Rilke tidbit for 2017

Go To the Limits of Your Longing

God speaks to each of us as he makes us,

then walks with us silently out of the night.

These are the words we dimly hear:

You, sent out beyond your recall,

go to the limits of your longing.

Embody me.

Flare up like a flame

and make big shadows I can move in.

Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.

Just keep going. No feeling is final.

Don't let yourself lose me.

Nearby is the country they call life.

You will know it by its seriousness.

Give me your hand.

         - Rainer Maria Rilke, Book of Hours, I 59

At the limits of my longing, I find a tender ache without bottom.  I find a wish to make the world a more peaceful place.  I find a desire to be clear and precise in my thinking.  I find a courage that I did not know I had, where I can hold my many facets and hear the voices of the world around me.  

Things are happening to me, beauty and terror.  I see the slide of our civil society into empty, angry banter.  I see a rise of love in response to the hate - people giving money and time and life.  I am washed in generosity, both my own encounters and the stories I hear.  

It is also clear that I am headed out beyond my recall, and I think we all are.  Perhaps, hopefully, we always have been, and now it is simply coming into clearer focus.  The old strategies of keeping ourselves together are no longer sufficient, and we must discover anew what works.  How can we create a loving and just society?  How can we reach across every aisle to shank hands with whoever is Over There?  How can we discover that it is not such a daunting task, that in fact all it requires is admitting that we really don't know what will happen when we extend ourselves?  

I know 2017 by it's seriousness.  It is the here and now, same as it ever was and simultaneously fresh in each moment.  Where do we begin?  

brushless soul wash

In my thinning collection of books that I lug from place to place, I have a small dog-eared paperback which is a collection of words and phrases from other languages that are really useful yet difficult to succinctly translate into English.  Some favorites are "uovo di Colombo - an idea or solution that seems obvious only after you realize it," or "sohbet - conversations dedicated solely to mystical, meaningful subjects."  There are so many that I love - in Japan, a shrine for broken sewing needles where they are laid to rest in a block of tofu to thank them for their life of service to us.  Instructions whispered to a dying person to help her transition peacefully through her journey after death.  A broad sense of taking things lightly because we see how life really is.  They are all fantastic, and grab me because they touch on something that I knew existed but at the same time did not know.

The one that is bobbing in my ocean of consciousness right now is dharma, a word that I forget is only really familiar to Buddhists and Hindus.  We use it in Zen, and more broadly in Buddhism, to denote something like the teachings that can be gleaned by paying attention to the way of reality.  However, in my little book of phrases, it is translated as "each person's individual journey through life, and their own way of finding it."  I think this is meant to reflect more of Hindu perspective (with which I am not deeply familiar), yet it speaks volumes to me at this moment.

The little boy in the picture above is me, around 1981.  I'm on a pony (or is it just a small horse?) accompanied by my dad, who to me looks really young.  He is 43 years old in the photo, and I was going on 4.  I was the last of his children (five in all from two marriages), and I was lucky enough to have him in my life for all of my childhood.  We went to Chincoteague, VA many summers of my early life, and I think this must be from one of those trips.  I look happy, like the day might have been endless and drenched in the smell of ponies, dust, straw, and the nearby ocean.  

Today, in my thinning collection of hair, I run my fingers gently and look out the window at the late summer sky.  I have just finished a year of living at Zen Mountain Monastery, where I have been a practicing student for several years already.  The year was so full, like extra life was lovingly crammed into a box of space and time.  Sometimes it was graduate school for my soul, sometimes it was a kindergarten time-out to learn real patience and love for the traces of my old, wounded inner child.  I think I sat around nine hundred hours of meditation, which encompassed every experience I could imagine under the sun.  I got dusty and dirty with outdoors work, but spent the majority of my work time holding down the basic bookkeeping for the place.  The whole year was full of light and shadow, and, as we sometimes invoke in zen, in the end it was nothing special.  

How did I end up living in a monastery for a year?  I know it begins back at the Big Bang, which helps me feel more humble and integrated with the unfolding of the cosmos.  Billions of years of time have led up to the fact that I'm here writing this, and you are there reading this.  This present moment is just as full and complete for every other person and thing in the world.  We're not exceptional, us humans, but we are very lucky to laugh and love, to do our best and fall down and get up again.  What a gift, to live this one wild and precious life!  

