45. "Those Who Study The Mystery Are All Artists"
Those who study
the mystery
are all artists--
gently unveiling
the ultimate beauty
of what is.
Our brush is our minds,
our canvas our hearts.
(2018)
44. "The Enormity of Love"
The enormity
of this beauty
is too much
for my mind--
although my
heart already knows.
I am afraid
of touching
the unfolding petals.
The shadows
hold too many
secrets about
existence that
I will never know.
They hold
the paths of
the Great Majority.
Love is dark
and known
only
by the
shining of stars.
It is known
by the
shining of eyes.
It is known
by the
song of ghosts.
It is known
by You
unknown.
(2018)
43. "The Heaviness of Such Beauty"
There is a place
deep under
my belly
where the
universe
keeps a basket
filled with
the knowledge
of its magnificence.
Every once in a while
it sings from this
place;
it calls to me
to dip my fingers
and pull out
a fruit
and place it
against my tongue
to taste
the delicate notes
and archways of lightning
that run
along the melancholy
and wonder.
My knees ache
holding the heaviness
of such beauty.
My heart curls.
The songs
of such
infinite
offerings
become loud
and then
so
quiet.
And everything
about
birth and
death and
the mystery
spills forth.
It really
is
true
Love.
(2018)
42. "Loving the Immensity"
I indulged tonight
earnestly
in that human
yearning
to speak to
immensity
The fragility
of our being
wants to be
seen in all
its shades--
Reflected back
to us by
the grandiosity
of existence.
It told me to
look at the beauty
I beheld
in every moment
as a mirror
And it became
clear,
looking at my
reflection,
That I love her
deeply
through every
layer--
I love her
through
everything.
(2018)
41. "Tassajara Fall Practice Period 2018"
I.
I'm tired.
I'm tired of pretending.
Maybe that's the point.
I'm tired of so little sunlight
and of having to wear the
robes of medieval multi-class
wizard monks.
I'm tired of not eating
at a table in company and
laughter.
I'm tired of not being able
to tell you
I love you.
And yet I look around
now and again--
even though I'm
not supposed to notice
anything but myself
as myself--
And I can't help
but know
that this is the most
beautiful thing
I've done
with my life.
All of it--
all of it.
But especially this.
And this.
I'm tired of my life
being on someone
else's terms.
And maybe that's the point:
There's no path away from
a life being on the terms
of the planet moving
and the ground inching forward.
It's on the terms of
it all.
All of it.
All of you.
II.
The Moon knows me.
So do the naked trees
and their carpet of leaves.
The creek knows me in
its excitement or
languid boredom.
The hot water
knows me
intimately.
You all know me.
As I am.
Now.
With you.
III.
I look down the
road made soft
and cloudy-dreamlike
by the rainfall of
the trees'
summer coat,
all lined with
little bucolic cabins that
have me feeling
nostalgic for times
this body never
knew--
America 200 years ago,
and all its
shades of pilgrim,
my mother's childhood
home,
Japan
in its ages
of art--
Even, I think,
for this moment.
Somehow
I am a part in
all of this.
Somehow this
is all that
I am.
IV.
You
Hurrying down the path
In your billowing
Black costume
That is ridiculous
In how inappropriate it is--
And how endearing--
I do not really know
You.
I never can.
And I hope you know
I hope I know
I love you.
Maybe that thought
Is what is really
Inappropriate and
Endearing here.
I don't know any better.
V.
Drinking caffeine
Makes me anxious.
It's due to it making my
electrons and nerves
fire
fire.
I'm not sure I always
like it.
I know that sometimes
I do.
I don't fall asleep
when sitting still
in the dark and
full-to-empty
room.
Is that what's
needed
here?
How then do I
learn
to
be
with what is,
my heart
bursting
open,
my heart
settling
still?
VI.
I feel a sisterhood
with these slumbering
trees.
They need to feel
their slender limbs
exposed to the
harsh wildness of the world,
its silky movements,
in order to rest fully.
I too know what I
need
to dream my
wild dreams.
(2018)
40. "An Esoteric Poem"
All I want to do
is sit here
and take turns
holding
and being held--
straddling this darkness,
my own core the bridge.
And yet that is
why I know
the profound itch
to consummate with
the light, the chaos.
Without you,
sweet life of
fire and lightning,
there would not
be the refuge
of this shadowy
waterfall.
I would be stuck
in the esoteric--
I would be stuck
writing poems like
this one.
(2018)
39. "How to Continue in These Waters"
This feeling of
being half-under
the turbulent waters
of this human
life--
it's no simple
thing to explain.
