gott durchschauen

Tell me about God.

What can I say?

Not surprisingly, it is so much easier to say who or what God is not than to say who or what God is. When we eliminate everything and everyone that God is not, whoever remains is God, someone who can never be negated. In impersonal terms, God is the ultimate truth or the absolute reality which is self-evident. Denying God is as laughable as denying one’s own existence.

Whichever way we try to make sense of the various ways God is described, the purpose of all such descriptions is not simply to know who God is but to see God. God is not an idea or a concept that needs to be understood. God is a real being, more real than you and me. God is truth, not a figment of anyone’s imagination. If God truly exists, why should we simply believe in God? Why should God remain only a matter of faith? The journey certainly starts with faith in God, but it’s got to end with a direct experience of God. As Swami Vivekananda said (CW 4. 165), we “must realize God, feel God, see God, talk to God. That is religion.” Nothing short of an unambiguous experience can satisfy us fully.

All expressions that strive to describe God should ultimately help us experience God.

If they cannot or won’t, what’s the point?

-- Swami Tyagananda  2026, Ramkrishna Vedanta Society,  

https://vedantasociety.net/blog/trying-to-express-the-inexpressible 

My favorite part of an Eckhart Tolle talk is when he turns his hands up, raises his eyebrows and asks, “What’s the point?”

My favorite words from John Macquarrie when I studied with him at Union Theological on Heidegger was when all settled around the seminar table and he said, “Well I think we can begin.”

Perhaps it’s not so much to see God, but to see through God.

prends, lis : c'est notre destin

 NYTimes Opinion piece, “Trump Doesnt Know What Power Is” by Lydia Polgreen puts power, strength, and violence into historical perspective.

“We live in a world,” Miller told Tapper, “that is governed by strength, that is governed by force, that is governed by power.” The painful fallout of the Iran war provides an eloquent rebuttal. But the Trump administration has done more than misjudge American force and the wherewithal of its adversary. It has fundamentally misunderstood what power is, conflating it with the capacity to inflict violence when the two are, in truth, opposed. (Ibid)

We are distracted by the personal corruption of the president of the United States and overlook the lessons of history.

Thucididys, Hanna Arendt, and any high school student of the Peloponnesian War point out the miscalculations and shortsightedness taking place by deluded men in Washington.

Twenty five hundred years has a long reading list.

I’m glad someone remembers how to read.

je fais, je suis

 You want to know the truth

       I do

You sure you want to know the truth

       I am

not knowing why

 Step into the mirror

No reflection —

It all comes smashing down

las comparaciones son odiosas

Trump is not Hitler 

He is something else 

I can’t put my finger on it

 

But he is not Hitler 

as far as I can tell 

He is Trump

 

A name that will  

be the stuff of future 

preposterous comparisons

 

yes, it’s true -- 

comparisons are 

odious *

rien d'autre

 When I died

There was nothing

I could think to say

I could no longer do

What alive I once did

Funny, eh

How I knew I was dead

Was the way everything 

Stopped being anything else

diminution

 Food has no taste these days, only

Seltzer, orange juice, coffee milk, ginger ale

water —

Fading into nothing at all —

Simple joy of diminishment

nada está separado de este mismo lugar; ¿por qué emprender el viaje lejos? *

Lad calls. We catch up. Something about UVA graduation day. I'm a little vague about what there is to remember, except their graduation is today. Seems right, remembering what may or may not have taken place four decades ago.

The real way circulates everywhere;

how could it require practice or enlightenment?

The essential teaching is fully available;

how could effort be necessary?

Furthermore, the entire mirror is free of dust;

why take steps to polish it?

Nothing is separate from this very place;

why journey away?

—Dogen 1227

I never became a zen master. Never a zen priest. Never a zen monk. Never belonged to any zen organization. No particular zafu has a permanent imprint of my butt. Every gassho I do is an independent contractor wandering back alleys looking for discarded loaves of bread.

As a homeless and idiorrhythmic monastic in the non-existent catholic-zen buddhist semiliniage of roninesque mythology, I keep my options open and serve everyone. It’s what we do.

It was a good phonecall.

