Crossing Nebraska

It's been a tough season, and a tough year. The strain is beginning to show. People are doing what they need to do to stay alive, and well, and sane. And so am I. When I saw a tiny bird had died after flying into the window shortly after I arrived at work, I had to find meaning in it somehow. Otherwise I might have just broken down and cried, which actually wouldn't have been such a bad thing to do. So I wrote this poem. This little being has given something of its life energy that I might carry on. I hope it gives something of its life force to you as well. With A World On Fire With a world on fire or drenched beneath the onslaught of a hurricane, And an economy collapsing ’neath the greed of our so-called finest brains, With people shot dead on the streets for scaring lawmen with their skin, And old folks dying in lonely rooms without their loved ones ever coming in, With kids in cages on the border because their lives mean so much less than rules, And whistleblower...

I’m back in the so-called “real world” after a weeklong meditation retreat at Sanshin Zen Temple. And what would sesshin be without at least a poem to show for it! {smile} Clearly this particular one was inspired by my having slept in a tent on the temple grounds all week long – something that made this particular rohatsu sesshin of a decidedly different quality than all of the others that I’ve sat. In addition to the obvious Zen influence, you might also see the influence of a beautiful quote by Catherine of Siena that I stumbled across not too long ago: “Every step of the way to heaven is heaven.” I love this quote for its obvious grasp, albeit from a Christian perspective, of the non-dual nature of reality – something that is without question when considering the Buddhist concept of shunyata , or emptiness . Also present is the influence of the Quaker propensity for speaking of “that of God in everyone.” I hope you enjoy the poem! The Ghost of Lost Attention If ...

A friend and I were driving from Colorado Springs down to Santa Fe yesterday. The following poem virtually leapt onto the page of my notebook as we skirted the Sangre de Cristo range of the Rocky Mountains. I present it here in pretty much first-draft form.           A Sangre de Cristo Surrender     Dying slowly, and comfortably, must be similar to this... Dying joyfully, and wholeheartedly, must be just a little bit like this...   Like looking out at mountains rooted deep within your heart, and watching clouds billow like the warm breath of a billion prayers offered up to heaven.   Like dancing with so many antelope across an endless field, and sinking like snowmelt deeper and deeper into the earth.   You know me well. You know what words we've had. But good and bad are now so very far away. Everything is like a smile growing wider, and brighter, unti...

A new year begins, and with it I embark on a new journey born of renewed intention – even as the mud and memories of years gone by remain. The holiday season brought with it all the joy and sorrow of the karma that is mine; and now I live with the renewed intention that urged me to sit rohatsu sesshin at Sanshinji at the beginning of the last month of last year. Some days into that sesshin it began to snow. I walked in it one day after lunch, just as it was ceasing its accumulation. Here are some photographs of that walk, accompanied by the poetry that has been percolating somewhere in the back of my mind ever since: Walking In The Snow Walking in the snow is a meditation That unfolds of its own accord. If one must speak in terms of beginnings, Then it begins with the closing of the door behind us. And it ends when…, well…, Who can say when it ends?   A closing door, A garden fencerow – A walk in the snow quickly leaves such things behind. ...

God's first language is silence. – St. John of the Cross   Mathematics is the language with which God has written the universe. – Galileo   This post is not intended for the believers of the world. There is probably little that I or anyone can say to a believer that might change what he or she thinks of God. Rather, this post is intended for the seekers and questioners and doubters of the world, for it is you who have not yet forged a case-hardened steel conceptualization of what God is or is not – whether in reality or in the minds of humans. So, please bear with me for a bit – even if we’d have a difficult time getting you to admit that maybe, just maybe, something of what others call ‘God’ resides for you in the nooks and crannies of the mystery or unknowability that you experience from time to time; even if ‘God’ for you is merely a construct that is of interest precisely because so many other people so immensely overvalue it; even if ‘God’ for you is like a st...

universal : “[I]ncluding or covering all or a whole collectively or distributively without limit or exception… [E]xistent or operative everywhere or under all conditions...” Merriam-Webster ritual : “[A]ccording to religious law… social custom or normal protocol.” Merriam-Webster   I step into the doorway of my meditation room, press my palms together and bow. Then, cupping my left hand with my right, I walk over to the altar against the opposite wall and bow once again before it. To the right, the candle and the incense burner sit ready to accept my respective offerings. To the left, one ceramic bowl half full of water reflects the dim light of the room, and another cradles a single heart-shaped piece of polished stone. In the middle, the Buddha statue resting on its wooden pedestal serenely oversees its domain. A shelf beneath the altar holds a book of matches, a box of incense, and various other bells and containers. I light the candle and extinguish the match with ...

For most of this week I’ve been working on a poem intended for submission to the Austin Zen Center's ongoing Just This blog journal – the most recent topic being ‘crossing the stream’. Of course, crossing the stream is an oft-used Buddhist metaphor, one encompassing some kind of difficult movement from a place of unaware existence to one of awakening. Within this metaphor the Buddha’s teachings are frequently thought of as a raft that may be used for safe passage from one side to the other. At first I thought this poem wouldn’t nest very well with my previous post. Upon reflection, however, I see that they make a perfect pair. I’ll talk about why further on, but for now let me just introduce my submission:       Crossing the Stream I set out to cross the stream once long ago. Or maybe it was yesterday. Funny, time can be like that. I remember gazing at the other side – The grassy lowlands beckoning, The cool green fore...