anything,

There is nothing to be had.

No ears, no eyes,

Not tail to wag this no dog.

Ha ha ha ha ha!

Mountain - Six Views

2010-03-07T13:29:00.001-08:00

Mountains rise,

Rivers fall,

Cutting like knives,

Sand and wind,

Rain and cold,

The quaking Earth itself,

Great sculptor

Without hands.

This second batch of photos were taken in the Virgin River Gorge, in the extreme southwest corner of Utah state. All of these shots were taken out of the window of our car, going about sixty miles an hour. Every time we make the trip up there from San Diego my mind is blown by these astonishing rocks and the spectacular interplay with them and the sky, clouds and light. There is no shoulder on the road and only one place to pull over and park, so I am always frustrated by the many great potential photographs I see zooming by. Each trip I try to capture a few good ones. I hope you like these.

Note: Yesterday, looking at my photos on another computer than my own big imac, I noticed that the photos when clicked on were huge files, difficult to view. I have made these files today smaller, but on my computer they now look quite small when clicked on for enlargement. I would appreciate feed-back from you, dear readers, how do the expanded files look to you? Too big, too small or jussst right?

Sky - Five Views

2010-03-06T08:43:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, Brad Warner posted a blog on Hardcore Zen entitled "Utah is Psychedelic", based on his experience driving through Arizona and Utah on his way back east. I recently made the same journey when my wife and I went to visit family in Cedar City. I took about a jillion photos of the drive (thank you Diane for doing all the driving!). I agree with Brad. How did the sky get so huge out there? Here are five views.

Click on each photo to see full size.

Thornton Hospital Poem #2 - Though

2010-03-01T10:24:00.000-08:00

Though cruel be the wheel

That turns night and

Day,

Sweet be the

Fate

To fall beneath its'

Tread.

My second night in the hospital was nearly sleepless. I had a drip line in my right arm and I was still running a fever. The pain medications, rather than making me sleepy, seemed to induce a serene but wakeful state. When rosy fingered dawn began to lighten my east facing window, I opened my notebook and began to write. This is the poem that came to me. While not quite automatic writing, this one came to me nearly complete as is. The funny spacing, drawing out the words, is meant to suggest a slow reading of each word.

This poem evokes a feeling I sometimes get when I'm in pain. Rather than feeling depressed, I feel a kind of joy in the experience of just living. It seems that the totality of life, the pleasures and the pains are all here to be experienced together. Being on the cutting edge, so to speak, of life, it all seems beautiful, even the painful parts! This is why we are alive, simply to experience it all, the whole thing!

Zhaozhou often quoted this saying by Sengcan:
The great way is not difficult
if you just don’t pick and choose.

Thornton Hospital Poem #1

2010-02-22T15:45:00.000-08:00

I'm really glad they

Built this hospital for me,

Its' worth getting sick just

To come here and see.

High on one wall

A black lacquer painting.

In gold,

A woman stands behind

A happy poet,

Drunk,

On both

Words and wine.

I was back in the hospital for the last few days, thanks to a nasty bacterial "shower" that developed in the course of the routine exchange of a billiary drain. It runs through my transplanted liver and into my small intestine (more information than I'm sure you wish to know). It isn't the first time this has happened and I'm pretty sure it won't be the last time.

What made this visit stand out, though, is that I got sick many hours after the procedure, at around 1 AM and so found myself in the emergency room of a different hospital, the much closer Thornton Hospital in La Jolla. After a quick examination, they admitted me to a private room on the second floor and started an aggressive course of IV antibiotics and antifungals.

After a day or so I started feeling a bit better and settled in and began taking a closer look at my surroundings, and lovely surroundings they were!

Thornton Hospital is part of the UCSD system, but was founded by the astonishing grants from many of San Diego's wealthiest families, chief among them the Thorntons, and may the blessings of the Lord be upon them evermore! It is simply the most beautiful hospital one could ever wish to find oneself admitted to. Built around a large open court, the angled glass ceiling rises four or five stories high, illuminating the large central space with daylight. The floors are of beautiful marble, with tasteful geometric inlays. Generously comfortable couches and chairs are arranged in carpeted areas and the walls are decorated with antique Chines art, with cabinets of lovely Chinese ceramics of the finest quality.

