Sunday, August 25, 2013

Anna Livia Plurabelle’s final meditation…



Anna Livia Plurabelle’s final meditation…



Are you a river running out to the ocean? 


Floating detritus of a made up life; 

attachments, seeming materialized reality, 

flowing one way... 


Once returner, never returner: 

only one way. 


Ocean Breathing: exhale and vanish.


Gone, gone, gone beyond on 

each breath.


Johnny Depp floats out to sea 

in a Northwest Coast Native American 

death barge.


One way.




                                                                     Kotatsu Roko
                                                                     25 August 2013
                                                                     Bloc 11

Pulse

Pulse: A collaboration of Robyn Ellenbogen, visual art, and John Bailes, writing.

Vimalakirti’s Silence for Chris McKenna



Vimalakirti’s Silence for Chris McKenna



The echo of the peel of the bell

sounding throughout the universe

this ear, hair follicles, skin, goose bumps,

smiles...



Miles Davis, Beethoven, the Greek chorus

all ringing the heart with one Awesome Sound

rising straight from

the Empty Aeon.



The taste of this saliva,

the vastness of this Eustachian tube,

the flesh of this cheek,

the tongue of the universe:



one entire kiss.



Kotatsu Roko

24 August 2013

Prospect Hill






The word aeon, also spelled eon, originally means "life" or "being", though it then tended to mean "age", "forever" or "for eternity". It is a Latin transliteration from the koine Greek word ὁ αἰών (ho aion), from the archaic αἰϝών (aiwon). In Homer it typically refers to life or lifespan. Its latest meaning is more or less similar to the Sanskrit word kalpa and Hebrew word olam. A cognate Latin word aevum or aeuum (cf. αἰϝών) for "age" is present in words such as longevity and mediaeval.
Although the term aeon may be used in reference to a period of a billion years (especially in geology, cosmology or astronomy), its more common usage is for any long, indefinite, period. Aeon can also refer to the four aeons on the Geologic Time Scale that make up the Earth's history, the Hadean, Archean, Proterozoic, and the current aeo

Monday, August 12, 2013

"Pulse" Assorted metallic wool and metal-point.water color on plike paper,2013

On Aug 10, 2013, at 4:40 PM, One Heart Zen wrote "Pulse":

Robyn Ellenbogen is a visual artist working in a broad range of media and disciplines including silver-point, egg tempera, artist’s books, photography and sculpture.  For the past few years, Robyn has been discussing her work with John Bailes, a poet and Zen priest.  These conversations have included a practice of passing words and images back and forth between them. Several of these words and images were published in the journal “Zen Monster 4.” They hope to share even more of these close encounters in an upcoming collection that will be published later this year.

The following is a portion of a conversation, while discussing “Pulse”, a recent drawing in metal point and watercolor by Robyn Ellenbogen. These conversations suggest a snapshot of what it is like to practice Zen Buddhism and attempt to assimilate it into one’s life and work.


John ​ ​  I am struck by the commitment of the pen, hand and body, to the line rather than using a ruler or a digital operative that’s going to make it exactly what we think we imagine to be a straight line.  The drawing suggests that there could actually be a straight line with some waver in it and the waver is an expression, an exposure, a display of vulnerability or fear or love and a relationship with the person who made the line.  We can feel our own wavering and own breath. We can meet a mind here.

Robyn   ​And once you put the brush or anything to the paper, this is the beginning of a commitment. This word is a powerful trigger in so many ways.  I often feel that finishing a work is a form of abandonment.

John    ​  It’s like the full commitment to the left foot standing and that commitment into that one step is what gives the next step. Similarly that first commitment of the brush gives the flow to the brush or drawing implement.  Unless we can completely give that commitment we’re distracted, we stutter, we vacillate, or we go straight forward. Whatever it is we share it. That's it. No better no worse. What is. What we are.

Robyn ​   I translate what you’re describing as having a sense of embodiment in my work.  This is how I readily shift from Zen practice to the practice of making my art.  My personal sense of phenomenology is all about how my breath interacts with what I am doing and working on and how each nuance changes what follows. I do sometimes start out with an idea, something that emerges from my mind, often a memory. I can end up a long way from the initial idea and one of the things I have noticed over time is that I am more able to accept this change and transformation.