I yearn to crack
my ribcage open--
like one would
a fruit of passion
or
a clam, calmly
blue and abiding--
so that my tender
insides would lie
open and soft-pink
in the sun and wind.
For some intangible
reason
She knows that
this is the way
to continue
in these waters
without fear.
(2018)
38. "Different Fingers Pointing to the Same Moon"
In my opinion,
they are all the same.
Every person who
came to love
What Is
fell into accord with
the stillness,
and with that
power
shared it.
So now we
have different names--
so many names--
for What Is.
They are all fine.
They are all glorious.
They are all just
nicknames.
We cannot name
what is so
beyond
words.
And so I am
of the opinion that
The Great Matter,
The Ultimate,
The Darkness,
The Real Love,
The Way,
Life,
Stillness,
Energy,
God--
They are all the same.
I suppose I should have
warned you,
my love,
that I am now a
mystical poet.
Does it really surprise you?
(2018)
37. "An Ode to Zen Buddhism"
Here is a moment
in which
I am so
in Love
with Zen Buddhism.
I don't know the
words,
there are none
to fully
describe my
gratitude
for being
given
the struggles
and grace
of ancestors
who met
the strangeness
of existence
and found it
to be
unbounded
Love
for what is.
It is what is.
I love the bones
of time.
I love your bones
too.
I'm beginning to
glimpse
behind the curtain
and see how
the bones are linked,
inseparable.
The bones of the
Earth
to the bones of
unborn stars
And the bones of
a quiet, wise-eyed
monk
in misty-yeared
China
to the bones of
my settlement
here,
in this moment
eternal.
(2018)
36. "The Poem About the Leaf in the Garden"
I remember
the first time
I saw
the whole
universe--
I mean,
in a way
that could be
understood.
It was all
contained
in a leaf
on the ground
in a garden
in December.
In a flash
so quick
it was almost
nauseating
my brain flew
through the history
of the universe
--as it knows it--
and brought me
from the volcanic soup
from which we
were all born
through our marriage
to mitochondria
through our receptive lives
as plants,
and then,
dinosaurs,
through our death
and resurrection--
Even through the
moment when
we made our
first
confused
call for grace--
And all I could
do
was sit there--
with my heart
pumping blood
through a structure
not unlike the veins
of that leaf--
on the ground,
for a moment,
and then stand
up
and return
to what I thought
was my way
of liberation.
(2018)
35. "To Gaze At You All is All There Is"
It is taught that
to gaze inwardly
is not
to gaze outwardly
at this disturbing
and shining
world.
I think this
as I look
across at you
All of you.
So beautiful.
Why would I live a life
where I would choose
to ignore
the simple sweetness
of human fragility?
How could I ever
come to intimately
know
the tenor of
my nervous system
humming with
the electricity
of love
if I could not
witness it
unfold around me?
In the gentleness of
your hands
as you lift your
bowl
and close your
eyes
to taste what's there--
In the lines of
pain you wear
on your face
as a secret,
not wanting
others to know
your tangled
rounds--
In the hungry
look of your
joyous eyes
telling me,
without sound,
that you see
a delicate moment
draped in delight
unfurling
and you want
so purely
to share it
with me.
I look up and
see the ghosts
of stars
in the sky and
in the heart
of your confusion.
I look up and
see the skeleton
of your face,
unsure of what it is
to be born
or to feel.
I look up and
see the foundations
built in time to
bring me to
the yearning I feel
for your shoulders
and collar bone.
And I see myself,
the ever-changing
surprise.
To gaze at
you all is
all there is.
(2018)
34. "The Stars of the Deep Mountain Sky"
Looking up at these stars,
the ghosts that live
under the blanket
of my nerves
sigh deeply
with their
knowing memory
that for them
It was never any other way.
(2018)
33. "Where Does it All Go?"
Where is this body
when I do not
feel its heaviness?
Its deep bones
and pocketfuls
of organs drenched
in the red tang
of metal-oxygen
blood--
Where is this heart
when I don't
feel it
so firm
as it is now
beating its own
time
inspiring its own
lightning?
What is this
gauze of life
I pull them
from
whenever
I remember
my finitude?
Or,
to put it another way--
Whenever I
remember
the universe
is
me?
When I forget to
love you--
do you know?
How is it that
radiance
of the mystery
can be forgotten?
Can you tell me,
my friend,
what is there
to fear?
(2018)
32. "Why Should I Fear One Darkness and Not the Other?"
I am no stranger
to the realm
of dreams.