When I look at that picture of me and my father, I wonder just how many people touched my life in ways that I cannot even recall.  How many people steered me towards goodness and kindness with their own actions?  How many wordless teachings came to me through the endless intersections of lives along my journey?  I remember reading the opening lines of the Tao Te Ching in the beginning of college, and how much it blew away everything I thought I knew about living my life.  What led that Asian philosophy professor to go to Penn State to teach her course that opened the door for me? How is it that we recognize the good, the beautiful, and the true things in life, yet it sometimes take a lifetime to be able to break bad habits and cultivate good ones?  

I started out writing this post as a reflection on my year in the monastery, to try to sum up what I have learned.  That is, of course, not even close to possible.  To touch it lightly, though, I suppose what I've gained is a little more loving spaciousness, the ability to let the world and myself be just as they are.  In that space, I can pay more attention and slow down a little more.  When life is speeding up and tight, I can't really perceive what I need and what needs to be done.  In the spaciousness, I can let things take as long as they need to take.  And in that space, there is kindness.  

There is a door at the end of the hallway, open just a crack, with sunlight coming out.  You push on the door gently, and it opens bit by bit.  It takes a while to step into the Light Room, but it is very much possible.   In that room, it seems that life is what it always was, and you are who you always were.  It's just that the perspective has shifted, broadened, and grown deeper through a loving acceptance of what is.  

Not that we can expect life to always be smooth or easy, but we can meet it with grace, patience, and enthusiasm.  And we can learn to do it in any moment, in every moment.  

pendulate appraising

I'm not who you want me to be.  

In a way, I'm sorry, I suppose, for the discomfort this has caused, may cause, and perhaps will cause in the future.  To be certain, I never was.  It's just who I am.  I love the eerie sound of a shakuhachi flute.  I have quirky sense of humor.  I like walking through the woods with you, but just as much without you.  I still think capitalism has clearly failed, and I don't want to trade my life for money.  I still think most of humanity is not going to survive all that much longer - maybe 100 years if we're lucky?  I love spacing out looking at the sky.  I often don't want to sit yet another period of zazen.  But I'm not really sorry, now that I think of it.  

Truth be told, you are not who I want you to be either.  You're not more considerate in the moments I want you to be more considerate.  You keep making rich desserts when I'm failing to conquer my sugar addiction.  You lean in for more contact when I want to withdraw and collapse.  You love Led Zeppelin in a small, closed space at such a high volume.  You want to sit more zazen.  

And we both belong, so much so that it can't be measured.  It's an aspect of reality that is so true it can't really be conceived of.  You belong, like sitting on a bench with a beautiful woman on a sunny Friday afternoon in late May.  You belong like someone telling you they missed you and giving you a long hug.  You belong crooked, and you belong straight.  You belonged at three years old on a pony, just being there with the smell of the mane and the hay and the hot earth.  

I belonged in a drunken cab zooming through Beijing, going nowhere past beautiful, terrible buildings in the night.  I belong in the shade of a hickory, listening to friends talk about big ideas.  I belong in the tide that is swelling to eat Miami.  I belong on an old steel frame bike, whizzing gracefully through the night along a nameless river.  I belong in the seamless giving and receiving of a waltz, a swing, a tango past the slender flower in a cobalt vase.  

We all belong.  We are all coming home in every moment.  Children being naughty, presidential hopefuls with red-faced hate, policemen with twitchy guns, nuns and hookers and businessmen and mechanics and pit bulls and a million drops of water in the passing cloud.  My white skin next to your black skin, it belongs.  A man's lips on another man's lips, they belong.  Hip hop and tapioca pudding and carbon in the atmosphere, it all belongs.  

Where do we go from here?  Where does this real dream head next?  Belonging is our right by still being here in the moment, but that's also where it ends.  No entitlement, no privilege blinders, no apologies for abusing our power.  From this moment, our responsibility unfolds into the future.  Where do we imagine we are headed?  Do we like the feel of that place?  Do we like this sunny park, this concerto that weeps with my eyes, this American apartheid state, this big box pavement extravaganza, this sweaty addiction, this inability to promise our children anything about life with an honest gut?  

It's a fierce mandate, this singular precious life.  So easy to let it slip... four thousand nervous laughs and a glance away, when facing the wave might just be the wide open medicine we need.  The whole world wants you to wake up, and not in some affirmation or self-congratulation or bliss-chasing dreamsicle.  It's right there with the next bullet, the next kiss, the next iceberg, the next flood, the next laugh, the next here and now.  

Slowly and gently abandoning the monolithic paradigm of a separate self.  It feels like the beautiful work of a lifetime of single steps, learning to trust the unfolding of things, of myself.  