John  ​​   When you have a certain amount of paint in your brush and a certain type of paper with a particular surface, you put the brush to the paper and you already have an idea of what to do, but the feeling of the brush on the surface and the feeling of your hand and breath, even if you draw the line to complete your preconceived notion is different. It’s changed by that feeling and that relationship. It doesn’t necessarily fulfill that preconceived notion.  What we are talking about is fully giving over to the relationship of feeling the brush, hand, arm, heart and breath in the relationship to the paper and the surface with the movement being all one and informing another.

Robyn​ This is exactly so and this gets into the extraordinary/ordinary sensory awareness that can go through you while you’re making a work.  It is as if something is being transmitted, from where, to whom?  This is everything that is not taught nor can it be taught in a formal setting such as school.  I am often asked questions regarding formal training and how it plays out in my work.  Even initially, I was less interested in skill and more interested in something else.  This something else is infrequently addressed in a skill-determined culture.

John ​​ If we look at a Chinese calligraphy apprenticeship situation, somebody will draw with that brush and ink on a blank piece of paper a straight line a million times.  Then they know brush, ink, paper, straight line and all of the idiosyncrasies and variations of straight line and the possibilities. Then  there’s a freedom. They are free of their concept of a straight line.

Robyn​  This is where the true sensibility emerges from it is rooted in the body’s sense. When I was an art student, I worked for Louise Bourgeois and I am often asked, “What did she teach you or what did she tell you to do? I have to laugh because she was, in a way, my first Zen teacher and her most often repeated direction was, “Stand up straight!”  This amounts to the gift of nothing.

John ​​ There are countless stories in Zen history about this gift of nothing and that’s the biggest gift. It relates to what we were talking about before, the importance of difference.  As your relationship grows with art or with your teacher, the clarity of difference and the uniqueness of each of you come to the fore . You cannot be your teacher and you cannot be Zazen, some idea. You can learn from Zazen, applying yourself to this idea. But when you do Zazen it is so much bigger than your idea.  You do Robyn and Robyn is so much bigger than Robyn. We feel like we fall short of Zazen our idea but we cannot fall short of Zazen. You can't fall short of Robyn. In being totally confident in our self as we are 100 percent without being right or wrong, short or tall, the best or the worst, we are complete.  That is communicated throughout history and it’s identified in Zen art.  That’s what we are meeting in Zen art; that is what is exposed, displayed, opened, our heart, our vulnerability, our true strength.

Robyn​  Yes, we are meeting somebody’s world. This term Zen art is not limited to just eastern art because I am thinking of how there are many western artists that come to mind, that seemed to capture a totality of some world, Blake, Klee, Giacometti, Morandi. 

John​​  And their total presence in that world complete with neurosis, shortcomings loving and enmity.

Robyn​  And one of my favorite topics failure.

John​​  Failure is incredibly important.  Until we totally and completely realize that everything is a mistake, nothing fulfills a platonic idea or an objective.

Robyn ​ Most of the objectives are so culturally ingrained and forced on us from the moment we start school and are acculturated into society.  It is painful to think about  this …and the myriad ways it manifests throughout our systems

John​​  And this is remarkable because on a certain level, these are socially, culturally, ingrained, transmitted and habituated  objectivity; and we like to think the objective has no subjective or weighted quality that is intended to benefit ourselves or someone else, that it’s an objective measurement. That very objectivity is a political and social statement.  And what is a political and social statement but an extension of our own fear and protection?

What is considered objectivity?  The remarkable thing is to be totally comfortable in our subjectivity, to recognize to what degree each of us is entirely subjective. Entirely exposed our subjective projection no longer gets in the way. Fully broken open our vulnerability reaches hearts And we can dance with whatever is.