I established a daily routine of Zazen in my room followed by 20 minutes of walking the halls with classical music on my ipod. Then I would lie in bed for the next few hours (often with an IV drip in my arm) and read from my Kindle or from one of the books I had brought along. Along the way I was inspired to write a few poems, such as the one above. The photo is of one small panel in a much larger piece, one of my very favorites. In it we see the poet seated at his low table, books spread out before him, along with a wine jug. A lovely lady stands in attendance and behind, above, a full moon rises in the black lacquer night.

I felt just like this lucky fellow, my books spread out, my verses before me. In attendance, a wonderful staff of nurses to help me heal. True, there was no wine, but Thornton has a room service style food program. Simply dial up the desk and a short while later a very nice spa-type meal of ones own choosing was delivered by smiling kitchen servers.

I had a few medical adventures there, all was not skittles and beer. But my stay there was certainly memorable and I have a few pretty good new poems in my notebook. Now, really, it's not worth getting sick just to go there, so guard your health closely. But if fate does draw you there, I recommend the fish tacos, a true San Diego specialty.

Happy Tet!

2010-02-13T08:40:00.000-08:00

Welcome the Year of the Tiger! Several days ago I visited the Vietnamese monastery and temple in nearby Escondido. The monastery, which has been in existence for nine years, is playing host to the display of the largest black-jade statue of the Buddha in the world. In my next post I will share some pictures of this remarkable Buddha and the surrounding temple grounds. But, as today is the first day of the New Year, the Year of the Tiger, I present this image of one of the other statues on the grounds.

I don't actually know who this masterful fellow riding the tiger is. (If any of you reading this knows his identity, please let me know.) But it is easy to see that he is a man of great accomplishment in the Way. Not only is he atop this powerful beast, but he appears to be perfectly comfortable and perfectly ready to engage the world. One senses he and the tiger are in complete accord as to where to go and what to do.

And so, this New Year's wish. May we all may ride this year's tiger in harmonious accord, ever ready to engage life at any moment, with the power of a tiger and clarity of one accomplished in the Way.

What is This?

2010-02-03T19:01:00.000-08:00

"What is this?",

The Master asks.

Though thirteen centuries

Await a reply,

The words I bring

Are only butterflies,

Caught in a net.

Today's image taken from a very cool blog, Not Quite Perfect.

Check out these dazzling graphics! :

http://dzeni.blogspot.com/2008_01_01_archive.html

Tiger in My Chair

2010-01-21T21:13:00.001-08:00

Hey Tiger, get out of my chair.

I'm sick of your growling,

And I'm tired of your stare,

Of you washing your whiskers

And grooming your hair.

You've scratched up the furniture

Quite beyond all repair.

Hey, Tiger, get out of my chair.

Hey Tiger, get out of my chair.

Life was rough when I met you

And we made a tough pair,

With guns, riding choppers

We flew through the air,

But all that we did

Brought death and despair.

Hey, Tiger, get out of my chair.

Hey Tiger, get out of my chair.

I can't sleep when you're here,

As we both are aware.

I can see that this bores you,

But I really don't care,

Now pick up your tail

And take it elsewhere.

Now, Tiger! Get out of my chair!

This morning, while participating in the morning sitting at the Zen Center, I had a full-blown attack of PTSD anxiety. It seems to have been brought on by a combination of factors. I was acting as jikido, the person responsible for ringing the various bell and chimes that set the pace for the opening and closing rituals and that mark the periods of meditation. As my hands are somewhat shaky from all the various chemotherapy treatments, immune suppressants and pain killers that I have taken or am taking, I find it very hard to get it all "right". So this jikido role is very stressful for me.