I do not fear
sleep
for I trust it
to be as real
as the world
that shines
with my eyes
open.
Today,
I was warm
and so alive
in the deep
state
of a sun drowsiness
on a mild
autumn day
And I felt
the edge
of my life
And it stirred
my animal body
in fear.
Why should I fear
one darkness
and not the
other?
How can I come to
trust the reality
of death
just as I calmly
trust the reality
of dreams?
This life is
precious
and
miraculous
and fragile.
Existence is here.
And maybe I just want
to make sure
I am not an impolite
friend--
Maybe I just want
Her to feel fully
welcome and see
and loved
Before it is time
to turn over
and love another.
(2018)
31. "Jizo Bodhisattva"
Sometimes you learn
it isn't so--
And everything begins
to slip
as the world tips
and your stomach
flips
and your bones
feel like they're
going to catch
on fire.
And then,
sometimes,
you hold your
feet down on
the Earth
anyways
chest full,
eyes here--
on the fire
in your
heart--
and you
release your
fingers
from what
it all was
going to be
and instead
stride
steadfast
into what it
all
is.
(2018)
30. "This Sunny Moment"
The light, airy
gravity
of a sunny
moment
fully felt--
settling into
the
slippery
finitude of
my being--
it is in this
way
I welcome
the light graze
of Your
fingertips
as they stroke
my nervous
system
like a skillful
pianist would
the keys
or
a field of
fireflies
would
the stars.
(2018)
29. "A Precious Spectacle Are We"
My mind
is too full
of clouds
to think
about
all of the
precious
things
in this
world
I do not
have.
I'll have to be
content
with
just
existing
as a confused
collection
of
eternal
stardust.
It'll do
for the
time being.
(2018)
28. "Our Vow"
Our vow
is to live
with our
hearts
vanishing
like fire.
The reality
of what is
wants to meet us;
It sings to us
in the bright
eyes
of the heartsick
and easy
laughter
of the coming dawn.
We sing to it
through
prayer and
gentle breathing.
It's too much,
this love.
Existence
is so vast
my bones ache
trying to
contain it.
I am lucky
it is not all mine.
I am lucky
to share it
with you--
This world full
of beauty,
this universe
and being
that is
beauty
full.
(2018)
27. "A Poem for Little Buddha"
Little Buddha
tasting
what it is
to be
fragile,
to be
sincerely
human--
it is no
wonder
to find
wonder
in the folds
of what
is.
Your bones--
our bones--
hold in so
very much,
close
to the
heart.
The whole
universe
sits
inside
your ribcage.
What do the
echoing songs
of the
great
cosmic
settling--
what do
they sound
like?
Do they sing
in chorus
with
your
pulse?
When
The Little Buddha
breathes in,
reality
focuses.
When
she
exhales,
we are all
released--
We are free
once more
to dance
among the stars.
(2018)
26. "Of Dragons and Bumblebees"
Someone
once explained to me
that dragons make
their own gravity
(in the way
of bumblebees)
and it was a truth
so perplexing
and
profound
I felt the tremors
of its impact
all the way down
in
my
knees.
(2018)
25. "St. Francis"
I am remembering, now,
how I have always
loved
Saint Francis.
There is
a quaint and
lovely story
that my mother
loves to tell
of me,
only three,
sneaking away
from the clamor
of my grandparents'
house
only to be found
alone
quietly washing the feet
of the Saint
with the water
from the birdbath
over which
he presided.
My mother told
me that he was
the patron saint
of animals,
and I was
smitten,
for then,
and always,
I knew
that the best holy
man
and the best holy
act
would be found
in the care of
those who
were voiceless
and innocent--
these beings
we call animals
who only
embody the
divine
instead of
questioning
why.
And now
I read stories
of his
whole-hearted
tenderness towards
the poor,
the flowers,
the birds,
the bears,
the wolves,
and,
of course,
God--
And I find myself
wondering:
At what point
in my twisted
journey
did I leave
behind the little
girl who knew
that to love
was to care for
the feet of
a poet who
sings of trees?
How did I become
a woman
who believes
that such a
being
is one she must
find
outside of
herself?
When did
she form
the idea that
she herself
cannot be
the man
that adores
all of life
as divine,
that she herself
cannot be
the one
who inspirationally
picks up this
twig to play
as a violin,
that she herself
is not
an eccentric,
impoverished,
manic
devotee
to the delicacy
of the world
and all of its
shining
wonders?
Who am I
now
to dare say
that the man
that I fell in love with
so devotionally
when I was
three
is anyone
at all
besides
my own
ridiculously
gracious
self?