Pulse: A response to Robyn Ellenbogen’s Painting

If I were a cloud or a section of skin, lung, follicle or an ocean or a dream or a planet or a star or universe expanding and breaking apart, a worm hole or a black hole, the black of black so bright and luminous yielding all of what we imagine to be color, apart not separate, an entirety of expansion contraction of being a breath riding a dragon, unsui.  A  fire or ice deep blue red yellow orange the density of this space omnivorous devouring peacock transforming all poisons: Raquel Welch on a Fantastic Voyage...what we imagine can't even touch it let alone what we say.

Kotatsu Roko
06:VIII:13
Prospect Hill



Saturday, February 23, 2013

Speak, Memory



Speak, Memory

“There is, it seems, no mechanism in the mind or the brain for ensuring the truth, or at least the veridical character, of our recollections. We have no direct access to historical truth, and what we feel or assert to be true depends as much on our imagination as our senses. There is no way by which the events of the world can be directly transmitted or recorded in our brains; they are experienced and constructed in a highly subjective way, which is different in every individual to begin with, and differently reinterpreted or re-experienced whenever they are recollected. (The neuroscientist Gerald M. Edelman often speaks of perceiving as “creating,” and remembering as “recreating” or “recategorizing.”) Frequently, our only truth is narrative truth, the stories we tell each other, and ourselves—the stories we continually recatorgorize and refine. Such subjectivity is built into the very nature of memory, and follows from its basis and mechanisms in the human brain. The wonder is that aberrations of a gross sort are relatively rare, and that, for the most part, our memories are relatively solid and reliable.

We, as human beings, are landed with memory systems that have fallibilities, frailties, and imperfections—but also great flexibility and creativity. Confusion over sources or indifference to them can be a paradoxical strength: if we could tag the sources of all our knowledge, we would be overwhelmed with irrelevant information.

Indifference to source allows us to assimilate what we read, what we are told, what others say and think and write and paint, as intensely and richly as if they were primary experiences. It allows us to see and hear into other minds, to assimilate the art and science and religion of the whole culture, to enter into and contribute to the common mind, the general commonwealth of knowledge. This sort of sharing and participation, this communion, would not be possible if all out knowledge, our memories, were tagged and identified, seen as private, exclusive ours. Memory is dialogic and arises from intercourse of minds.”[1]


[1] Oliver Sacks, “Speak, Memory”, The New York review of Books, 2.21.2013, Vol. LX, #3. 

Cafe life...






Coolness no longer

          even a memory,

I stand

          naked and free;


not even a Jaybird.


Roko
Friday, 22 February 2013
Prospect Hill

coffee, tea and cakes...









Bloc 11


The pleasure of
               coffee, tea and cakes;

together after school
               father and two young sisters.


Kotatsu Roko
Friday, 22 February 2013
Union Square, Somerville

Resilient




Resilient

              moments

     Rise
             
                   buoyant

across a  Sea

                              of Love.



Roko
Friday, 22 February 2013
Prospect Hill

Tuesday, February 12, 2013



For Rinsho


             People


People my mountains and streams;
always walking together we wildly play
a lute without strings,
a dewdrop without lightning
or a dream.

Whoever would fret over this outcome? 

Roko
Monday, 11 February 2013
At One Heart
Prospect Hill

Monday, February 11, 2013


“The harmony of this tune requires you to be a connoisseur before you can appreciate it.”

Now it is 2013, not 2011. This could be no other. It could not be written in 2011.

Meeting all of the dead: Living with each other: A ghost of a chance to break free.

Still we lift everyone. Ever reaching, this moment raised stands alone, a collaboration, but really, do I know what you are saying or am I integrating you into my own fabric as in the imagined one, the one who would cut off his arm to meet himself.

Meeting the dead who are everywhere walking, standing, or talking.

Saying goodbye to our own wished for beings that have never materialized – even if we believe and act as though they have.

You are my teacher. Maybe so. Only in the story, the imagined and named.

But the sweater unravels. No knots at either end ~ the yarn not only comes from emptiness it returns to emptiness ~ is emptiness already without making and even as making. It is gone.

The tautology of the attempted explanation of our being here…just keeps spiraling, but this is before the spiral or even the fugue.

I am grateful to Nina Simone… without whom, this particular book of poems would never exist.

I write for people, to people, particular people; generators and recipients of words.