After completing the opening ritual, we sat and a heavy rain began falling outside, the dramatically heavy rains that have made the national media. San Diego county is normally a pretty dry place, and this was a monsoon-like downpour. And then, seated in meditation, it hit me. The sound of the monsoon rain brought back a flood of memories and associations from my time spent as a combat infantryman in the Vietnam War. Thoughts of days and nights spent in the bush, soaking wet and cold in pouring rain came washing over me in an almost overwhelming wave of anxiety and negative emotions. My system flooded with adrenaline and I was ready for fight or flight. With rapid pulse and quick, shallow breath, I struggled to keep my equilibrium.

I hung on till the end. When the session was over and we were all leaving, I spoke to my friend Marty, and old hand with PTSD himself and we sat in his car and talked over what had happened. I won't go over all that here, but after a while I felt well enough to drive through the pouring rain to work. As soon as I settled in at work, I opened my notebook and wrote the poem above. The tiger has long been for me a personification of the instinctual, primal survival circuits built into us all but discovered only in times of extreme danger. For soldiers, sailors, police, firemen and other such folks, these "programs", if too often accessed, can become a persistent problem, one that must be dealt with for the rest of your life. Reflexes that once kept you alive now become a source of trouble and pain, like a tiger pent up in a cage.

This, then, is for my own Tiger.

See you later, pal!

tiger image from : www.flickr.com/photos/ 26345370@N06/2470316913/

Flower Garland Temples and Me

2010-01-15T18:51:00.000-08:00

Dreams of Flower Garland temples

And islands floating in the air.

What a disappointment!

I awake to find

Only myself.

Early in the morning, a few days ago, I had the most wonderful dream. It involved some fabulous realm of light, with iridescent temples carved with the most incredible detail and a feeling of transcendent bliss. I mean, my brain was really cranking it out! A Buddhist epic with John Cameron-like intensity, complete with budget-busting special effects! Then suddenly, I awoke!

And there I was, back in my own bedroom, in the same old body. The same old me, like a magician's assistant, sawed-in-half and stitched back together. Facing another day of being me, I slowly climbed out of bed, wisps of dreamworld quickly fading from my mind and tottered towards the bathroom door. The transition had been abrupt and not all that pretty. I muttered aloud "What a disappointment!" Then the poem above came to me in a flash, as they often do and I quickly scribbled it in my notebook. My subconscious was trying to tell me something.

Almost as soon as I had written it down, my perspective began to change. A cup of good coffee, a chat with my wife and a half-hour of meditation seated in our light-filled living room confirmed my feeling, so that now I saw the dream as the disappointment. I looked around and considered. Actual life, just as it is lived, aches and pains included, is the real wonder. As compelling or as vividly imagined as a dream or a work of art may be, it is only a pale reflection of the real deal! Fun is fun, but nothing beats a direct and unhindered view of "this". Yahoo!

But wait! Even dreams are a part of this "real" world. Every action of the mind, from the smallest hunch to the wildest dream, crazy as it may be, is still a part of the seamless fabric of "this". Woops! There goes the whole dualistic carpet, right out from under my feet! Nowhere to stand. Ahh...

Image from: http://wisdomquarterly.blogspot.com/2009/12/story-of-mahayana-part-ii.html

UCSD Hospital Meditation

2010-01-04T11:34:00.000-08:00

Under the glass and steel dome,

The morning light streams slanting,

Palm tree shadows glide slowly

Across the great curved wall.

Through sliding doors,

The early morning sufferers come streaming,

Their brave selves steering broken bodies,

Many smile, in spite of all.

Half-closed eyes soon reveal,

A glowing dome of crimson light.

Blood cells rush through capillary hallways,

On oxygen missions they heed the call.

The dome discloses in bold relief

Arching fingers of Moorish coral,

Writhing reefs of Hindu temples,

Gods and demons twist upon Alhambra wall.