(2018)
24. "An Ode to Immortal Monkey"
I have tasted
a tea
ripe
with sacrifice
named,
appropriately,
Immortal Monkey--
The flesh of the leaves,
when allowed
a second coming
in the womb of
my tiny cup
reveal
through my body
their story
of
birth and death.
I can taste
their martyrdom,
and it is not
unlike the stale
taste of
forgotten
bodies
just beginning
to decay.
However,
as with most
sacrifices,
these tea leaves
have brought forth
an energy
that fuels
the frantic
offerings
of this soul
to another--
These leaves,
in their passing,
passed on
the vitality
of men
and God
into this
fresh, organic
collection of
dust
that feels the
cage of ribs
and
her own twisted,
simple, profound
passage through time--
The weight of all
that she's loved
and held inside
her to make
her as sturdy
as a mountain,
or as bright
as a star
that pulls them
all in
at an
orbiting
distance--
All of this
raw
and
molten
lust
for the truth
of the source--
All of this
came from
a Monkey,
now Immortal
through
this process
of life and
death,
birth and
rebirth,
and energy
neither
created
nor
destroyed.
(2018)
23. "An Ode to That Random Temple Volunteer"
Sometimes
I see
Someone
So simple
And sweet
They break
My heart
Open
With their
Beauty.
For example,
Just now,
I saw a man
Who has come
To serve
The temple and
Sample
The divine
As he was
Earnestly
Clearing
Leaf clutter
From the path
With his hands
To make room
For the
Stones
That will
Lead the monks
Down to
The creek.
He felt
The importance
Of his task,
I could see it
In the way
His body
Knelt to the
Earth.
He felt
The importance
Of service,
And my blood
Quickened
With recognition--
We can never really
Know the ways
In which we
Touch
The tender selves
Of another.
(2018)
22. "All I See Are Jizo"
As I watch
my dear friends
so readily
and wearily
dive into the
Hell Realm
to meet and
make friends
with their
shadows and demons--
I wonder--
Do I too
have a place
so filled with
anguish?
Investigating
the mystery,
I turn the light
on my caverns
and find
that I do indeed
have a dark place.
And,
to be honest,
I find it
to be
wet, and warm,
and not
entirely
uncozy.
(2018)
21. "The Bath House at Tassajara"
Floating
in this
ancient bath
I become aware
that I am
only an embryo
in this
eternal womb.
I am so fresh
to this world.
I am so raw
and
I am so sorry
dear mother
for all that
I am ignorant of.
(2018)
20. "The Bathing Goddess"
It is impossible
to ignore
the sweetness
of my
soft body
when sitting
naked and
easy
in the clean
waters
of the Earth's
pulse.
I ease myself
down
into the rush
and dreamily
observe
the cottonwood
floating
like a
fairytale
over my head.
Feeling
the fresh skin
of my upper thigh
rest
against
the natural reality
I find myself
delighting
in the thought
that I have
just
remembered
what it is
to actually be
a woman.
I climb out
of the creek
and
upon re-entry
into the world
of mortal craft
I notice my reflection--
and there stands
Aphrodite.
I cannot help
but think so.
(2018)
19. "John and Maura"
It is from my father
that I learned how to
laugh and delight
in the absurd
And it is from my mother
that I learned how to
listen with rapt attention
when my heart grew loud.
(2018)
18. "Dear Divine"
I let go of You
the way I wish
I could let go
of a hindering love.
I lost You,
and in so doing
found no reason
to believe in magic
or divinity.
You became only
and aggregate of
confused images
piled together
into an idea
so absurd
and heartbreaking
the only thing
that made sense
to do
was keep running.
People kept telling me
that I'd find
what I was looking for
when I just stopped
seeking
and allowed myself
to just be.
And I did not
believe them.
And I did not know
that it was actually
You
that I was looking for.
And so I moved in
with the monks
under the vague notion
that I wanted to heal
and it was with them
that I would learn how--
And they taught me
about suffering,
and I recognized it--
and emptiness,
and my darkness sang--
and how the connection
of all beings
is the universe,
and I heartily nodded
in agreement--
And then they taught me
that everything
I could ever
want to know
about life
could be found
in the depths
of being,
And so I sat still.
And I waited
and watched
until I realized
that all that
the monks were
teaching me
after all
was how to find
You.
You were hidden
in my veins
as a parade
of fireflies,
in my stomach
as the aching
knowledge,
in my breath
as the steadiness
of life,
and my heart
as an unbounded devotion
to subtle beauty.
