Palm Sunday

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

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

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

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

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

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

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