A persistent post-transplant problem necessitates regular hospital visits on my part. I sometimes find myself seated for various lengths of time in the comfortable padded chairs in the front lobby of the UCSD hospital in Hillcrest, San Diego. This is an excellent spot to observe the comings and goings of the myriad types of people that receive care here, as well as those who love and care for them, doctors, nurses, families and friends, not to mention a number of fantastical characters who wander in off the street just to get warm.

While seated there recently, I found myself impressed with the brave smiles of so many of the ones who limped or came rolling in through the main doors. Like myself, they are struggling and living with constant pain and yet they seemed to me so brave in the face of their challenges that I couldn't help but be moved.

Half-closing my eyes, I began to meditate. Although I rarely experience visual images in meditation, the bright sunlight coming through the vast glass front of the building fell directly on my face, revealing the pulsing blood in my eyelids. As my state of relaxation deepened, this light triggered a fantastic variety of eidetic imagery, a real psychedelic light show right there in my head. These images brought back memories of visits to Spain and the Middle East, as well as Hindu temples seen in books and film.

When I told my wife about my experience later that night, she got very excited and demanded that I set my description down in verse. This, then, is the result.

The Black Dog of Christmas

2009-12-12T09:08:00.000-08:00

What's this?

The Black Dog of Christmas is at our heels,

once again.

Plastic mistletoe just won't do.

Real hugs and kisses all around.

Nice dogy!

Every year since 1975 (save one) I have labored in the retail trade at Christmas time. Eleven years as a bookseller, twenty-two in the fine wine trade, I participated in the grueling grind of America's great spending binge holiday season. For those in the trenches of this annual ritual running of the gauntlet, this means extra hours, hastily snatched meals eaten while standing, desperate needs to meet with no time to lose, short tempers, disappointed shoppers with long faces and an unrelenting stream of Xmas music! I can't stress the horror of this last item enough. Muzak, Country Western, Jazz, Celtic Folk, Bing Crosby and Tiny Tim, I've heard 'em all... alot... many times... over and over...again and again... morn' 'till night... dawn to dusk... did I mention that I have heard a lot of Christmas music? Jingle bells become jangle bells!

Thus was born the Black Dog of Christmas. The dark mass of dread that was the Season to be Jolly, that "most wonderful time of the year". But last year I got a "time out", in the form of massive complications from my liver transplant. Bilomas and pneumonia, biliary drains and emergency visits in the dead of night and dozens of painful interventional procedures replaced the ol' grind and I missed the whole season. From Thanksgiving to New Year's Day I was pretty much a basket case.

The worst thing about silver linings is that big black cloud that's always in front of them. So, behind this particular mother of all black clouds there was one heck of a great silver lining. I experienced the loving care of my always-there-for-me wife, the support and encouragement of my family, my dear friends far and wide, the members of my church (St. Michael's by the Sea), the company of my crusty Vietnam-vet buddies at the San Marcos Vet Center, the terrific efforts of certain members of the cyber-Zen community, blogging away to free all sentient beings and the daily fellowship of the terrific sangha at the Vista Zen Center. In other words I experienced the sterling qualities of pretty much everyone I know.

What all of this leads up to is this. This year, when the Black Dog of Christmas came sniffing around I predictably tensed up, waiting for the blow. But instead, this year I have looked that dog in the eye and realized that I missed the old brut! I missed the harried shoppers, the hurried meals, the going the extra mile to help the customer. I've realized that the feeling I got when I was helping others has always been my payoff for my work. Sure I get a paycheck, but if it didn't make me feel good, I would't have lasted a week doing biz. And when someone comes in and tells me their dinner party was a great success or that their special someone was made happy by that perfect wine I led them to, it makes my day.

It may be that helping each other is exactly what we are all here to do.

"But Dave," you may fairly ask, "what about the Xmas music? Do you like that now?"

Nobody's perfect.

(I think that mutt just stained the carpet).

Xmas Card image by Edward Gorey

Peanuts on Cold Mountain

2009-11-21T19:36:00.000-08:00

Peanuts by Charles Schulz

"Here we languish, a bunch of poor scholars,

Battered by extremes of hunger and cold.