You were hidden
in the folds
of my blossoming,
as you were hidden
in my sorrow
and pain.
I needed to forget.
I needed to forget
in order to realize
the absurdity
of you being
external and unloving,
in order to be driven
into the arms of
my own wondrous being,
in order to recognize
that I am just
a softly breathing
membrane that
holds it all in
to let it all out
in every moment
in You--
The Universe,
The Radiant,
The Terrible,
The Perfect.
(2018)
17. "Enough"
I.
My teacher kept saying,
"You are enough,
do not seek for
more,"
And my heart cried out.
I thought I deserved
more
after all of this.
I felt it was owed to me
because I was trying
so hard
to be good and virtuous
and unconditionally loving.
"You are not owed
anything
other than what
you already are."
But this isn't the whole picture!
-I'd quiver and shout silently-
This being could only be
half
of what is--
I know I am only a fragment,
I can feel it in this
hole,
there must be something
more!
"Anything more
is already
in you."
II.
I struggled with the
unbelievably beautiful
yearnings
that pulled and pushed
me--
the ones that were
provided to me
as a child
and made me cry
sweet tears,
even then,
with their aching--
III.
And then,
like falling
in love,
I slowly began to
fall
into accordance
with my life--
Just as I would
be subsumed by his eyes
I would be
captivated by that light beam.
Just as I would
long for his fingers
I would stretch
towards my own warm blood.
Just as I would
give everything to see his smile
I found myself
Resting in the ease of my own.
And in finding
That I was not only
whole,
but
everything,
I fell in love with
what it is to love.
IV.
It is enough
to exist
in the bones of this body,
in the light of this face,
in the splendor of my
own kaleidoscopic mind
and crafty fingers.
It is enough
to feel
the immense throbbing love
for every moment--
including, of course,
the ones in which I still
yearn.
It is all more than enough.
(2018)
16. "Oh, Fierce Rose Bush!"
Hello
gentle rose bush!
I hope that
you are never told
to dishonor
your thorns--
For it is your
whole being--
the bud,
the blossom,
the naked stem
and tender leaves,
the deep roots,
the bony structure,
and, of course,
your marvelous
display of
thorns--
that teaches me
to be respectful
of all things.
Oh,
Fierce Rose Bush!
I need no other
teacher,
for you have
already taught me
all that I need
to know--
Perhaps,
most pertinently,
how it is
to listen to
something,
to really hear it,
when all it has
to communicate with
Are petals
of sunlight
and
spines that
leave me
aching
and
aware
of this fragile
nature
of being.
(2018)
15. "The Burden of Riches"
I aim to not
be burdened by
riches--
and yet
here I am
in the soft sun
of the morning garden
knowing I am
loved by roses--
and surely
there can be
no greater
bounty of riches
than that.
(2018)
14. "This Moment is So Full"
This moment
is so full
and it is
only getting fuller.
Life is seeping
into the pores
of time--
Hello quiet sunlight,
Hello river of wind,
Hello cry of crow!
The whole universe
is rushing
to meet me
right here,
right now.
I'm expanding--
it's expanding--
full to bursting
with light and tension
and then--
Pop!
Nothingness.
And we begin again.
(2018)
13. "Gentle Owl"
I see you
snowy white
and soft
as you carefully
navigate the
delicate branches
of that mighty
oak tree,
gentle
so as to not
wake the buds.
Your luminosity
shines through,
bright and shy
against the sky--
it is easy to mistake you
for the moon.
I am still
not convinced
that your eyes
are not
stars.
It is often hard
for us all
to understand
that something
as delicate and lovely
as a plum blossom
is also a
fierce force
of life and knowing.
It is easy to
mistake
the owl as she
carefully watches
the night
to be only a
messenger of God.
It is fortunate
for all of us
that her clear eyes
and burning heart
already know the dim-lit truth--
She is God.
She is boundless.
She has wisdom
hidden deep under
her feathers.
And she sees us.
she knows.
(2018)
12. "Winter Solstice Ceremony Poem"
This green valley
is quiet
during winter hours
quiet
like the deep
pause between
heartbeats
so quiet
the monks
have no choice
but to sit
still in the dark
and feel the
warmth
of their blood
and brotherhood.
The not-so-icy
wind bellows
through the
sunshine days
and clear star nights
it blows
across the naked
treetops,
inviting them
to a slow dance,
welcoming
the breath of ancestors
into this old barn.
In the dark green
of winter
bones can
re-settle into
the earth
and minds can
re-settle into
the void
and find it
singing
in this valley
of soft soil
and full bellies
feeding
full hearts.
