Sky - Five Views

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

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

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!

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?

"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

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

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