Just Thinking

Got up on a cool morning. Leaned out a window.
No cloud, no wind. Air that flowers held
for awhile. Some dove somewhere.

Been on probation most of my life. And
the rest of my life been condemned. So these moments
count for a lot—peace, you know.

Let the bucket of memory down into the well,
bring it up. Cool, cool minutes. No one
stirring, no plans. Just being there.

This is what the whole thing is about.
—William Stafford

early april

a thousand miles of touch,
this white beard a scratch
in the bright snow...
now green tea falls clean
on a dreaming tongue.

No Praise, No Blame

What have the clouds been up to today? You can't

blame them, you know.  Their edges just

happen, and where they go is the fault of the wind.

I'd like my arrival to be like that, alone and

quiet, really present but never to blame.

And I'd never presume or apologize, and if anyone 

pressed me I'd be gone, and come back there

only some harmless, irresistible presence

all around you, like the truth, something you need,

like the air.  

- William Stafford

creative tension

A friend here at monastery, who has worked for years in large corporations and is now kind enough to be the treasurer for our order, recently told me about planning meetings.  He and the other members of the board and various steering committees are envisioning how best to direct the growth and development of the monastery.  He said that in his last job, they talked about the gap between where the organization was, and where it wanted to be.  In that gap, he says, lies "creative tension."  This phrase immediately fascinated and energized me.  Creative tension...  Where am I right now, and where do I want to be?  What is the nature of the gap between these two states?

It seems to me that we all live in this gap all the time, though we may not always recognize it when life resists our efforts to parse it out into discrete portions.  Perhaps it is more clear when we visualize an artist, a sculptor let's say, looking at a nine foot high block of wood in front of her, holding her mallet and chisel.  She has a vision in her head, and at some point begins the rough hewing of the piece.  She likely has no idea exactly how she wants it to be, but the process is clear - shaping and carving out an expression of her experience from this big chunk of the world.

But you and I, we also live in this gap.  As I sit in a chair looking out the window on a brisk sunny morning, and think of all the things I want to do before a noon appointment.  How do I choose what to do?  How can I learn to make good predictions about how I'll feel getting certain things done and letting go of others?  Each moment I act is creating a path - choosing one way to proceed and letting go of all other imagined ones.

As I sit now at 38 years of age, what do I want to accomplish before turning 40? 45? 60?  Before I die? My life in all these different lenses is a response to the creative tension.  If I really want to write that great novel (just an example, it probably isn't in me :-) then how long can I put off starting it?  Without a goal of having done it by a certain time, it is too easy to let the time slide by with fantasies of future greatness.  If I want to have it done by the time I turn 40, I need to devote many hours to it each week.  Then I'm responding to the creative tension by taking steps.  And, as I take these steps along the way, the creative tension changes its quality, texture, and shape.  I'll need to account for progress I've made on my path, and any outside factors that have come up along the way.  It is evolving all the time.  This process is alive.

I've spent a lot of my life standing on the proverbial Threshold, wondering sometimes how best to proceed. This year of practice at the monastery is pointing me towards the Fierce Urgency of Now, seeing how fleeting and precious this life is and how good it feels to take decisive action from right where I stand.  How can I step into my life fully?  How to respond more seamlessly to this creative tension?

Bit by bit, I'm coming to see that there is no Later, there is only Now.  This moment of sitting and writing is the same moment of my whole life, of the whole unfolding of the universe.  The past is gone and only in my imagination.  The future is not here yet and is only a fantasy.  It will always be this way.  There is only this moment.

So each action is a letting go of the ideas of past and future, and an embrace of What Is, all wrapped up in one.  Learning confidence in my life comes from realizing that it will always be this way.  Everything is a chance and a risk, and brings with it the reward of the unexpected, fresh opportunities of being alive.  When I act from best intentions for myself and the world, then I have fulfilled my duty as a human being.  I have responded to the creative tension of being Chris as best I can.  All else is beyond me, as I have no control over this flowing river of life.  But, the very next moment, I need to respond again, and again.  This is the joyful duty of being a full human being.

