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

UCSD Hospital Meditation

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

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