(2017)
11. "The Teapot Christening Poem"
(Written via orations of dharma friends)
The ocean meeting the forest floor.
The stones revealed at low tide.
The place where an animal sleeps.
If stars had a smell--
If I were about to approach
the scent of a star--
Celestial wind and brine,
Star brewery.
Lichen and barnacles,
All in one.
It's some part of the city,
sitting on a fire escape,
nose near the rust.
It's a very animal smell
for a plant--
so clean.
It's nice to re-taste this tea
That I thought I knew so well.
We're the instruments for this pot
to brew tea.
Spaciousness and restraint,
within the universe of the pot--
I'm nervous to meet you,
You're so pretty.
A gaelic pub, a century old--
There are few things greater
Than young Scottish men
in boots.
A mineral tang,
Gets you high,
Elemental.
"Why do you pour water on top?"
"She told us to."
Now she looks like wet rocks.
"When she tells me
That I'm ready
To touch her,
I'll have questions."
The taste has moved
To my mid-tongue,
Like the shadows of snakes
In seashore grasses.
I can't describe it,
But I'll point it out to you.
This is essential.
Just this is essential.
(2017)
10. "Poetic Musings of a Young Lady Monk"
I.
I've been told my whole life that
Love is what transcends the
Aching hollowness
And it is the illuminated path
In an existence of
Chaotic and unsettling darkness.
Thus,
Love is the only thing worth
Struggling upstream for,
It is the only thing that demands
Complete surrender and courage
And loyalty.
Many would assume that war
Requires such grand dedication
As well--
But in a generation of
Over-stimulated minds and
Gentle hands,
Such animal yearnings
As those designed in war
Are only figments of the minds
of the artists and billionaires.
For the rest of us,
Coasting along the worn-out
Tracks of civil lives,
We can only remember
Our warm blood and bodies
When pressed against the
Hipbones and stomach hairs
Of another.
II.
To love is to be alive,
Or so I'm told.
It is to be pulled from the fog
Of the digitized reality and
Return to our bones and organs.
It is to remember
What a heartbeat feels like.
It is to remember
What boundless opportunities
For depth and understanding
Can arise from simply
Gazing into the eyes of
Someone who adores
You.
III.
Our minds are vast
And fragile,
And are never without
The comfort of
A distraction away
From the sheer emptiness
Of our thoughts.
IV.
So,
I am taught to be beautiful
But to not feel it
And I am taught to be interested
But not interesting
Because
Men are taught that they cannot handle
The wholeness of a radiant human being,
And instead must yearn for an ideal.
And I am taught that I am nothing
Without the love of others,
And then re-taught that I am
Complete within myself,
All the while forgetting that
I am a series of complicated
Nerves and tissues entirely reliant
Upon the electric current of the
Ubiquitous you.
And so
Now I struggle against all
That I've been
Told
And try to instead
navigate all that I've
Experienced.
V.
My jawline is weak and undefined,
My lips are scarred from birth,
My stomach is puffy and
My chest is flat.
My mind spirals out of control
From emotional confusion and
I cannot help but hold the
Impression that the idea of me
Is a little bit better than the idea
Of anyone else.
I'm afraid that I cannot attain
What I've been told to attain,
Afraid of acknowledging the
Emptiness of my heart and blood.
I'm afraid that no one can see
My shadowed light as brilliant.
And yet
I remember the soft scratches
Of encouragement along
My shoulders
And spontaneous outbursts
Of excitement and delight
For just being present
And I know what it is to be
Kissed and held as though I were
Something precious and
Worthwhile.
VI.
I know that this day
Is sunny,
And that sunlight helps
Lift the clouds
In my mind so that
My heart can be
Fully expressed as a
Beacon of gratitude.
I know that I am grateful
For this body,
Even as I look at
My hands and face and
Clearly see what they
Will look like when they
Belong to an old woman.
I know that I believe in
Loving someone,
In always loving someone,
Because that is my
My greatest work of art.
I believe that not chasing after
An idea of what love can be,
And instead experiencing the love
As it is,
That that is where the space
Exists for this being
To settle
Into her own life.
VII.
There is a depth to this existence
That I did not know of for a long,
long time.
When I can push away the gauze
Created by too little or too much
Sleep,
Too little or too much
Food,
Too little or too much
Human contact,
Exercise,
Media consumption,
Sex,
Yoga,
Sunlight,
Water,
Love--
When I lift the veil
Created by my body
In this relative world--
Then I can,
If even for a moment,
Touch the nerve of being.
It is deep.
It is wide.
It is simple in its clear complexity.