Nothing is separate from this very place;

why journey away? *

he просячи нічого зі святої теперішньої краси *

 Ensō and I walk stretch

Of mountain

Come back sit by cemetery

Strong flow of brook

Tops of trees sway new leaves

Hold light green sun over water

I look at the standing wood trunks

From green plastic chair 

As doggy on leaves looks down path

Just quiet Saturday morning

As much religion and spirituality

I need, an old man and mild mannered

Dog on mountainside with diminished

Energy, faint measure of breath

Asking nothing of holy present beauty *

night

 Rest in peace.

making the case for clarity (hufnaan, taasoo ka dhigaysa kiiska mid cad oo la fahmi karo)

For prison today, the Somali poet Hadraawi: 

Let me tell the whole truth,

put into words

the essence of our charge:

while hunger grips like a strong youth,

is impregnable as a sturdy wall,

and those who grab and gather wealth,

who love to lick their lips at it –

while this type is springing up all over,

doers of ill who demand the best,

hoarding all there is;

while the poor suffer,

are pushed over, helpless,

and everyone is divided into high or low,

don’t hope that tribalism

will fade and wither:

the facts oppose you.

 

Anyone who wants this life

to be serene,

to have savour and feel sound,

there is a path to follow:

people, you prosper

as one unit, as you share in

your shouldering of the burden –

that’s the only balm.

If it weakens in one wing

then its whole end is woe.

Is there any advice better than this,

any further examples you need

beyond this ample explanation,

or do you have some countering case?

 

--excerpt from Daalacan (Clarity), ORIGINAL POEM BY Somali poet  Maxamed Ibraahin Warsame ‘Hadraawi’ (1943-2022), TRANSLATED BY Said Jama Hussein (1979-80) https://www.poetrytranslation.org/poem/clarity/#translated-poem  

also cf: search  Hadraawi

also, cf: https://www.cambridge.org/core/journals/bulletin-of-the-school-of-oriental-and-african-studies/article/abs/ali-mumin-ahad-somali-oral-poetry-and-the-failed-shecamel-nation-state-a-critical-discourse-analysis-of-the-deelley-poetry-debate-19791980-society-and-politics-in-africa-24-306-pp-new-york-peter-lang-2015-7145-isbn-978-1-4331-2515-7/4CF26E587C4C301608DAF76B08071AE4

Clarity.

In a hard time, in a dark time, one can attempt clarity.

Or do you have some countering case? 

cette pièce me fixe *

I’ve never been accused of knowing too much.

Teachers would wonder if I knew anything. 

Too much knowledge leads to overactivity;
Better to calm the mind.
The more you consider, the greater the loss;
Better to unify the mind.
Water dripping ceaselessly
Will fill the four seas. 
Specks of dust not wiped away
Will become the five mountains.

—Wang Ming (6th c.)

The more cluttered this room gets the less chance I have to escape a fire or corral a cogent thought. Not that either of those things carries any attraction.

Seas and mountains are depths and heights unto themselves.

I’ve no idea what I am unto myself.

This room stares at me. *

小川のほとり、湿った葉の下 *

 When I lost

My mind

I looked 

In kitchen

Food scraps

Empty cat cans

Pile of unread

Mail and magazines

It was not there

It had been recycled

Dumped in bin

At transfer station 

Waiting to be

Taken elsewhere

Living without

A mind is ok

No one looks at you

You become nameless

If you happen outside

Squirrels jump off feeder

Birds fly off waiting for

New seed, grass stretches

Sky hangs cloud laundry

Port-a-potty passes on truck

But no mind

Not anywhere to be found

Only walking sticks

Leaning by barn door

Talking to each other of

once-were’s and used-to-be’s

Their rubber tips

Not nearly worn through

Where some mind on a mountain

Might have dropped a thought

Some passing hiker’s boot nudged

It under damp leaves by rivulet *

een kleurrijke plek*

Black

Brown

Red

White 

Yellow —

Yes yes

Yes yes

Yes —

 America 

A colourful

Place*

φροντίδα για την υγεία*

Caring for health.*

 “I think that being scared is a sign of being sane.” (Line from series taking place in Spain spoken to detective with paranoid schizophrenia in his family.)

Hantavirus isn’t a worry for another pandemic, Malignant narcissism and besotted egomania is more the fear of the remaining sane population. The greed and criminal insanity of the head of the Executive Branch has a viral effect on each person under his malevolent shadow. We are a nation under threat of infected imprinting spiralling down the social/cultural genomes of a weakened biological/spiritual population.

Being angry is a false-positive.

Being scared might be the route to sanity.

Just like, long ago, the fear of the lord was the beginning of wisdom.

Now, fear of our insane chief executive might trigger a latent immune system to produce antibodies and creative cells to replicate a clear and healthy body-politic going forward.

