I see my shadow.
Hugh C. writes noting: Feb 1 Feastday Of Brigid (Bridget)
Imbolg (ie in the belly) is the name given to Feb 1; Candlemas on Feb 2, and Groundhog Day in America are derived from the observance of the Quarter Day (ie Brigid's Day) in Scotland and Ireland. Candlemas relates to the fire of Brigid who in turn represents the changing and lengthening of daylight hours, the first lambs born and the first early signs of Spring. In highland Scotland a serpent called Ivor (a Viking name) would poke its head out of its hole indicating early Spring. From this ritual the groundhog tradition in the U.S. was most likely derived.
In the shadow under bright moon falling between Ragged and Bald, I dwell uncertainly. Like the gap found between faith and fact the Friar Juniper falls into (The Bridge of San Luis Rey) seeking the intuition of accident or plan in the deaths of five people, I look up from my winter and detect lacunae, blank spaces or missing parts into which I wander with reserved reverence. I dwell in the between.
Desperation is not destination. If there is such a thing (or such a being) as God's love -- such will become apparent wherever one is.
Sometimes, winter is whited out. Not its own elaboration. But part of what is...missing.
KAWABATA YASUNARI'S Nobel Prize speech cites Ryokan's waka on the seasons, which is a variation on the "Original Face" verse, as similarly expressive of the "essence of Japan":
Naki ato no
Katami tomo kana
Haru wa hana
Natsu hototogisu
Aki wa momijiba.
In remembrance
After I am gone—
In spring, the cherry blossoms,
In summer, the cuckoo's song,
In autumn, the crimson leaves.
Note the way that Ryokan, who deletes the reference to winter snow and the modifier "suzushi," subtly shifts Dogen's metaphysical view of impermanence into a very personal statement.
(--from The Zen Poetry of Dogen: Verses from the Mountain of Eternal Peace, Book by Steven Heine; Tuttle Publishing, 1997)
Ryokan, in the poem, says nothing of winter. In that nothing said, winter is referenced precisely as it is -- nothing sudden, nothing separated.
Ryokan was a monk of the Soto Zen sect, which was brought to Japan from China by Dogen (1200-1253), the founder of Eihei-ji monastery in Fukui Prefecture, the largest and most famous monastery in Japan. Dogen's teaching emphasized two main points: (1) "shikantaza," themeless sitting in zazen, that is, abandoning all thoughts of good or bad, enlightenment or illusion, and just sitting; and (2) "shusho ichigyo," "practice and enlightenment are one." There is no sudden enlightenment, and enlightenment cannot be separated from one's practice. For these reasons, Soto Zen is usually contrasted with Rinzai Zen, with its use of koans during zazen and its striving for kensho, an instantaneous, profound insight into reality. Generally speaking, Rinzai Zen tends to be somewhat violent and severe, while Soto Zen is usually more restrained and quiet.
As a Soto Zen monk, Ryokan first followed the traditional pattern of communal life in the monastery, then a period as an "unsui," a pilgrim monk drifting from place to place like "clouds and water" (unsui) visiting other masters. Ryokan could have become the head of a temple or taken some other position in a large monastery, but he was not interested. His severe training had made him not austere or remote but more open and kind. Therefore, he "returned to the marketplace with bliss-bestowing hands," the state depicted in the last of the well-known Zen series of the ten oxherding pictures, and the culmination of all Buddhist practice.
(--pp. 15-16, in One Robe, One Bowl: The Zen Poetry of Ryokan, John Stevens; Weatherhill, 1977)
The shadow I see drifts from place to place without fixed reference or residence. The winter of this mind sees its shadow and comprehends that the between will lengthen. This prospect is OK. While the saying might be "The raft is not the shore," I see that between raft and shore is "unsui" -- clouds and water -- above and below, each person's passage. We drift sensing no control, no origination, and no destination.
In Catholic Christian calender it is the Feast of The Presentation of The Lord. From the Office of Readings for this feast, we read from a sermon by Saint Sophronius, bishop:
In honour of the divine mystery that we celebrate today, let us all hasten to meet Christ. Everyone should be eager to join the procession and to carry a light.
Our lighted candles are a sign of the divine splendour of the one who comes to expel the dark shadows of evil and to make the whole universe radiant with the brilliance of his eternal light. Our candles also show how bright our souls should be when we go to meet Christ.
The Mother of God, the most pure Virgin, carried the true light in her arms and brought him to those who lay in darkness. We too should carry a light for all to see and reflect the radiance of the true light as we hasten to meet him.
The light has come and has shone upon a world enveloped in shadows; the Dayspring from on high has visited us and given light to those who lived in darkness. This, then, is our feast, and we join in procession with lighted candles to reveal the light that has shone upon us and the glory that is yet to come to us through him. So let us hasten all together to meet our God.
The true light has come, the light that enlightens every man who is born into this world. Let all of us, my brethren, be enlightened and made radiant by this light. Let all of us share in its splendour, and be so filled with it that no one remains in the darkness. Let us be shining ourselves as we go together to meet and to receive with the aged Simeon the light whose brilliance is eternal. Rejoicing with Simeon, let us sing a hymn of thanksgiving to God, the Father of the light, who sent the true light to dispel the darkness and to give us all a share in his splendour.
Through Simeon’s eyes we too have seen the salvation of God which he prepared for all the nations and revealed as the glory of the new Israel, which is ourselves. As Simeon was released from the bonds of this life when he had seen Christ, so we too were at once freed from our old state of sinfulness.
By faith we too embraced Christ, the salvation of God the Father, as he came to us from Bethlehem. Gentiles before, we have now become the people of God. Our eyes have seen God incarnate, and because we have seen him present among us and have mentally received him into our arms, we are called the new Israel. Never shall we forget this presence; every year we keep a feast in his honour.
A man I recently met was a sort of odd and ignorant zen master. (Perfect for the odd and ignorant student.) He used a koan: "What happens to the head that peeks up over the rest of the heads?"
Then he'd mime a hand with mallet banging downward, and laugh.
He taught me something to take along with me in my drifting -- there is no place to stand that is not an open hole, no bridge to cross that does not collapse to the void.
The light of Christ is not a solid rock on which to stand.
The mind of Buddha is not a sturdy bridge carrying you across.
The middle of winter is not a destination.
Everything is a place from which to set out from here to elsewhere and return.
This between-place is pilgrimage where light and shadow coincide and converge. As we go on.
In remembrance
After I am gone—Spring -- hope's eternal faint song -- "baa...baa!"