Saturday, May 20, 2023

walk away, retrieve absence

 One day I will look

In mirror and and see nothing

Can you imagine —

No reflecting resemblance,

Emptiness seeing itself

what the mind cannot know

The human mind, or (if you will) the mind itself, brings about all that is, sustains it, then abrogates it in a process known to every mythology, morning meditation, or cup of coffee.

"What the mind cannot know does not exist." (Johann Gottlieb Fichte 1762-1814)

There’s not anything out there, or in here, that cannot or will not be known by that which resides in, or within which, we reside, (our) mind.

The fact might be that ignorance is not lack of knowing. Rather, ignorance is refusal to know what we know, and reluctance to act in accordance with what is known.

Bad faith knows what is good and right but acts oppositely preferring only the interests of the actor and not the beneficial good of another or others. This dissection and reserving of benefit only to the sole actor to the exclusion of adjoining community is a failure of virtue.

It is a distinct possibility that, lacking virtue, democracy dies.

What remains is hyper-individualism and segregated exclusion, a state of affairs that will collapse in on itself in due course.

Again, this ignorance is not a lack of knowing. It is an absence of integrative feeling for and with any adjoining relational consciousness, a cutting off and dissection of unity into division and contradiction.

What we call the ego or the separate self is the dissolution of integrative union.

It is not mere psychological profile or preference. It is a decided disintegration of a way of being that longs for complementarity and compassion. 

An intentional divisive mind.

What is it that does not exist?

I don't know.

Lets look and listen and converse together so as to find out!       

Participate with what is revealing itself into existence, that which is (always) coming to be known deep inside our not-knowing!

Friday, May 19, 2023

an assertion resides at origin of everything

 Quills quills quills — sad dog

Allows snub-nose pliers pull

From face one by one

Thursday, May 18, 2023

two silent people of a thursday evening

Two here. I visit for second week J who is quiet and still and seems … comfortable.

We sit for length in silence. We listen to ambient music. I read a bit and trust the noiseless sound of words moving through me also move through her in ways we do not yet know how to identify. We’ve been together, here, in this place.

two silent people of a thursday evening

                      (a waka for j)

We don’t have much to

say to one another, so

we say nothing, not

a word that can be heard, she

is dying, we share this place

quid admirámini aspiciéntes in cælum? (why gaze in wonder at the heavens?)

We wonder about the ascension. What does it mean to say that Jesus ascended into heaven?

Where did he go? And why do so many look after him?


Viri Galilǽi, quid admirámini aspiciéntes in cælum? allelúia:

Men of Galilee, why gaze in wonder at the heavens? Alleluia. 


quemádmodum vidístis eum ascendéntem in cælum, ita véniet,

This whom you saw ascending into heaven will return as you saw him go,  


allelúia, allelúia, allelúia.

alleluia, alleluia, alleluia. 


Omnes gentes pláudite mánibus:

All nations, clap your hands.  


jubiláte Deo in voce exsultatiónis.

Shout joyfully to God with a voice of exultation. 


Viri Galilǽi, quid admirámini aspiciéntes in cælum? allelúia:

Men of Galilee, why gaze in wonder at the heavens? Alleluia. 


quemádmodum vidístis eum ascendéntem in cælum, ita véniet,

This whom you saw ascending into heaven will return as you saw him go,  


allelúia, allelúia, allelúia.

Have we, as well, ascended into heaven? Are we looking after where we’ve been with an unconsciousness that does not realize the place, the dimension, that has been our dwelling place unrecognized by eyes or memory?

Philosophy, poetry, and spirituality try to unveil for us our (so-called) true home. 

We long for it, but are slow to recognize or resemble this place, this true, home.

What does it take? How do we awaken? When will the echo of a faint melody come clear?

Who recognizes the simplicity, the refreshing familiarity, the embracing intimacy of true home?

allelúia, allelúia, allelúia.

Wednesday, May 17, 2023

just looking around

 Shining flashlight up

into night space before bed

dog stares and won’t pee

the decisive confessional concept

Truth and falsehood walk alongside us.  Some prefer one, some the other.

It’s our fate to be so conflicted by choice.

Asha (/ˈʌʃə/; also arta /ˈɑːrtə/; Avestan: 𐬀𐬴𐬀, romanized: aṣ̌a/arta) is a Zoroastrian concept with a complex and highly nuanced range of meaning. It is commonly summarized in accord with its contextual implications of 'truth' and 'right' (or 'righteousness'), 'order' and 'right working'.[1][2] For other connotations, see meaning below. It is of cardinal importance[3]to Zoroastrian theology and doctrine. In the moral sphere, aṣ̌a/arta represents what has been called "the decisive confessional concept of Zoroastrianism".[4] The opposite of Avestanaṣ̌a is 𐬛𐬭𐬎𐬘 druj, "deceit, falsehood".

Its Old Persian equivalent is arta-.[c] In Middle Iranian languages the term appears as ard-.[a]

(—Wikipedia, asha )

It is not a given that truth or falsehood will prevail.

Individuals fail in the choice. Institutions fail in the choice.

We like to think there is a choice.

I think there is.

When carefully made, the choice for truth or falsehood must faithfully serve the situation and circumstances in which the choice arises.

Life, for humankind, is less dogmatic and more existential.