Some vague audience does not exist. That’s not to say people who read these words who are not the generators instigator recipients will not benefit from reading.  It is just to say the benefit is in the acknowledgment of the gift of inspiration and encouragement to come forward.

Without these people, dead and alive and to be, truly far flung; more dead and we hope more to be than are right now. But right now is when this reading takes place.

Not only is it intended to benefit all being but it is the beneficiary of all beings coming forth from this inmost request we all share and express so differently.

One heart blossoms cruel across the dawn of word speaking.

John High introduces us to the land of our making, Dongshan’s territory that can only be covered by each of us – the territory that can only be covered for us by each of us – the territory no one else can cover for us and which we are inspired, encouraged and welcomed to by others – all others – the dead, the alive, the to be.

I am not talking about history. I am talking about each of our lives an inheritance and gift, a direction of gratitude and grace in a land of Love.

Utterance: the shape of the choreography of our movement seeming through space but as space and not in time but as time being; Only Love For The Time Being .

Kotatsu Roko
Monday, 11 February 2013
Prospect Hill

Thursday, November 15, 2012

Longing is Light


Ah!
This very longing,
The light of being, transmitted.
There is nothing else.




John Bailes: Kotatsu Roko
In response to Douglas Penick’s poem
15 November 2012
Prospect Hill, Somerville

Wednesday, November 14, 2012

the scepter that arises from heart which is all good, always.


Tuesday, 13 November 2012


We, The Monmouth Zen Circle, had a great time sitting zazen last Saturday at Blue Moon Yoga in Shrewsbury NJ. Two brothers, twins, Bassem and Sofi joined us in the afternoon just before the dharma talk. Bassem and Sofi are in third grade. They courteously sat through zazen instruction, and then a good ten minutes of zazen. When I asked them if they had any questions, Sofi asked me about right speech. It didn't take long to get from Right Speech to Jedi Knights and the Force and the light and the dark. I showed them the Jedi Scepter Norman Fischer gave to me. We talked about Bodhisattva's, Warriors, the Light, the Good, the Dark and Beyond light and dark and beyond good and bad. We talked about how posture is deeply related to the light and the good. We talked about good posture as the doorway to "All's Good" and the importance of vertical and horizontal and the scepter that arises from heart which is all good, always. Bassem and Sofi understood this directly. They know. We adults know too but somehow what we call life has gotten in the way. That life is really death. It is not even real death. It is more like purgatory or some kind of hell where we are all waiting for something and we are all hiding from something. If it were real death we would be completely alive. The open heart is scepter, a wand, that makes all good. Open heart is beyond life and death.

Friday, October 19, 2012

We all are or have been tortured souls...


We all are or have been “…tortured souls… trying until the very end to express the inexpressible.” Each of us ought to practice complete respect for each human being’s existential dilemma.

I was deeply touched by this anecdote Freeman Dyson tells about Ludwig Wittgenstein from Dyson’s days as an undergraduate at Cambridge University in the UK for two reasons: 1. It brought to mind Norman Fischer’s talk on Tara and women’s place in Zen practice at the recent Everyday Zen sesshin http://www.everydayzen.org/index.php?Itemid=26&task=viewTeaching&sort=title&option=com_teaching&id=1279.) 2. I think most remarkable is Mr. Dyson’s change of view and understanding of Mr. Wittgenstein plight as years passed and even death, the seeming ultimate signpost of the transitory and ephemeral nature of this life, appears to help transform Dyson’s understanding of Wittgenstein’s situation .

“When I arrived at Cambridge University in 1946, Wittgenstein had just returned from his six years of duty (as an orderly) at the hospital. I held him in the highest respect and was delighted to find him in a room above mine on the same staircase. I frequently met him walking up or down the stairs, but I was too shy to start a conversation. Several times I heard him muttering to himself: ‘I get stupider and stupider every day.’

Finally, toward the end of my time at Cambridge, I ventured to speak to him. I told him I had enjoyed reading the Tractatus, and I asked him whether he still held the same views that he had expressed twenty-eight years earlier. He remained silent for a long time and then said, ‘Which newspaper do you represent?’ I told him I was student and not a journalist, but he never answered my question.

