Consider these lilies, how
they’d never call themselves
broken simply because they
had to live in darkness
and cold for months
I wiped the fog from the glass and saw
a statue of the Buddha on a shelf, laughing
at himself, laughing at me standing there
in a puddle, under a pine tree that kept
dripping on my head
I want to ask: Would you bow
to the blown-open peony, its petals
strewn like slips of silk in the grass
after last night’s storm?
I was in a conversation recently with a friend who had just returned from a meditation retreat. She said one of the ideas shared with her group was that “the teacup is already broken,” a meditation on how the death or ending or brokenness we fear is inevitable.
This evening the rap artist and filmmaker Christian Nowlin will be helping me launch my debut novel BICYCLES OF THE GODS: A DIVINE COMEDY.
Do not think the knowledge you presently possess is changeless, absolute truth. Avoid being narrow-minded and bound to present views. Learn and practice non-attachment from views in order to be open to receive others’ viewpoints.
Our survival as a species depends on our ability to turn away from the delusion of sweet revenge, and show compassion for those we may dislike or detest.
I’ve been doing a Buddhist practice now for some years. I’m not a Buddhist. I’m not “enlightened” nor do I see myself as superior to anyone else. I would never … Continue reading →
The monk sits
upright, unmoving
in the garden
I take Buster out for his walk, above us, wild geese fly south, honking, going nowhere, geese without edges, no longer geese. Where did they go? asked Baso. “Away,” Hyakujo … Continue reading →
I try and get it right, how she loves the cauliflower soup in that little Italian place uptown with dark red walls and the grumpy old maitre d’ with … Continue reading →
When animals are crossing a ford, if the one in front goes crookedly, all the others go crookedly. So too, among human beings, when the leader behaves unrighteously, other people … Continue reading →
I killed them in the window. I killed them on the door. And when I killed a hundred flies I kept on killing more. Why is my heart so cruel, … Continue reading →
Septuagenarian Sitting alone in late summer twilight sipping cold sake reading the obituaries of my friends . To Margaret, the Librarian It was a librarian who first showed me how … Continue reading →