It is whole.
VIII.
In such a reality,
You are perfect.
I am nothing more,
And nothing less.
Our lives and breath
Are in tune,
Because everything is.
Everything is singing for us
In this moment,
Including you.
Including me.
IX.
It will fade,
And you will fade,
Much more quickly
Than I will--
Or maybe it's the other way around.
Your life will become nothing
But a fragmented story to me
Until it is lost in the sea
Of other people's stories
And our life
As it is right now
Will only be a grey memory,
Conjured consistently
And passionately
At first for replay
After replay, and then,
Eventually,
Only randomly.
X.
I don't know what emotions will
Hold hands with these memories--
If it will be the emotions of
Sunshine on the beach
And in the hills,
Or fog on a summer morning,
Or perhaps
--And this one feels the most true--
The Moon in the garden,
With our breath smelling like
Tea and fresh vows.
Existing in memories and
Accepting them as a part
Of this delicate and perfect
Present moment--
That seems like enough for now.
That seems like love.
(2017)
9. "Sisterhood"
These hands are raw,
and by that I mean near arid.
They work hard for me
navigating this blistering world.
I like to think that these hands indicate
that I held life firmly
instead of letting it slip through my fingers.
And yet
I think about the Inuit women
and how they had to eat raw seal fat
to survive.
And I think about the Syrian women
who have to drink dirty water
so that they don’t become shells.
And I think about the Sioux women
Who would eat buffalo and wild, bitter berries
in harmony
before my ancestors came and forced them
to eat beef that suffered with a side of
warm Budweiser beer.
I think about the Saudi girls
traded as commodities to men eager
to use them up.
And I think about the Tibetan women
aching for their cool mountain protectors
as they lie exposed in an aching world.
And I think about American women of color
who have been mothers, poets, and teachers
throughout our country’s twisted history–
but who are continuously and systematically repaid
by weights on their shoulders and hearts,
attempting to teach them that they don’t know
how to stand tall.
And I look back at my delicate, papery hands
made dry by use in my ideal life,
and I look at my heart that has
suffered
and I feel the pain that runs like
arteries and veins throughout all women
connecting us all to the same struggling heart.
And I feel the depth of womanhood
being pulled from my belly,
and I see this dance of empathy being entangled
with the beat of my privileged ignorance.
And I wonder at what it means to be alive
as a human animal
on this small jewel suspended in the abyss
of an ever-expanding universe.
And I question who put this idea into my head
that the present lasts for only a moment
and not the entirety of a lifetime.
And I question who put this idea into my head
that love occupies my fragile frame
instead of the entirety of the cosmos.
(2017)
8. "Zazen II"
Sit down
Simply sit down, be still
Be nothing but a skeleton
Gently breathing
Be nothing but a collection of years
Softly running their course
Be nothing but a watchman
Protecting your thoughts as they sleep.
Can you feel it?
The energy that flows down your spine?
Your spine--
Tethering the synapses of stars with
The blooming sacral ground
Connecting all of the universes' history with
This fracturing, fractal moment
Supporting the stones of flesh with
The old Redwood trees.
Eternity flows
It flows just as the mind flows
Rushing through your life and
Through your veins
Pulling apart the heart as it grasps
At memories of warm hands
Seeping into depths beyond depths
Of old, tired, tangled roots.
Can you taste it?
The quietness of this morning air?
This sleepy, cool air
Is full of the breath of ancestors
Who were heartbroken and joyous
Is full of reminders from the Moon
That life is stimulated by desire,
Is full of the promise of a coming day,
A day full of clambering dances with the ephemeral.
Sit down
Simply sit down, and be
Be everything that the universe has directed
In its grand tapestry of time
Be everything you have ever touched and loved,
and feel the fullness of a heartbeat.
Be everything that has been and will be again,
For that is your only true form.
Are you awake?
(2016)
7. "Zazen"
Breathe in, allow in, dissolve in
The thin air of this moment
Until your lungs expand beyond
Your slender ribs and push
The cracking bones outward--
Outside, outer space, outer being
Reconnecting with the emptiness
Of our patient and lonely Mother
Holding all of us close to her
As fading starlight traces her eyelids--
Can you see yourself right now?
You are smooth, silky, slender
Tripping over undiscovered notions
While you break your fall
On the ever-present potential for internal fire--
Intimacy sinks deep into you
As your body settles down, down, gone
Washing your thoughts in muddy water
Hoping they come out clean and fresh
And unburdened by your twisted life--
Fall back, fall down, settle down
Open yourself to the potential
That you know nothing about
Anything you find splendid,
Just as it should be.