Wittgenstein’s response to me was humiliating, and his response to female students who tried to attend his lectures was even worse. If a woman appeared in the audience, he would remain standing silent until she left the room. I decided he was a charlatan using outrageous behavior to attract attention. I hated him for his rudeness. Fifty years later, walking through a churchyard on the outskirts of Cambridge on a sunny morning in winter, I came by chance on his tombstone, a massive block of stone lightly covered with fresh snow. On the stone was written the single word, ‘Wittgenstein.’ To my surprise, I found that the old hatred was gone, replaced by a deeper understanding. He was at peace, and I was at peace too, in white silence. He was no longer a charlatan. He was a tortured soul, the last survivor of a family with a tragic history, living a lonely life among strangers, trying until the end to express the inexpressible.”[1] Freeman Dyson, What Can You really Know? NYRB, 11.08.2012.



[1] Freeman Dyson, ‘What Can You Really Know?’, NYRB, 11.08.2012.

Wednesday, September 12, 2012

On relating with a teacher...difference becomes clear..


From the pine tree
learn of the pine tree,
And from the bamboo
of the bamboo.
                                                  Basho

“The Japanese word for ‘learn’ (narau) carries the sense of ‘taking after’ something, of making an effort to stand essentially in the same mode of being as the thing one wishes to learn about. It is on the field of sunyata that this becomes possible.”

Keiji Nishitani, Religion and Nothingness.

Thursday, September 6, 2012

The silence of speaking and hearing...



This entire mistake once activated is thus come, even looking someplace else, there is no place else. There is only the expression of the deaf-mute and the silence of speaking and hearing. 

 —Kotatsu Roko as quoted by John High in his new and soon to be published book of poetry: you are everything you are not

Humongous Rhetorical Deluge


Bloc 11



Humongous Rhetorical Deluge
Breezy Ineloquent
Redolent of Schlock!

              The things that make life unbearable:
              No orange poppy seed scones @ Bloc 11 and
              settling for an Almond Croissant
              with my coffee -->
              too sweet!




John Bailes
Kotatsu Roko
Saturday, 1 September 2012
Bloc 11, Somerville

Wednesday, September 5, 2012

for the person of no rank


Zazen for Ordinary People:


  
The act of concentration by which every being gathers itself within itself
– our very being – stretches across an abyss fading into bottomlessness.

From somewhere deep beneath the ground of all being the Form of things - falling apart and scattering – floats up to the surface.

It matters not how gigantic the mountain, how robust the man, nor how sturdy the personality, the question of nothingness, our own, that of the entire world, this very universe, touches the essential quality of all things.

This nothingness is nothing more than a display of illusory appearance essential to all beings. When all beings return to nothing, we leave not a trace behind.

From ancient times people have spoken of the impermanence of things, the nothing that allows not a trace to be left behind lies at the base of all things from the very start.

This is the meaning of impermanence.

As my dear friend Norman Fischer has said, “Only Love.”

I hope to see you in this floating world.




Kotatsu Roko
Wednesday, 5 September 2012
Somerville


Each of us is the...


Primary Point


This is not a flying away.
This is a coming to be,
a bringing to one point
that which already is,
including flying away.

This is not flying away.
This is allowing to be
one point which is already
including flying away.






Kotatsu Roko
Wednesday, 5 September 2012
Somerville

Tuesday, August 28, 2012

Along With the Arctic Ice, the Rich World's Smugness Will Melt


Prospero:
Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits, and
Are melted into air, into thin air:
And like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp'd tow'rs, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on; and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.
The Tempest Act 4, scene 1, 148–158

following  from George Monbiot's article, Along With the Arctic Ice, the Rich World's Smugness Will Melt  28 August 2012, UK Guardian

Sunday, August 26, 2012

You are Everything You Are Not


Upon Glimpsing John High’s Third Act


You are utterly beautiful.
The pain you are now feeling will never go away.
It will only increase in intensity.
The rivets of this life cannot tolerate
the nearness of the Milky Way;
space so dense, the black of black,
so bright, we return.






Kotatsu Roko
Sunday, 19 August 2012
Brooklyn