once upon, beyond and through, a time without seconds

 Vacuum energy, zero point energy, background energy — the unmaterial realm of pure energy — what translators sometimes call the heavenly realm — the stuff of physics and spirituality.

Beyond our current capacity to grasp in itself, we narratize and storify into conceivable hypotheses of popular understanding, albeit, mysterious belief.

Comes a time when those codified mythologies lose their luster, the audience thins,  cobwebs form, faces look around in search of some new explanation of an old memory that once held interest,

And here we are.

Between tales.

Between takes.

Between traditions.

Twirling like photons and bosons around a diaphanous center that is no center at all, but, rather, a new poem seeking new poets to compose a fleeting aspiration to charm listeners into a reverie of tea sipping cookie biting ecstasy of wonder at the inspired exhalation of a winter sky frozen air crunching snow.

yellow comes, shows yellow; blue, shows blue

 I was thinking about insanity. 

It’s hard to figure who is and who isn’t insane in public office and celebrity.

As an insane person, you’d think I’d know.

Does a mirror know the face looking into it?

pause

 On sit/kneel chair, bright sun on snow, Saturday morning, as eyes heal, looking through nothing as nothing at nothing.

Quietness.

“Prayer is the flight of the alone to the Alone.” (Evagrius, 344-399AD)

When words, exhausted, fall into glancing silence. 

when no is fueled by radiant yes

Forth-telling not foretelling. 

Are there prophets today?

Who speaks truth with clarity and caring fierceness, acts with compassionate integration, thinks what could be called the thoughts and insights of divine nature? 

The prophet was an individual who said No to his society, condemning its habits and assumptions, its complacency, waywardness, and syncretism. He was often compelled to proclaim the very opposite of what his heart expected. His fundamental objective was to reconcile man and God. Why do the two need reconciliation? Perhaps it is due to man's false sense of sovereignty, to his abuse of freedom, to his aggressive, sprawling pride, resenting God's involvement in history. 

Prophecy ceased; the prophets endure and can only be ignored at the risk of our own despair. It is for us to decide whether freedom is self-assertion or response to a demand; whether the ultimate situation is conflict or concern.

(—from Introduction,The Prophets, by Abraham Heschel, 1962) 

Surely we’ve each met someone, who, without bullshit, says it like it is, acts without fear, serves with unambiguous and generous altruism.

Speak forth!

Go ahead — say it — embody it!

Transform — self — and the facticity of reality itself!

tell them not to be afraid

 Transform rigid vertical hierarchy into breathable circular community.

That’s what I’d tell Corrections Commissioners across the country.

Yesterday’s “Awakening Exchange” facilitated from Maine State Prison.

A good use of time.

to everything

 turn,

turn,

turn.

what do you, want

 I don’t want to die

Why not? I’ll tell you. Want is

My friend. If you want

To know, or want to eat, it

Appears always at your side

Walks with you all day

(Hey, this waka went too far)

take out a sheet of paper, put away your books

  I was absent the day dying was taught in school. I wasn’t there for the test.

It was said by the Roman philosopher Cicero that to philosophize is to learn how to die. He was echoed by the 16th-century essayist Michel de Montaigne, sometimes in earnest, at other times in jest. “If you don’t know how to die, don’t worry,” Montaigne playfully concluded. “Nature will tell you what to do on the spot, fully and adequately.”  (—In book review,  A Neuroscientist Faces Death, and Learns, nytimes, By Kieran Setiya, Jan. 17, 2023)

But, no worries, I was told.

You can make it up on the spot when the proctor calls your name for a spot quiz.

All learning and school should be so easy.

only sit

 Eihei Dōgen Zenji  (Dōgen Kigen) was born today (19jan1200) in Kyoto, (Several sources say 26jan).

From a zen point of view he might not have been born nor die. A similar perplexity suffounds Jesus. 

Shōbōgenzō

Treasury of the true Dharma-eye

Nami mo hiki.		In the heart of the night,
Kaze mo tsunaganu		The moonlight framing
Sute obune	A small boat drifting,
Tsuki koso yawa no	Tossed not by the waves
Sakai nari keri.	Nor swayed by the breeze.

 https://terebess.hu/zen/dogen/Poetry.doc

Dogen and Francis (of Assisi) are the inspirations for meetingbrook hermitage. For which, we are grateful.

The way things are found out underneath everything else. 

unhold slicing point of view

Truth is dangerous

Just look at you — obvious

Knife — what you hold

waldo general hospitality

Banana muffin

With orange juice after eye

Surgery — worth it

before surgery, walking nowhere

 Kinhin in kitchen

Before stinging eye drops — cat

Ponders my circles

pas de personne

 I once thought I’d see

God. Was told, “No one sees God.” 

 I became no one

slalom glide

 All that love can do

Is trust what appears in place

Of hope — hopeless, hopeless — trust

Skates between, says yes

carving their initials

 Scratching in wall, ice

Over mountain, rat’s teeth or

Mouse claws, bored squirrel  —

We live in sluice between two

Mountains — the homeless stop by

circus in town

 I grow grumpy. Too

Many improbable clowns

Saying I’m your hope —

They’re not, merely giggle fools

Elected by goofy votes

anodyne

 Buddha and Christ both

Walked into a bar, of course

It hurt, the bruises

no matter what the prize

This poem felt important this evening.

TEMPTATION IN THE DESERT

If a German soldier comes to you

and asks you to shoot the man

next to you because that man

isn’t even bones in his striped suit,

tell the soldier, “No, you’re the devil,

and though you offer me the cities

of the world and all their soft women

and bread, I won’t shoot this man

though he is as dead as I am.

We are brothers in death, and brothers

in death don’t torment each other,

no matter what the prize, no matter

that death is the only prize left.”

(Poem by John Guzlowski) 

~This poem appeared in Spoon River Poetry Review (2007)

For the Ukrainian people, in their travail. 

mlk

 Of course he was brave,

Martin Luther King, he was

What a good man is

mu dieu

 In the dream, dusty bookshop by ocean, repairs and tidying going on, mountain lion ambling in from water. 

So many people milling, pewter tableware set out, I wonder— do we even have a place to pay, a point of sale, an agreed pricing?

The housecats were there. Some dog I didn’t recognize was getting massaged by me, I was carrying some classical literary tome in middle of enormous room.

Whence these images? Whence this scene? Whence the characters in this fantastical dream? 

I let the mountain lion out the glass doors, careful to ensure I can slip in as she shoulders through to an unfathomable gyrotic meander.

There is no discrete God, but even so, it is that MU Dieu that captures my affection in kaleidoscope reveries on Sunday morning, uncomplacent and sans peignoir.

The sound of bell tolling five minutes before the half-hour.