Out of work, our only joy is poetry:

Scribble, scribble, we wear out our brains.

Who will read the works of such men?

On that point you can save your sighs.

We could inscribe our poems on biscuits

And homeless dogs wouldn't deign to nibble."

- from "Cold Mountainby Han Shan, Translation by Burton Watson

I've posted this classic poem by Han Shan on FTLO before, early in the year. It is a personal favorite. This morning when I saw this classic Peanuts reprint in the Los Angeles Times, I knew they belonged together. Did Charles Schulz, I wonder, ever read the Cold Mountain poems? Or is this word-devouring dog dilemma so universal that it must pop up ever-fresh in our experience?

Reading this strip carefully, I am saddened by the way the precocious young Rerun is already preparing lame excuses for the inevitable failures to come, what Leonard Cohen called his "invincible defeat". Rerun already knows that suffering is what's in store for him. And Snoopy is making plans to take full advantage of Rerun's dog-feeding dodge!

Half-Empty / Half-Full

2009-11-19T20:07:00.000-08:00

Half-empty or half-full?

Friend,

This glass is empty

All the way to the bottom!

Glass image from: www.openwt.com/images/ Half-empty-glass-2.jpg

Crust

2009-11-05T16:16:00.000-08:00

This morning at breakfast,

She is troubled by crust,

And by the thought

That all dust

Was once alive

As you and us.

Drop the Blade

2009-10-23T09:48:00.000-07:00

Although you cut it

All day long,

It never bleeds.

Dice it a thousand times,

There are no pieces.

Chop at it with all your might,

You will never carry a stick away!

Drop the blade and you

May take the whole thing.

Forty Years Ago Today

2009-10-15T20:27:00.000-07:00

It was then that I first experienced

that peculiarly familiar sensation

of being both inside

and outside

of time and space.

I stood in the busy bustle

of the Student Union square and watched

the light pour into my eyes through closed eyelids.

It seemed like nothing would ever be the same.

Nor was it.

Don't Let Bob Dylan Break Your Heart

2009-10-04T10:54:00.000-07:00

Don't let Bob Dylan break your heart.

Don't let the past tear you apart.

Our lives are framed,

Not made, by art.

Don't let Bob Dylan break your heart.

It's not stepping stones alone

That call to you,

All the dead you've left

Still follow you.

Your stone was rolling from the start,

In changing times we play our part,

And all that come

Must soon depart.

Don't let Bob Dylan break your heart.

In posting this fresh-written poem I'd like to state that it is in no way a criticism of or a comment upon Bob Dylan himself. Its' inspiration was instead the impulse to melancholy nostalgia brought on by the hearing of emblematic songs of the "old days", AKA the Golden Age. And no one wrote more emblematic songs then than Bob Dylan! Some of you out there might quibble and bring up Lennon & McCartney, but this is my blog and that's my view. That's what the comment button below is for. How about it, what songs set off your nostalgia circuits, and how do you feel about that?

Muse

2009-10-01T18:34:00.000-07:00

There is coffee in the morning,

And six pills that are all mine,

And a paper full of sorrow,

Without sense and without rhyme.

But I toss away my troubles,

And forget the world unkind,

When I hear her sweetly singing,

With my ordinary mind.

Ugly Dog

2009-09-17T20:46:00.000-07:00

My best friend is an ugly dog.

He's been at my side night and day.

You'd have to agree, he's nothing to look at.

He chews my shoes and pees on my rug,

He keeps me up howling all night long.

I awoke this morning to find him gone,

My shoes intact and carpet unsoiled.

Can anyone help me find him?

He's an ugly dog, but he's all I've got!

Body/Mind

2009-09-10T19:34:00.000-07:00

Body Mind/ Body Mind,

Home of all ills,

Doctors and dentists,

Potions and drills.

Body Mind/ Body Mind,

On couch and with pills,

A fence in a meadow,

One patient, two bills.