(2016)
6. "Lessons in Stillness"
I have learned to walk lightly
Upon this Earth
For I am wind and dust.
I have learned to feel my skeleton
Amongst my strength and apathy
And know when it feels at home.
I have learned to look in the eye
Of a person I love
When they forget how amazed they actually are.
I have learned that difference
Actually means nothing
When we are all small wonders.
I have learned to reach deep within myself
To feel the nerve of my being
Expressed as light and dark.
I have learned the beauty of being raw
Of being naked and exposed
Because then I can be known as a miracle.
I have learned to see untamed fire
Burning in the bellies and eyes
As truth of pain and awareness.
I have learned that suffering runs like
Arteries and veins throughout all beings
Connecting us to the same struggling heart.
I have learned that to be alive
Is the most amazing wonder
That could ever be in all the cosmos.
(2016)
5. "My Cells Are the Air and Soil"
How do I fully encapsulate the entirety,
The complexity of this moment inside,
In my thin and fragile shell of a body,
Membrane of a body that can't hold anything in,
That can't hold anything out because I am it all,
It is all me quietly being expressed momentarily,
Eternally as my cells are the air and soil,
The sun and stars and yet they are ignorant--
They are absorbed in their personal story of birth
And death so that they cannot absolve,
Dissolve their hold on understanding,
Knowing ancestrally that they are special.
In fact they are everything
But only because they are nothing.
(2016)
4. "You Are Nothing But Stardust"
Laying here, in a void
Amongst voids
The starlight pulls
My eyes up, up
Up to the effervescent cascade
Of stars
Laughing, singing
Softly covering my fragile skin
In the sprinkling tingles
Of a light bubbling sensation
Running along my veins
Enveloping, encompassing
Encushioning
My pale slopes, valleys, and ridges
Enlightening my shallow
Being with the power
And grace
Of eternity and nothingness
Swallowing my tiny heartbeat
And hugging it close
To this rough world
This cold world
This world of rage and monumental,
Profound, simple, complete
Beauty
The stars whisper to me
"You are nothing but
The culmination of eternal, ethereal
Desire
You are nothing but
A fractal splinter of
Eternity
You are nothing but stardust,
Same as we."
(2016)
3. "Living, Truly"
Meandering, softly.
Looking in a deep, real way.
Gazing, fully.
What is this flower of stars?
Covering memories of stale dust
Star dust
Covering the staggering chasm.
Abyss, entirely.
Gentle light
Filtering through afternoon leaves
So much more awake than
Those of the morning,
So much more tired.
Surrounded by blossoms,
Expanding, delicately
Reminding us of color
Remembering the vivacity of potential
Growth.
Growing, surely.
Embracing the wild, raw heart
Experiencing visceral beauty
Reminding us of what it means
To actually be alive.
Being, justly.
Limbs among limbs
Climbing to the clouds
Connecting our field of existence
With the ethereal practice
OF the cosmos
Showering real energy
Down into this garden.
(2016)
2. "Momentary Refuge"
I am reminded of how wonderful it all is
When a fly stops to rest on my arm.
Without consideration, I attempt to blow it away.
It is unperturbed, even as my arm jostles back
and forth while writing this.
What is it experiencing?
Why did it choose me for refuge?
Am I awake?
(2016)
1."Sitting in the Monastery Garden"
I can sit and feel the sunlight,
feel my being in concert with the
wind as it courses through the trees,
through the bamboo, a river of
unleashed and raw energy, covering our
World like a network of nerves and veins and flesh.
In this moment, connected and tethered to
my Planet like an embryo in the womb
I am just as attached to the swaying dark green
as I am to the memories of dark rooms and
stale air cushioning a stale existence.
It makes me worry: How can you not realize
The reality of birth and death?
How curious it is to live a life where
my tissues are comprised of the Earth and the Stars
and secrets thoughts in an attempt to
connect more fully, feeling remorse for those
Beings who do not have this potential and
hindrance, instead of allowing everything
to be.
Memories of screens, shifting through the pain
of nothing, of disconnect, of guilt and shame
that stem from nothing but my own strangled desire,
my own unique potential to love deeply
and not know how loved I was in return.
Is it enough to be grateful?
To feel this moment? To feel this person?
Is it enough to care for someone so deeply
that you begin to unearth your roots,
now covered in years of dust, that anchor you
to a pale world of disconnect and anxiety?
What does that care do for you?
What does it do for him?
Can it be the same as the roots underfoot
in this sunny, safe, and pleasant garden?
(2016)
