The Jewel Inside the Lotus

Buddhism is, first and foremost, an intangible effect that comes about within the sphere of internal experience 

                                                       --   Masahiro Shimoda, Toward Nirvana and From Nirvana

*  *  *  *  *

Of the Mani pearl
To have seen it so clearly
And touched it so nearly
An ovoid rolling and released
Towards the lower mudra bound
Yet never touching down
It remains undefiled
Luminous and pure

* * * * * *
There is a Jewel
Inside the Lotus
Within every one among us
Om Mani Padme Hum –
I understand the sacred words this way
For every he she or it through
All the phyla and orders
Along every branch
Of Being’s Great Tree

* * * * * *

With Body or Without - Meditating with Han Shan on Cold Mountain

This poem by Han Shan strikes me as one of the finest poems about meditation I’ve yet to come across.  Sitting atop of Cold Mountain, Han Shan literally and spiritually became one with his surroundings. As he describes the experience, spirit separates from flesh, in a joyful celebration of meditative death.

* * * *

With body or without
Endowed with self or
Once again unbounded

In this way
Thoughts come and go
As for a long while
Under this rock ledge
I sit completely relaxed

My foot extends lifeless
Amidst these shoots
Of soft green grass
Here at the very summit
The mortal world
Falls into decay

And following
The custom
Among mankind
Fresh wines and fruits
Are now bestowed
Upon the deathbed

 *  *  *  *  *

有身与无身
是我复非我
如此审思量
迁延倚岩坐
足间青草生
顶上红尘堕
已见俗中人
灵床施酒果

For the World Left Beyond It

This is a short poem I wrote this morning in response to reading a poem by Carl Phillips called Leda, After the Swan.  You can read Phillips' fine poem here.

Oh for the love

Of that bit of the world

Left beyond it

That shimmers like a beacon

Just over the horizon

The hope that keeps us going

Fuels us and fools us

Day to day 

Gan Yu - 1 (by Chen Z'iang) - a poem in celebration of the new moon and rebirth

According to astrologers yesterday's new moon ushered in a whole new energy that is sure to give us a much needed creative boost - it is likely to energize us, heart and soul, in the entirety.  So to celebrate this important shift towards the creative end of our life's spectrum (as I am getting ready to publish my new book!), here's the first poem in the Gan Yu cycle by the great Daoist poet Chen Z'iang, which dates from the first half of the 7th Century. 

Gan Yu - 1

The moon declines
Into the western sea
To be reborn anew

The sun’s journey
Has almost begun
Soon to be ascendant

Bright radiance
Fills the East
The sky bursting

Yet cloudy is the soul
At the moment of dawn

So the Ultimate gives birth
To Heaven and Earth

The three realms
Each in its turn
Waxing and waning

Until arriving
At the essence
Of full understanding

Three realms five times
Who is capable
Of taking such a journey

感遇 其一

微月生西海
幽阳始化升
圆光正东满
阴魄已朝凝
太极生天地
三元更废兴
至精谅斯在
三五谁能征

The Use of What Uses Us

The poem is what uses us

Hayden Carruth spoketh thus

We are all but hollow vessels

Of a truth beyond apprehension

But as diligent poets we practice our craft

And as stenographers and cartographers
We keep record hoping it may prove useful
For generations hence
Of the heights and depths

We have traversed along the way
But in truth our poems emerge
In the moment from a mix of things
Not fully responsible
Inasmuch as we remain
Beholden to an ineffable
All the same we are never
So completely laid bare

*  *  *  *  *  *  

Today is Hayden Carruth's birthday, which I learned thanks to a tweet from Copper Canyon Press ...  I don't know too much about Carruth's work but I plan to learn more soon.  With a conversational style, he seems to come from the Mid-Century School of Angry American Poets.  Here is an excerpt from one of his poems written in the Holiday Inn in Washington DC in 1994, the tone of which seems just as apt more than 20 years later:

Fucking each other’s wives in the dens and laundry rooms and pantries.

This is called a party. Some are Democrats, some Republicans, all are fuckers.

They are emboldened by bourbon and vodka and the anticipation of power,

Tomorrow they will arise hungover and wield the resources of the nation.

Sweetheart, it’s a long way from home, miles and miles from your warm bed.

Melodiously at the door: “Are you all right, sir? Are you all right in there?”

Short Poem on the Origins of the Multiverse

Four voids diverged in the hour

Of my darkest mood

And sorry I could not travel them all

And be one traveler still, long I stood

Until I decided, demiurge that I am

That it would be better to demerge

The unity of the world in favor of
A far less coherent plan

This poem was inspired by the imaged posted above, which I came across on Twitter.  I love the image and wish I could make out the signature so I could properly attribute and thank the artist named in the lower right hand corner.  That of course and a tip of the hat to Robert Frost.

Frontier Living

Another day and another member of the tribe receives a bad diagnosis without warning.  This is when the entire earth begins to resemble a charnel house under the pale blue sky for an awning.

When the wheel turns

It’s time to be tested again

By illness and worry

Counting the t-cells and platelets

As love falls captive

To the pharmacological state

Mismanaged and uncertain

Living on the frontier

Where the broad sky

Opens to affliction and

Where death lurks

Like a scorpion in your boots

Or else in the top dresser drawer

Mixed with socks and undies

Every morning we must remember

To laugh and check carefully

Before pulling on our pants