Beachcombing

2009-08-30T22:42:00.001-07:00

Sifting, I, on seashore strand,

Solitary, seeking bliss.

Infinity in a grain of sand

Seeking eye and finding This.

A Pick Up from Cold Mountain

2009-08-15T13:26:00.001-07:00

For a mud ball dropped in water

big plans make no sense

for a fragile dreamlike body

a hundred years are rare

unable to ponder deeply

and claiming they're immortal

people steal a ton of gold

then leave it all behind

I have featured the poems of Tang dynasty hermit Han Shan (Cold Mountain) several times on this blog, chosen from the translations of Burton Watson. This morning I was reading Red Pine's excellent collection, "The Collected Songs of Cold Mountain" and was struck by the timeless views of Han Shan's able sidekick, Shih-te (Pick Up). Red Pine's book includes 49 Shih-te verses along with over 300 attributed to Han Shan. Bonus! In print from Copper Canyon Press, this collection is a must have item for lovers of the "brush and ink" crowd.

Although I have used a traditional portrait of Shih-te with broom in hand, perhaps I should have illustrated this verse with a picture of ol' Kenny Boy, merely one of the vast crowd of potential poster-boys for the above verse. But then, why honor fools even with scorn?

Never Mind the Beard

2009-08-11T21:31:00.001-07:00

Intimate?

Yes, I'd say so.

But sometimes it can be

So very hard to see,

I wish that old barbarian

Would trim his eyebrows!

Wahrenbrock's Bookhouse Closes

2009-08-06T19:17:00.000-07:00

When a great tree falls in a forest,

Only those who listen can hear.

Impermanence alone

May be relied upon.

(Photo by Preston Wessells )

It's Fun to Stay Alive

2009-07-31T07:34:00.001-07:00

(Left to right: Mike Towery, Wiliam Lund, Scott Shaw!, Ken Kruger, Greg Bear, David Clark, Roger Freedman)

"It's Fun to Stay Alive!"

A breezy sentiment

From an old comic book,

A banner to fly

Through weariful life.

Though the sound man faces the

Passing of generations immune,

As to the sacrifice of straw dogs,

Reunited with my cohorts of old

I marvel at grey heads and

Sparkling eyes.

Passing years may erode the form

But hearts,

Like diamonds,

Stay true.

When I was a very young man I was privileged to know a gaggle of brilliant young fellows who, among their many other accomplishments, founded what has become the largest and longest running comic/ science fiction/ film convention in the world, the San Diego Comic Con. This astounding gathering of the tribe brings together 140,000 passionate followers of the imaginative life, dedicated to celebrating the wildest of dreams, dark and light, tragic bravery and hilarious tomfoolery conjoined at the metaphorical hip.

Last week as guest at the 40th annual event I had the very great pleasure of joining my old friends at panels and parties to celebrate our act of collective lunacy now launched far beyond the boundaries of even our wildest dreams. This poor poem is my attempt to convey my love and respect to a great bunch of guys, present and absent, forever young in my eyes.

Shoes for Industry!

Gillian Welch and My Original Face

2009-07-16T19:22:00.000-07:00

Aurora borealis fills the sky at night,

Princes Pocahontas bathed in eerie light.

The world dwells in delusion,

Captured by the thought,

That she was an Indian

And that I am not.

Confucian Lines In Honor of My Most Excellent Father

2009-07-07T21:17:00.000-07:00

In a world full of pitfalls,

Time lays traps for the unwise.

All are whittled away by slow decay,

Only the very wise attain great age.

Always honorable,

He now becomes venerable.

My father, Ken Clark, was recently honored in his church on Father's Day as the oldest father in a rather sizable congregation. Hearing the news, I was moved to write the lines above. The top photo shows him as a young man in the Navy and was taken in Japan at the end of "The War". Dad was in the very first American landing party in Japan and had a ringside seat for the historic closing events of the Pacific War. The other was taken late last year at dinner in California.

