I'm on a boat 
My beard in the breeze
Symptom of the Universe
Complete the Circle
All is well 
All is well

IT'S ALREADY DECEMBER 21, 2012

"Many visionaries and prophets expect there to be a huge and sudden shift in the world's story sometime soon. Whether it happens on December 21, 2012 or a later date, a sizable proportion of them even predict that it will be "in the twinkling of an eye" -- a sudden cascade of events that completely changes everything everywhere.


Some paint the scenario in broad, catastrophic strokes, expecting something -- they're not sure what -- that will have the impact of a large meteor strike or nuclear war or pandemic disease. Others harbor a more benign but equally fuzzy expectation, speculating that maybe some higher psychic powers will kick in to the multitudes all at once, or that benevolent extraterrestrials will arrive to solve our energy crisis.


What very few of the prophets do, however, is make a precise prediction about exactly what will happen. Their visions contain no assurances, no specifics. And in my view, that's worse than useless. It fills us with a vague buzz of fear or amorphous sense of hope, but offers no concrete directions about what to do to prevent the dreaded thing or help create the hoped-for thing.


And the fact is, as I see it, they can't possibly know what the Big Shift is -- if, that is, a Big Shift is really looming. The very nature of any Big Shift will be so unexpected, so beyond our imaginations, and so utterly alien to what we understand, that we can't possibly delineate its contours in advance.


I'm reminded of Jung's formula, which is that we don't so much solve our problems as we outgrow them. We add capacities and experiences that eventually make us bigger than the problems.


This theory can be applied in reverse: If we have not yet grown wiser than our current predicament, then we can't see what the evolved state is beyond the predicament. Our minds are as-yet incapable of embodying the vision that will catapult us beyond the problem we're stuck in.


When the Big Shift comes, whether or not it comes in the twinkling of an eye, it will be something that no one foresaw, let alone described in detail. It will be beyond our comprehension, unlike anything we could have visualized headed our way. (Thirty years ago, did anyone imagine the Internet or the impact it's having?)


And if that's true, then the inescapable conclusion is: There's no use trying to plan ahead for it. It's counterproductive to hold a particular scenario in our mind as the likely development. And it's downright crazy to harbor a chronic sense of dread about an unknowable, unimaginable series of events.


The best way to prepare for a Big Shift is to cultivate mental and emotional states that ripen us to be ready for anything:


* a commitment to not getting lost inside our own heads;


* a strategy to avoid being enthralled with the hypnotic lure of painful emotions, past events, and worries about the future;


* a trust in empirical evidence over our time-worn beliefs and old habits;


* a talent for turning up our curiosity full blast and tuning in to the raw truth of every moment with our beginner's mind fully engaged;


* and an eagerness to dwell gracefully in the midst of all the interesting questions that tease and teach us.


Everything I just described also happens to be an excellent way to prime yourself for a chronic, low-grade, always-on, simmering-at-low-heat brand of ecstasy -- a state of being more-or-less permanently in the Tao, in the groove, in the zone."

a drum beat will ripple whiskey in your glass

a Ting-Sha chimes out aural vibrations washing over the distance from metal struck to ear passage hoping for clearance eight auspicious symbols conch knot fish lotus parasol urn wheel banner   

a drum beat will ripple whiskey in your glass dirt underfoot poofs up in brown sugar detonations the wave will give and the wave will take away surfers ride it as far as they can then paddle back out into the blue again (content, happy)  (OK:  stoked) 
this is everything and nothing
a miracle and commonplace 

a cracked earth gave the rising sun eight minutes to cover a distance between massive epicenter and strangely underwater 

"Here's what you need to do", I said to me.  

"Forgive yourself and everyone you have ever been.  Forgive your friends and enemies.  Lost lovers.  Strangers.  Librarians.  Do it now Nemo.  Don't wait.  What you have will slip through your fingers.  Let go the weight as it drags you under the atomic wave."

10 sun days

fireworks 10 year bubble burst each orbit round the sun a mammoth chapter in a colassally colorful pop-up book
[ in the year of the dragon my daughter fell from the sky i just had to find out where she landed ]
each page has a clicking timer only so much clock to read and delight in the 3D trees and pull-tab rainbows and typing cow flaps and Farmer Brown proclamations
[ looking at the chewy rabbit thingy she's up in my arms finally the rabbit my daughter and me ]
chapter one

22 years = rows of corn side by side miles beyond the orange horizon

sunrise today elementary taxi ride through Tacoma's charcoal streets morning school drop-off up through the gates she goes turns to wave blows a kiss a bell rings AND it's 1988 Red Beetle 73 rolling hills Polk County i was raw play-doh fresh out of the plastic cup thin as a heron in black high-tops getting better everyday Tesla mechanical resonance cassette magnetic tape TDK up to 11 Pioneer speakers thumpin the back seat Pacific Highway south for the winter more academia for whatever

what comes is better than what came before

read this today:  Prozac pollution making shrimp reckless ~ as Lou Reed says "What comes is better than what came before" which I want to believe except that shrimp used to go about their business being shrimp writing novellas eating short cake now they drink pipping hot coffee while sashaying at the edge of the Mariana Trench


what comes is better than what came before i need water through my toes a straw hat crown a walking stick Gandalf staff two inflated tires a brain bucket thighs burning chest sucking no batteries nor windows nor clocks nor supposed to be ~ a sundown ride past old houses sunken lots stray cats chasing dogs wild flowers curb scuffs bus routes gutter weeds lotus and mint and people my friends my kin my loves in every direction plus strangers to meet later


your heart beats true and loud your own blood transports sublime melodies more than this more than this the tides bring new things twice a day