What will you do with this one wild and precious life?  How will you enter this sweet moment that is being given to you over and over again?  Even if it seems like not a great moment (when the smoke alarm is going off, your partner is angry with you, and someone on the news is talking about Trump's chances of being president), it is still a perfect moment.  It is yours to make of it what you will.  You are an artist of life - what will you paint next? It's never a burden, though perhaps it is inevitable that we will sometimes see it like that.  It is always a gift.

winter announcing

today is winter's medallion,

the wind shaving bright fractures

in sloth January dreams.

small towns nurse on the firm mountains,

wide Hudson now

whitecaps of cold on cold.

a lean cherry tree

prays bare solitude in the lacy frost.

minds creak with a sudden view

of an ice necklace,

piercing my sky iris

with slender elegance.

a canoe drifts

home to the arctic,

a bleached cedar clings to a gnarled cliff.

and yet...

alone in the embrace of all winters,

the small room catches

passing sunlight and

pools of sweet time. 

smooth mug, vivid sweaters,

wild children eyes and laughter -

the perfection of following

this thread through, nostalgia

for right here and now.

there is no halting,

just potentials of gravestones

and trees decomposing to Beethoven

in a forgotten stretch of frozen woods.

Dispatch from Mt. Tremper in the Heart of Autumn

At times it sounds trite, but these days it feels so fresh - I came to train here at the monastery because I wish to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and avoid coming to my deathbed and worrying whether I could have done more to wake up to life.  

These first six weeks of residential training at Zen Mountain monastery have been so many things - a microscope, a pressure cooker, improvisational dance, a dream, an escape, a stone well in the middle of an empty field at sunset.  As residents we are charged to do our best to pay attention in every moment and see what our minds are doing.  When we get lost, we acknowledge that and return our attention to this moment.  This process repeats itself endlessly.  As I enter such a strong of a container of awareness practice, many things about myself and the world are illuminated.

For instance, the teachers have given me the assignment for this year to be the bookkeeper.  Say it with me... yikes!  Having never had a desk job, and being generally averse to spending a lot of life seated in front of a computer, my initial reaction was strong resistance.  Due to being in the monastery, however, turning down the job is not really an option.  So now I'm the bookkeeper.  

What do I do as bookkeeper?  I enter lots of invoices for various retreats, try to stay on top of people paying their student dues, make sure the ins and outs of money flows match up precisely, assist the office manager in making sure the bills get paid on time, etc.  What else do I do?  I have some moments of deep struggle.  I'm on an unfamiliar PC, doing work that is very new to me, and trying to pay attention to a series of small tasks that all need to be entered with both accuracy and precision even if I'm doing 30 in a row.  I can't zone out or else I end up making mistakes, which I've certainly done in my first month.  If I do make a mistake, it's still bookkeeping - I have to go back and correct it and leave a paper trail for anyone who may look at it in the future and try to understand what happened.  

On a deeper level, I get to see and feel myself doing this job.  When I'm stuck, unsure how to proceed, and don't want to interrupt the office manager yet again to get help with a simple task, how am I proceeding in that moment?  Whatever I do is my response, from freezing up to getting angry at myself to just asking for help.  I feel stories come up, stories that feel deep and old.  I feel tense because I think that my identity as "someone who gets things done and is highly competent" is being threatened.  Is that really true?  I don't know.  I have to be patient and look more closely.  

When I slow down and pay meticulous attention, I also see this job as a chance to give.  Someone has to take care of the money.  It is foolish to deny that we live in a society that places great emphasis on money and how it flows.  I am sometimes honored, and subsequently humbled, that they have chosen me to keep the books even for a year.  They must see something in me that I don't always see, especially in my narrow, fearful moments.  It is also a chance to see myself in a new light.  Maybe I can be meticulous and detail-oriented in a computer job.  If it doesn't always come easy, so what?  I have found nothing in life worth doing that does not require some degree of patience and effort.  

So really, who am I?  Am I a carpenter who is now stuck in a desk job?  I have done a lot of carpentry in my life, but does that mean I am a carpenter?  That sounds suspiciously like there is a Platonic essence of "me" in the universe, which doesn't sit well since I've never actually found that.  Am I competent or incompetent?  Another hard question.  I'm put in a position with very little training and expected to do my best.  It is perfectly reasonable, and expected, really, that I will have lots of questions for a while as I learn how to do things.  Does competency have some independent existence, and I get to have it or not have it?  I don't think so, but it sure feels like that sometimes.  

Am I a thing (soul, bag of skin, carpenter, bookkeeper, poet), or is there just the process of life unfolding?  If I am a thing with a real existence, where and when is that thing?  I'm certainly not the same moment to moment.  I look different every day.  I'm physically different after every breath, every sip of tea, every meal, every trip to the bathroom.  No scientist has yet located either the soul or the mind in our bodies anywhere.  If there is just process, then how do I make peace with that when sometimes I really, really want to be a thing, especially a competent, thoughtful, kind, funny, handsome... well, you get it.  These are the kind of reflections that come and go when you're bookkeeping at a monastery in the mountains.