Mandala Complete

2009-06-22T22:37:00.001-07:00

Sunday saw the mandala completed. Here we see it (from a side angle). I was unable to attend the closing ceremonies, but my wife Diane was there and took these photos.

As part of the ceremony, the sand was carefully brushed up, put in an urn for disposal in the nearest swift-moving river. I'm not sure where that will be, this is a drought-gripped region.

After days of intense concentration on the painting, the monks seemed happy

to be done and there were smiles all around.

The large, four storied central room of the museum was filled with the sounds of the traditional Tibetan instruments and deep-throated chanting.

Diane took many more pictures of the closing event and I plan to post some more soon.

Many thanks to the monks of the Drepung Loseling Monastery for sharing their healing vision of Green Tara with the people of San Diego!

For a schedule of upcoming appearances by the monks,

check this link;

http://www.drepung.org/changing/mystical/Tour-Sch.htm#top

Green Tara Poem

2009-06-21T15:24:00.000-07:00

On a lotus seat, standing for realization of voidness,
(You are) the emerald-colored, one-faced, two-armed Lady
In youth's full bloom, right leg out, left drawn in,
Showing the union of wisdom and art - homage to you!

Like the outstretched branch of the heavenly turquoise tree,
Your supple right hand makes the boon- granting gesture,
Inviting the wise to a feast of supreme accomplishments,
As if to an entertainment-homage to you!

Your left hand gives us refuge, showing the Three Jewels;
It says, "You people who see a hundred dangers,
Don't be frightened-I shall swiftly save you!"
Homage to you!

Both hands signal with blue utpala flowers,
"Samsaric beings! Cling not to worldly pleasures.
Enter the great city of liberation!"
Flower-goads prodding us to effort-homage to you!
---First Dalai Lama (1391-1474)

From: http://www.religionfacts.com/buddhism/deities/tara.htm

Tibetan Work In Progress

2009-06-19T23:07:00.001-07:00

Work on the Green Tara Mandala in San Diego continues apace.

"Seated on a lotus at the center of the mandala, Green Tara is ever ready to respond to the suffering of beings afflicted with emotional obscurations. Arrayed around the mother of mercy are her twenty-one manifestations. Each of the mandala's four gates are ornamented with the eight-spoked Dharma wheel attended by two deer, symbol of the Three Jewels: the Buddha teaching the Dharma to the Sangha." - Wisdom Publications, http://www.wisdom-books.com/ProductDetail.asp?PID=13183

Wikepedia has this to say:
"Tara (Sanskrit: तारा, tārā) or Ārya Tārā, also known as Jetsun Dolma (Tibetan language:rje btsun sgrol ma) in Tibetan Buddhism, is a female Bodhisattva in Mahayana Buddhism who appears as a female Buddha in Vajrayana Buddhism.. She is known as the "mother of liberation", and represents the virtues of success in work and achievements. In Japan she is known as Tarani Bosatsu but virtually unknown in China.^[1]"

"Green Tara/Khadiravani is usually associated with protection from fear and the following eight obscurations: lions (= pride), wild elephants (= delusion/ignorance), fires (= hatred and anger), snakes (= jealousy), bandits and thieves (= wrong views, including fanatical views), bondage (= avarice and miserliness), floods (= desire and attachment), and evil spirits and demons (= deluded doubts)."

Tibetan Monks in San Diego

2009-06-18T08:49:00.000-07:00

Here are some photos I shot yesterday at the San Diego Natural History Museum.

Monks from the Drepung Loseling Monastery started work Wednesday creating a Mandala sand painting, a 2500-year-old Tantric Buddhist healing practice. They are producing a Green Tara Mandala, which the museum says "Buddhists believe can lead to personal and planetary healing during times of uncertainty and economic crises."

