Saturday, December 31, 2016

and now

We can only hope

And act

With integrity

Zen dog

Saturday morning practice.

Breathing out 2016




Friday, December 30, 2016

of the inevitable

Reading in Zen Edge (Alexander Eliot) about the Henry Adams memorial in Rock Creek Park, a comment by a Taoist woman describing it as "The intellectual acceptance of the inevitable." A phrasing that catches my attention.

And then there is this Emily Dickinson poem:

Is Heaven a physician?
   They say that He can heal;
But medicine posthumous
   Is unavailable. 
Is Heaven an exchequer?
   They speak of what we owe;
But that negotiation
   I 'm not a party to.” 
Excerpt From: Dickinson, Emily. “Poems.”
What we consider to be fact or truth is so entrapped by evanescent reconfiguration of metaphor so as to make reality merely an agreed assertion by fragmented intuition and dissipated intelligence.

Still, we endure. 

comes daylight

89,966 at 6:29am are without power. And, while our generator grouses undercover under snow by barn door, mirabile dictu, the power remains on, so far, here.


Neighbor's yard light flashes on and off. Wind gusts are strong. If our power goes, begins the faded ritual of attempting to cough the covered generator outside barn door back into service to keep sumppump working to send flowing water coming into dirt cellar out small window before water level rises to drown furnace that (oddly) is low to ground, its electronics at mercy of (further oddity) having a water stream in heavy rains and assorted melts flow in one corner of cellar to other end -- but whose exit pipe running out and under barnestown road to land across the two lane has become choked with root and debris over the decades.

Our lights flicker.

So precarious,

This life.

Thursday, December 29, 2016

nothing could be clearer

I erased all data and content from this old device.

It presents itself as empty. Ready to go again.

Surely some zen Buddhist is smiling.

Wednesday, December 28, 2016

the nameless

In New Testament times they were called the Holy Innocents.

Today they are known as the children of Aleppo, Yemen, Chicago.

They die.

And we do not know why. Not really.

Perhaps they die because the minds of men are deluded.

Yes, that must be it.

What can be done?

The Four Vows of a Bodhisattva 

Sentient beings are numberless; we vow to liberate them. 
Delusions are inexhaustible; we vow to transcend them. 
Dharma teachings are boundless; we vow to master them. 
The Wisdom Way of Enlightenment is supreme; we vow to embody it.


Thanks for your efforts.

Good luck!


Secretary of State John Kerry has given his swan-song.

It’s never too late to speak what used to be called ‘truth’ to impoverished strategies.

Peace requires justice and compassion. These still are good ideas.


Now that I have the attention of Trump-attentive eyes, I want to offer my advice to those eyes and what they look at.

Politics has become a spitting contest.

I’d rather see intelligent conversation.

Instead we have sniping sarcasm and name-calling schoolyard sniggering.

Thank you for your attention.

I have every trust we will soon tire of pedantry and posturing and return to what once made us a good enough place to live -- civil discourse, wise counsel, and inclusive thinking.

Go, and spin no more! 

Tuesday, December 27, 2016

that kind, of day

Not a step outside

Not a word extra --

No, one, here

sound breathing nothing prayer

I was thinking about prayer

But nothing came

But rain

On porch roof

So, listening a while

To nothing

But the sound

Breathing through

The night

Prayer disappeared

And I followed

Monday, December 26, 2016

the absurd; response to life

There is so much wrong in the world. And so many willing to preserve wrong for their benefit.

A hard time coming is envisioned.
The absurd is born of this confrontation between the human need and the unreasonable silence of the world.[…]I draw from the absurd three consequences, which are my revolt, my freedom, and my passion. By the mere activity of consciousness I transform into a rule of life what was an invitation to death — and I refuse suicide. 
(--Albert Camus)
 Celebrating birth and light this season we look for reasons to live.

Perhaps there are no reasons to live, there is only life with its unreasonable invitation to choose life.

I trust the absurd. 

Sunday, December 25, 2016

this night of this day

This is what the day has come to --

Interior contemplation --
In winter zendo --

In solitude --

Walking meditation after shikantaza sitting -- statue of Buddha, Joseph, Mary, and Jesus on ladder altar with candle in front of mudra hands in meditation posture --

It is what the day came to --


pronouncing across traditions, a hierophantic showing/sounding

No-na Wu

(i.e. -- no-name with-us)

At least, for today.

no-name, with-us


(We say)



We are