the best wishes are just out of reach

the best wishes are just out of reach i have 18 back-up singers singing my praises just under the tidal surface there is life hanging on scavenging squirting floating stinging you can put your hands in it gently small wonders foam over this is the place this is the place surrounded by the fringes of an inland sea find seek sing








thirst inning Cheney is Walt Whitman's heart beating ~ Tacoma's finest fragrance the kelp beds roasting on the low tide sun flats ~ it was good enough for Bing and Neko Case for a while anyway ~ give Grit City a try you will never go back to the last place you called home

a dirge jubilee for Uncle R

so this is the day he left upon the wheel in the sky ~ i bet the Beatles filled the room with pomp and circumstance a last piano chord struck hanging on til the tail-out groove cued the tone arm retract ~ an enso engulfs a point in space the orbit around it being everything else ~ Rio has it all ~ a siege of herons a pod of dolphins 5 miles wide a lotus seed lost in the low tide eel grass sprouts again somewhere unseen on the far side of the sea

The Moor

The Moor

By R. S. Thomas

It was like a church to me.

I entered it on soft foot,

Breath held like a cap in the hand.

It was quiet.

What God was there made himself felt,

Not listened to, in clean colours

That brought a moistening of the eye,

In movement of the wind over grass.

There were no prayers said. But stillness

Of the heart's passions -- that was praise

Enough; and the mind's cession

Of its kingdom. I walked on,

Simple and poor, while the air crumbled

And broke on me generously as bread.

Rip City double-decker pomp and circuspants Lotus ice neon light thru highball glass only so many midoris until sunrise

Sabbaths 1999, VII

By Wendell Berry
(1934 - )






Again I resume the long
lesson: how small a thing
can be pleasing, how little
in this hard world it takes
to satisfy the mind
and bring it to its rest.


With the ongoing havoc
the woods this morning is
almost unnaturally still.
Through stalled air, unshadowed
light, a few leaves fall
of their own weight.


The sky
is gray. It begins in mist
almost at the ground
and rises forever. The trees
rise in silence almost
natural, but not quite,
almost eternal, but
not quite.


What more did I
think I wanted? Here is
what has always been.
Here is what will always
be. Even in me,
the Maker of all this
returns in rest, even
to the slightest of His works,
a yellow leaf slowly
falling, and is pleased.

The Dagger

By Mirabai

(1498 - 1565?)

English version by Robert Bly

The Dark One threw me a glance like a dagger today.

Since that moment, I am insane; I can't find my body.

The pain has gone through my arms and legs, and I can't find my mind.

At least three of my friends are completely mad.

I know the thrower of daggers well; he enjoys roving the woods.

The partridge loves the moon; and the lamplight pulls in the moth.

You know, for the fish, water is precious; without it, the fish dies.

If he is gone, how shall I live? I can't live without him.

Go and speak to the dagger-thrower: Say, Mira belongs to you.

No tongue can tell Your secret

By Hakim Sanai

(1044? - 1150?)

English version by Priya Hemenway

No tongue can tell Your secret

for the measure of the word obscures Your nature.

But the gift of the ear

is that it hears

what the tongue cannot tell.

http://www.poetry-chaikhana.com/

East Coker - excerpt (from Four Quartets)
By T. S. Eliot
(1888 - 1965)


I said to my soul, be still, and let the dark come upon you
Which shall be the darkness of God. As, in a theatre,
The lights are extinguished, for the scene to be changed
With a hollow rumble of wings, with a movement of darkness on darkness,
And we know that the hills and the trees, the distant panorama
And the bold imposing facade are all being rolled away--
Or as, when an underground train, in the tube, stops too long between stations
And the conversation rises and slowly fades into silence
And you see behind every face the mental emptiness deepen
Leaving only the growing terror of nothing to think about;
Or when, under ether, the mind is conscious but conscious of nothing--
I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope
For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love,
For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith
But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.
Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought:
So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.
------------------------------------------------------------------------


Immovable Mind
By Yung-ming Yen-shou
(904 - 975)
English version by John C.H. Wu


You wish to know the spirit of Yung-ming Zen?
Look at the lake in front of the gate.
When the sun shines, it radiates light and brightness,
When the wind comes, there arise ripples and waves.


----------------------------------------------------------------------


Worship
By Dogen
(1200 - 1253)
English version by Steven Heine


A white heron
Hiding itself
In the snowy field,
Where even the winter grass
Cannot be seen.

I've burned my own house down

Kabir

I've burned my own house down,
the torch is in my hand.
Now I'll burn down the house of anyone
who wants to follow me.

As sunlight is attributed to the moon

By Fakhruddin Iraqi

As sunlight is attributed to the moon, so is the Beloved's form ascribed to the lover; but in truth

each image painted
on the canvas of existence
is the form
of the artist himself.
Eternal Ocean
spews forth new waves.
"Waves" we call them;
but there is only the Sea.

Nonexistence

By Ayn al-Qozat Hamadani
(1098 - 1131)





Nonexistence
within existence
is my Rule
getting lost
in getting lost
my Religion.

Mid-August at Sourdough Mountain Lookout ~ Gary Snyder

Down valley a smoke haze
Three days heat, after five days rain
Pitch glows on the fir-cones
Across rocks and meadows
Swarms of new flies.

I cannot remember things I once read
A few friends, but they are in cities.
Drinking cold snow-water from a tin cup
Looking down for miles
Through high still air.

Inside, you are sweet beyond telling…
and the cathedral there, so deeply tall.

~ Rumi
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Zen does not confuse spirituality with thinking about God while one is peeling the potatoes. Zen spirituality is just to peel the potatoes.

- Allan Watts
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