Although I had planned to be on hand early, a surprise last-minute appointment at the UCSD Pain Clinic meant missing the opening ceremonies, which a fellow museum member told me was very impressive. Cymbals, drums, bells and trumpets, accompanied by deep, full-throated chanting filled the three story high open space of the museum's main hall. By the time I arrived on scene three monks had completed the chalk-line layout and had begun to lay down the colored sand from long metal tubes. The tubes, which are tapered, are rubbed vigorously with a sort of wand along a raised metal sawtooth ridge, the vibration sending the grains spilling out the small nozzle end in an incredibly fine stream. The result is a low-tech air brush sort of effect. Their concentration as they worked, as one would expect, was intense,

their focus complete.

I hung around for several hours, wandering away to look at the various exhibits, including the beautiful new William Stout murals, depicting prehistoric life in the various epochs of our region's past. Bill Stout is an old friend, we first met 40 years ago, at the very first San Diego Comic Con in 1969. Bill is simply one of the very best painters of prehistoric life working today, and the SDNHM is very lucky to

have secured his services.

I hope to get back to the museum some time over the weekend and see the finished or near-finished image. When completed, the painting will be destroyed sometime on Sunday. This traditional final destruction serves to remind the viewer of the transitory nature of all things, including ourselves.

Here's a link to the museum website, which includes a video of the monks at work;

http://www.sdnhm.org/exhibits/bodyworlds2/events.php

Here's a link to the Drepung Loseling Monastery site;
http://www.drepung.org/

Deign to Nibble

2009-06-12T06:48:00.000-07:00

"Here we languish, a bunch of poor scholars,

Battered by extremes of hunger and cold.

Out of work, our only joy is poetry:

Scribble, scribble, we wear out our brains.

Who will read the works of such men?

On that point you can save your sighs.

We could inscribe our poems on biscuits

And homeless dogs wouldn't deign to nibble."

Thus spake Han-Shan, "Cold Mountain" in T'ang dynasty China. What was true fourteen hundred years ago remains true today, though the "poor scholars" may have enough scratch to own a computer. Lonely bloggers now cover the globe, hacking away their thoughts and dreams into cyberspace. To you homeless dogs out there who pause to eat these stale biscuits, a deep bow and a heartfelt "gassho" of thanks.

I began blogging a little over a year ago, May 19th, to be exact, with little idea of why or what I wished to say, or perhaps most importantly, who I wished to say it to. So much has happened in this last year or so that my head spins in wonder at the changes. I find that I have, perhaps, something to say, and I stumble towards a way to say it. To whom am I speaking? I wonder still.

Dear homeless dogs, as you pass by to nibble at these poor biscuits, give us a word to save a little "cat" from its' cruel death. The comment button that lies below will not bite you (at least not very hard). Say a word, even "Mu" will do.

The above image, by the way, is a zinc plate etching done a few years ago. It depicts the artist on a nightime ambush in the Central Highlands of Vietnam. Totally alert, he sits silently, motionless, aware of every sound and movement in every dark shadow. Because those sounds and motions could mean his instant death, as well as the death of all his friends who lie sleeping beside him, he is as aware as it is really possible to be. Joshu, cats and dogs, stale biscuits, hundred foot poles and all the rest await him, undreamed of as yet. He's studying Zen the hard way, one breath at a time.

Getting Up

2009-06-10T08:48:00.000-07:00

Tripping on a rock of pain,

Falling into the rushing stream,

Rise again and take up the staff

One foot before another.

The journey of a thousand miles goes on.

Coming Back

2009-06-09T16:10:00.000-07:00

Climbing down from atop a mountain,

Very slowly, step by step.

Careful foot on mossy boulder,

Cross fallen logs wet from waterfall.

One by one, small pills are counted,

Muscles taut and nerves sharp strained.

Nightime watches stretch forever,

Weary eyed to greet the dawn.

All good things must have an end,

What about the bad?

Hungry World

2009-05-17T20:09:00.000-07:00

I don't know,

I don't know why,

This busy world is so...

Relentless.

Relentless in its hunger.

Hungry world.

It devours,

All our waking hours,

With such shocking greed!

The future becomes past

Almost before it is now.