Saturday, December 31, 2011

Alice Notley: Then I Became Mercy

Then I Became Mercy

     Then I became Mercy with her one thousand arms; they were all I was. All over my front and from my back – I had no hidden thoughts. No time, it seemed, for the Secret. The arms were the space of me: what was my face? I tried for a delicate Korean aspect at first, but then I might as well be the cloud: am I the cloud? I’m still not sure. Having the arms one scarcely sees what one does with them. Obviously one cannot choose who one’s merciful to, one doesn't even see them! It’s all arms, arms, arms. I think it works by my simply having the arms, they are what you need; you touch one, and it’s done. You've obtained mercy, which is what? Cessation of your suffering for a time. How do I have this ability? All I can say is that I accepted the arms, the arms themselves. It’s contained in the leap from not having the arms to having them. Once you have them, that’s it. 

Alice Notley, from Culture of One

Thursday, December 29, 2011

Kindness, by Naomi Shihab Nye

Kindness

Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.

Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.

Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing. 
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.

Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to mail letters and
     purchase bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
it is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you every where
like a shadow or a friend.
 



Home
Naomi Shihab Nye
from The Words Under the Words: Selected Poems 

Sunday, December 25, 2011

Che fece .... il gran rifiuto

Che fece .... il gran rifiuto

To certain people there comes a day
when they must say the great Yes or the great No.
He who has the Yes ready within him
immediately reveals himself, and saying it he follows

his honor and his own conviction.
He who refuses does not repent. Should he be asked again,
he would say no again. And yet that no --
the right no -- crushes him for the rest of his life.

Constantine P. Cavafy (1901) 

Ring of Bone, Lew Welch

I saw myself 
a ring of bone 
in the clear stream 
of all of it

and vowed, 
always to be open to it 
that all of it 
might flow through

and then heard 
“ring of bone” where 
ring is what a

bell does.

—Lew Welch

Reflections: One Night in January, 2011

Reflections: One Night in January, 2011

The stories we tell one another 
with equations and statistics, 
sentences and sounds, 
ringing and pealing
true or hollow;
even the truth of hollow.

(O Shirakawa, the Kamo River is a god
Its water magically turning red and green.)
PW's White River Ode circa 1966.

Something BIG &
Brown!

Stylistically revealing
The finger tips on
The IPhone,
the ear phone
VARIANTS.

PW says: “I think ‘form’ is for crystals or for the thing after it has been seen. OK, form it or arrange it to suit your vision, if that’s how you want to spend your afternoons; the things ALREADY have a shape, Ginsberg is absolutely right, MIND IS SHAPELY, ART IS SHAPELY.”

one rock
clinging
time
to morsel.

See Book of Serenity, Case 90.

PW:
he got bigger over time, and bigger.
It was good to walk behind him or alongside,
the swath so wide,
the underbrush, the thicket, brambles and thorns
no longer seeming of
consequence.

Monday, December 19, 2011

Open to the Boundless Heart of Being.


Some Notes From Words of Encouragement: 7th night of Samish Island Sesshin, 26 June 2009

Good Evening:

For those of you who do not know me, my name is John Bailes.  I am a member of what I call Norman’s Stray Cat Zen Lineage.  He took me in a few years ago while travelling in New England, invited me to sit sesshin with him and the various sanghas with which he works.  The next thing I knew I was adopted by the Northwest Sangha: Red Cedar and Mountain Rain, retaking the precepts with Norman and having my ordination name re-translated into the English.  Kotatsu Roko now translates as Immense Arrival Brilliant Disclosure.

Encouragement:  Webster’s says of this word: to give courage, hope or confidence, to embolden, to hearten.  Hearten means to cheer up and cheer, from the Middle English, means bearing or demeanor.  Bearing and demeanor, posture is everything in Zen.  It is how we stand, how we sit, walk, approach, depart, that heartens – our bearing up right and open hearted, direct.

Courage comes from the French corage meaning heart or spirit.  It is the attitude of facing or dealing with anything dangerous, difficult or painful – instead of withdrawing from it – a quality of being fearless.  Remember our Bodhisattva training in the Heart Sutra: The Bodhisattva is without hindrances, or walls as Red Pine would put it, and therefore fearless…brave valorous.

An obsolete form has courage as mind, purpose, in the sense of intention, and spirit again.

As we know in the Far East heart and mind are one.  It is neither intellect, nor emotion but another intelligence; a Being or Presence which is boundless, an Opening which we are and to which we gain access through the practice of zazen and sesshin. The entire intention of this sesshin is to establish ourselves in this courage, to thoroughly apply ourselves to this form – as bearing and demeanor – and through this practice Open to the Boundless Heart of Being.

In this space love arises – love lightens and buoys us – we float together in this viscous, luminous breath of emptiness.  Stillness and Silence – our forms are our language.  Even in this so cherished silence, in this very stillness we are communicating, we are encouraging one another to let go of that gravity ridden body and mind, to release into that being that arises like a lotus in muddy water.

It is in this space that we learn what listening is.  We no longer jump into the gap. Fill that gap with a name, an explanation, a definition.  We let things be as they are: birds, dust mites, thoughts, dreams, emotions.  We listen, we hear, we let go. 

Like a Great Blue Heron waiting for a fish, we stand in beauty.  Our speaking becomes a listening.  No longer are thoughts and words divisive, but they arise like flowers from emptiness. 

The Japanese word IKI can be translated as Grace – in this grace there is no subject object relationship.

IKI is the breath of the stillness of luminous delight.

IKI is the breath of the stillness of luminous delight.

It is what ensnares us and carries us away into stillness.  There is in it nothing anywhere of stimulus and impression.  The delight is some kind of hint that beckons us on.  It is the message of the veils that are opened and opening, peeling back.  Presence has its source in grace – in this sense of the pure delight of the stillness which calls to us.

The Japanese word for language is KOTO BA. 

BA means leaves, including and especially the leaves of a blossom – petals.  Think of cherry and plum blossoms.

KOTO then would be the experience of the occurrence of the lightening message of grace.  Lightening here refers to less weight, in a sense less gravity or sense of rising to meet, as well as the lighting of darkness.

So then language is: the leaves/petals/blossoms that issue forth from that delight which is the radiance of the uniquely unrepeatable moment in the fullness of its grace: the fish for heron, the mite in the light sunbeam for Jeff,
the altar flower arrangement for our Ino, John.

Think of your speech, your words issuing forth from this radiant grace.

Where do our words come from?

What does their speaking satisfy?

Thank you and Good Night.

Wednesday, December 14, 2011

On Angels by Czeslaw Milosz


On Angels by Czeslaw Milosz
All was taken away from you: white dresses,
wings, even existence.
Yet I believe you,
messengers.

There, where the world is turned inside out,
a heavy fabric embroidered with stars and beasts,
you stroll, inspecting the trustworthy seems.

Shorts is your stay here:
now and then at a matinal hour, if the sky is clear,
in a melody repeated by a bird,
or in the smell of apples at close of day
when the light makes the orchards magic.

They say somebody has invented you
but to me this does not sound convincing
for the humans invented themselves as well.

The voice -- no doubt it is a valid proof,
as it can belong only to radiant creatures,
weightless and winged (after all, why not?),
girdled with the lightening.

I have heard that voice many a time when asleep
and, what is strange, I understood more or less
an order or an appeal in an unearthly tongue:

day draw near
another one
do what you can.