We need a sane, clean, and healthy new patient-zero from whom to begin the immunisation and recovery of an informed, justice-bitten, and resolved populace committed to not being sick.

Are you the one?

so sleep silent angel

 Buddha sits on box in window

No temple, no altar, no rinzi or soto

No academic degree or political pac

No office seeking or board of directors

He sits there, rain behind him

No scandals threatening to topple him

Oh, the freedom of it — being nobody

Going nowhere, free from history 

Isolated from opinion and scrutiny 

The little bronze Buddha leaning back

Facsimile of someone long gone

Something of itself merely there —

If you want to practice Buddhism then

Practice Buddhism, a good enough choice

There are worse things to do — I’ll not mention

Them — these days I have chosen solitude

A reclusive consciousness behind closed doors

A stretch of road going nowhere, cars gliding by

the role of one’s lifetime

 Jim Carrey on “Deep Rest.” —

The impermeable impermanence 

of who we think we are

that’s a load off

 I used to think

I’d want to go somewhere

Now

I don’t think

Finding myself

Nowhere 

xingling

Every apology is an admission of defeat. Some people never apologize. It doesn’t mean they are not defeated; it means they are dead to their circumstances and oblivious to whatever reality wherein they stand. These are dangerous people. They believe they are never wrong. That belief proves they are dead inside, and their outside is a grave danger to anyone near. 

Since my will broke down

I now have a clearer view

of the leafing roadside trees

(wfh, with apologies to Mizuta Masahide)

In Hemingway’s words: 

“The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry.”

(― Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms) 

From Mirriam-Webster:

cf “will”: 

: the act, process, or experience of willing : VOLITION

: mental powers manifested as wishing, choosing, desiring, or intending

b: a disposition to act according to principles or ends

c: the collective desire of a group, the will of the people

5: the power of control over one's own actions or emotions, a man of iron will

6a: something desired, especially  : a choice or determination of one having authority or power

b (1) [from the phrase our will is which introduces it]  : the part of a summons expressing a royal command

(2)archaic : REQUEST, COMMAND

https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/will 

From Yuan Mei:

Blossoms bring the Spring.
Spring doesn’t take them with it
When it goes.
Clouds flow upon the stream.
The stream cannot hold them.
I’d ask why that is,
But no one’s here, but
This tall tree,
Beneath which I will idle
Pondering
The place,
The Spring,
The clouds.

Yuan Mei (1716-1798)

Yuan Mei proposed xingling as necessary for poetry.

The literary theory of xingling (“soul”) is an early category in the history of Chinese literature, which was first proposed by the famed Buddhist literati Fan Tai, Xie Lingyun, Yan Yanzhi, He Shangzhi and other figures during the Southern Dynasties, Liu and Song periods, and broadly applied by figures such as Liu Xie, Zhong Rong and Yu Xin to esthetic theory and poetry criticism. There are chiefly two aspects to the origins of the literary theory of xingling in Buddhist philosophy: The first is the idea of foxing (“Buddhatā, Buddha-nature”) within teachings on nirvana in Mahāyāna Buddhism, and the second is the idea of shishen (“vijñāna, consciousness”) in Hīnayāna Buddhism. After being introduced into China, the theories of “Buddha-nature” and “consciousness” were ingeniously combined with the concepts of guishen (“supernatural beings”) and linghun (“spirit”) in the native Chinese tradition. “Buddha-nature,” “consciousness,” and shenling (“divinity”) were organically integrated, forming the basic content of the Buddhist theory of xingling, which referred not only to a constant and immutable, supremely powerful, and mystical force intrinsically possessed by all living creatures (sentient beings), but also to a foundational energy that filled the cosmos and obliterated differences. This provided a profound and substantial philosophical basis for the literary theory of xingling by Liu Xie, Zhong Rong, Yu Xin and other figures, imbuing xingling with the status and power of a universal center with supreme sublimity and matchless energy. 

https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/abs/10.1080/00094633.2023.2180210

Upon further consideration, that which is core within us is care. Those with damaged souls (core) do not actualize care. They suffer this lack as do those near them or those under their supposed care.

We have a Republican administration suffering an absent core of care. So too Legislature. So too Supreme Court. So too Republican majorities and governance in Red states.

They are killing us.

Like serial murderers not yet apprehended they elude accountability and avoid justice.

We are besieged and distraught.

Still, in the Northeast, blossoms bring the Spring.

A clear view of what is flowering helps heal what is broken.