Look around.

silence speaks without; words

 Each thing speaks its name

But god, they say, has no name

Find both in silence

Silencio habla sin;

palabras — hearing oneself

Tuesday, May 16, 2023

seeking next birth

 Parachuting seeds

Float through dooryard this May day

Bouncing into ground

each thing

The world is made of things. William Carlos Williams wrote the words “No ideas but in things.”

If things go away, perhaps such disappearance will signal the obsolescent evanescence of ourselves as both sentient beings and existential entities.

Undinge proposes that the age of objects is over. The terrane order, the order of the Earth, consists of objects that take on a permanent form and provide a stable environment for human habitation. Today the terrane order has been replaced by the digital order. The digital order makes the world less tangible by informatising it. Nonobjects are currently entering our environment from all sides and displacing objects.

I call nonobjects information. Today we are in the transition from the age of objects to the age of nonobjects. Information, not objects, now defines our environment. We no longer occupy earth and sky but Google Earth and the Cloud. The world is becoming progressively less tangible, cloudier and ghostlier. Nothing is substantial. It makes me think of the novel The Memory Police [1994], by the Japanese writer Yoko Ogawa. The novel tells of a nameless island where objects – hair ties, hats, stamps, even roses and birds – disappear irretrievably. Together with the objects, memories also disappear. People live in an eternal winter of forgetting and loss. Everything is seized by a progressive disintegration. Even body parts disappear. In the end it’s just disembodied voices, floating around in the air.

Byung-Chul Han, 

Spirituality is not the dissolution of matter. Rather, spirituality is the revelation emerging from and into the center of each thing, each person, each being in communication with any and every other being, person, and thing sharing the phenomenal world.

We’re uncertain about a spiritual realm. Some call it heaven. Some a non-physical dimension. Plato had his world of ideas. Some dwell in abstraction.

What does it mean to speak of faith without object?

Is each thing a subject? 

First person singular?

No-thing without faith.

Faith is the thing-in-itself.

voir dire

Look at you. 

 A fool sees himself as another, but a wise man sees others as himself.             – Dogen Zenji

( from Old French voir ‘true’ + dire ‘say’.) 

where the fire was

There’s often an unsettling caesura between poetry and zen.

Still, we love poetry.

Still we love, zen. 

Taneda Santoka Biography

santokaTaneda Santoka was a Japanese haiku poet who specialised in free verse haiku during the late 19th and early 20th centuries. He also translated works in French and Russian into Japanese.

His birth name was Taneda Shoichi and he was born on the 3rd December 1882 in a small village on the southwestern tip of Honshu which is Japan’s main island. He had a comfortable upbringing as his family were well off landowners. Tragically though he lost his mother to suicide when only eleven years old. It was said that she threw herself into the family well as she could not cope with her philandering husband. Following this the boy was taken in by his grandmother who raised him.

At the age of 20 Taneda began studying literature at Waseda University in Tokyo. This was not a happy time as he frequently drank to excess and he soon dropped out of his studies. This coincided with the beginning of the Russo-Japanese war in 1904. Two years later his father sold some of the family’s land and used the proceeds to open a sake brewery and, wanting to see his son married, he arranged for Taneda to marry a girl from the next village. Memories of his dead mother’s body being recovered from the well had soured his relationships with women though.

His literary career took off when he published translations of the work of Guy de Maupassant and Ivan Turgenev in a literary journal called Seinen. He also had ambitions to write his own poetry and joined a local haiku group. His writing mostly took the form of the traditional syllabic format but occasionally he wrote in hypersyllabic, an example of this being:


In 1913 his efforts earned him a place studying under Ogiwara Seisensui who was the leading haiku reformist at the time, and was widely regarded as the originator of the free-form haiku movement. Within three years his family was facing financial ruin when his father went bankrupt due to the failure of his sake brewery. What had once been an affluent family was now in dire straits and Taneda found himself moving from location to location striving to secure paid employment connected with his writing. Tragic news followed him though with his grandmother dying, his younger brother committing suicide and then the death of his father.

His inability to settle to anything worthwhile led to another nervous breakdown to follow those from previous years. He suffered an earthquake while living in Tokyo and was also arrested under suspicion of being a communist. Perhaps he had stretched his fragile mental health right to the edge when, in 1924, he got blind drunk and jumped in front of a moving train. Perhaps someone was looking down on him with benign thoughts though; he survived this apparent suicide attempt and then found himself accepted into the Zen fraternity by the head priest of the Soto Zen temple Hoon-ji. Finally he found some peace and his life followed a smoother path from then on.

While on a number of walking trips, dressed in the typical priest’s robes, he wrote poetry and he begged at people’s houses for food and money, just to survive. He was not an ordained priest though so found this life very difficult and not really to his liking, and many people gave him nothing but scorn. He eventually gave up the wandering life and tried to concentrate on writing.

In all he produced seven collections of poetry in his lifetime. Here are a couple of examples of his free-style haiku, much of which had references to drinking in them:


Perhaps, having lived such a tempestuous life, it was ironic that Taneda Santoka died peacefully in his sleep on the 10th October 1940. He was 57 years old.

Still, we appreciate the poet, the zen, the poetry.

Just as we look at our own life, look away, look back.

Finally remembering there’s huge chocolate donuts from Moody’s Diner in Waldoboro gotten after reading pagan philosophy at prison yesterday morning.

      At breakfast

     The sphinx riddle

      Sat all around us