Saturday, May 04, 2002

At end of Lectio, Kristen prays us out with her words, "O Christ, may we move with ease into your bountiful emptiness."

Is the truth the world does not understand this -- that the one before us is the whole of the Father, Son, Spirit -- that the core reality is right there, right here? The "commandments" Jesus speaks of -- that if we follow them all will know we are disciples -- are these commandments the affirming yes of acceptance of the core reality of this existence?

If we love Jesus (or anyone) we become a way of being that does not make what we love other. Therefore, there are things we will not do -- not to, because of -- the one we love. Affirming whole present reality -- seeing as one seeing one -- we abandon the illusory othering view. There is no other to do wrong to. There is no wrong to be done -- not, at least, if we abandon ourselves into love.

Inside the sacred fence
Before which I bow
There must be a pond
Filled with clear water;
As my mind-moon becomes bright
I see its shadow reflected in the water.

- Daito Kokushi (1213-1279)(dailyzen)

Five days to the 9th. Monday we view a farm with friends.

The pond with clear water is in the viewing with friends -- the truth the world cannot see. Viewing with the one before us, looking back at the one viewing us.

The view, the viewing itself, the one viewing, the viewing with one another – this is the interview with Christ, this is the interview with Bodhisattva.

Those who would master Zen fully engage and embody this interview.

Pilate asked, “What is truth?” Jesus stood silent before him. Pilate didn't get it.

Enlightenment is no big thing. It is dropping into the one, into the viewing, interviewing the reality right before us. Seeing truth as it is.

What is that? And what is this?

O Christ, may we move with ease into your bountiful emptiness!

Tuesday, April 30, 2002

Cisco wags tail greeting at door of shop. Sando, the veteran, snoozes by bakery case.

To be resolute in the way means
from the beginning never to
lose sight of it, whether in a
place of calm or in a place of strife;
to not cling to quiet places nor
shun places where there is disturbance.

- Daikaku (1213-1279) (dailyzen)

A little boy named William wearing yellow and wine red is carried in by his mom after Buddhist Studies, He grabs on to ribbon of bell over counter. He rings and rings. His father's sister is in India with the Tibetans,

Gary Snyder's words say we don't change reality but we can transform ourselves.
With that, an elevating of awareness, a deepening of consciousness.

Mini is curled for the night on chair by desk in 2nd floor room at hermitage.

War is one of those realities. We cannot live as war. We must be peace.
Sorrow for one. Pray for the other.

Monday, April 29, 2002

I wouldn't want to live in a world where no one winced when a cat was killed -- even in a Zen story. Relationality is the human story. We are not the moral of a teaching story. We are the story.

Dirk wondered if (a phenomenological example) my comment on observing a body, a bat, and blood on the floor, one concludes something wrong had occurred -- was absolute or relative. "It was felt," I said. And if the whole is to be whole, it is a related whole.

Paul and Jim worked on the birchwood floor of cabin this weekend. In kitchen with coffee we spoke of clay feet and those in religion. Community begins when each one realizes the commonality of their ordinariness. Intention to live a particular kind of life only points to the way you wish to travel. Those who travel with or near are community to you. We all have clay feet. It is our earthy steps that give us the grace of each other -- not our lofty aspirations.

All the holy ones have turned within and sought the self, and by this went beyond all doubt. To turn within means all the 24 hours and in every situation, to pierce one by one through the layers covering the self, deeper and deeper, to a place that cannot be described. It is when thinking comes to an end and making distinctions ceases, when wrong views and ideas disappear of themselves without having to be driven forth, when without being sought the true action and the true impulse appear of themselves. It is when one can know the truth of the heart.
- Daikaku (1213-1279) (dailyzen)

When we pray we pray earthbound for all alongside moving as we move. Deliberate with each other, there is much to say and listen to on our way.

Sunday, April 28, 2002

Fear might be the need to cut, stack, and burn wood; but ash is how we are transformed into love.

Poetry is what remains
when words dive into fire.
Poetry is ash seen
transformed back to lumber,
ahead to tomatoes.


Pulling Mark Strand's book of poems Darker (1970), the following:

The One Song

I prefer to sit all day
like a sack in a chair
and to lie all night
like a stone in my bed.

When food comes
I open my mouth.
When sleep comes
I close my eyes.

My body sings
only one song;
the wind turns
gray in my arms.

Flowers bloom.
Flowers die.
More is less.
I long for more.

(Strand, p.30)

At Friday Evening Poetry Annie reads poem about bus ride Boston to Rockland shared with young Korean carrying belongings wrapped by mother in paper with strings looped and tied. We see in words she left out her own finger placed on the bow being tied on what this young man carries in his journey. She is mother to him departing at Union Street. Of course, the poem and destination is left without sentimentality at Union.

Sando on one bench with me, Cisco on other bench with Saskia, Annie alongside logs glowing with fire in hearth.
Cisco is a border collie who will stay with us. He arrived Friday morning. His mistress leaves Maine for Florida and asks us to be home for Cisco. Black and white, over 10 years old, Cisco acclimates to hermitage and shop. He is sweet. He stares at Mini the cat, which has become meditation object for Cisco. Everyone is learning their space, sniffing proximity, and giving room for each other. It goes well!

There are three things I must do before dying:
1. wash dishes;
2. walk meditation path;
3. scratch cat passing to window;
Now I am ready. Now I die.


Poetry helps make an ash of ourselves. That's the more and less of it!