So am I just navel-gazing, asking ontological and epistemological questions while avoiding real encounters with life?  A valid question, especially in these times of dire need.  I think of this when people still burn down churches in the South in response to black people organizing for their own peace and safety.  I think of this when I read about mass shootings and the age of mass incarceration.  I think of this when I read about every side torturing people from the other side in Every War, Everywhere.  Someone needs to slow down this insanity train we call human civilization.  Is it me?  Am I doing my part?

I don't know, but I can tell you this.  Right now I don't see my way to a life of cloistered monastic living.  In some ways it would be appealing.  I get to live in a well-functioning intentional community of people committed to trying to be kind and honest with each other.  I'm really glad I get to practice in this intense setting for a year, because I so clearly see the benefit in examining and illuminating our true nature.  I think zen practice is really great for that.  Certainly not the only way, but a powerful one.  

What I want to carry out into the world is a softer, more pliable sense of self.  The more I practice, the more often I see that you and I are deeply, truly connected.  We are indeed all just aspects of this beautiful process of life unfolding.  When I can really rest in this process, I feel less defensive and more open.  I can listen and be more present with those in need.  I am kinder to myself, and want to be kind to others in turn.  I see more of the world as sacred and worthy of my care and regard.  I see that to truly turn outwards, we need to first turn the light around and examine ourselves - with curiosity, love, and patience.

Who are you?  How do you want to be in the world?  I know that we all want to do something generous with our lives, to contribute to healing rather than hurting.  How will we offer our deepest, brightest truth?  I don't think it is found in a solid thing, either out in the world or inside ourselves.  So where is it?  

You Reading This, Be Ready

Starting here, what do you want to remember?
How sunlight creeps along a shining floor?
What scent of old wood hovers, what softened
sound from outside fills the air?

Will you ever bring a better gift for the world
than the breathing respect that you carry
wherever you go right now? Are you waiting
for time to show you some better thoughts?

When you turn around, starting here, lift this
new glimpse that you found; carry into evening
all that you want from this day. This interval you spent
reading or hearing this, keep it for life –

What can anyone give you greater than now,
starting here, right in this room, when you turn around?

           

                       - William Stafford

Changing gears on the same highway

Yesterday, I put away all my tools.  I shook out the sawdust from the nooks and crannies, and wiped off the well-used sawblades coated with a fine layer of pitch, copper, and paint.  I put a little lithium grease in the rotating base of my miter saw.  I swept out my truck, and wiped down the boxes that hold all these useful treasures.  I boxed up all the odds and ends from my past three years of carpentry here in the mountains - the remnants of nails, screws, glue, blades, chalk, and caulk.  It was a nice walk down memory lane, thinking of the the jobs I've done while laying out my life in the dappled shade of a Saturday afternoon.

I did all this in preparation for entering the zen monastery in the beginning of September.  I'm retiring for a year, perhaps more, to change the focus of my life.  I feel a little sadness at closing down my carpentry work, but not too much.  Mainly I'm feeling the energy of making a conscious change in direction, of switching the tack of my life for at least a while.

We live our lives as a response to the circumstances of the world around us, and the world of thoughts and feelings within us.  This move is a response to the life I live in, to the life I'm creating as I go along.  I think of it as karma - not a reward or punishment, nor a clear case of some kind of cause and effect.  For me karma is about working with the energy, patterns, and threads of my life without worrying too much about why things seem to be the way they are.  (In fact, the Buddha warned against trying to "figure out" karma in an explicit way.  He said it is infinitely complex and will make you crazy if you try to pin it down.)

There are various threads of my karma that I can roughly perceive in my life right now.  I'm drawn to zen practice (meditation, work, simplicity, frugality, and a worldview that I share with other practitioners).  I am privileged enough to be able to focus on practice for a while, which is no small thing in a world where many people need to struggle just to survive.  I am in the prime of my life physically, so I am able to give with my body and mind in ways that I may not be able to in the future.

Also, I feel that, right now, living in a monastery is a valid response to the tangible insanity of our modern culture.  Mass shootings have become common.  The climate has become unstable.  Systemic violence between the police and people of color seems to be everywhere.  Economic inequality and democratic breakdown are pairing to create a modern fusion of complacency and alienation unprecedented in human history as far as I can tell.

In my time in the monastery, I aim to explore the roots of these social and ecological problems in myself.  It has become clear in the past three years of zen practice that the greed and anger out there in the world are also present in me, as long as I hold on to the notion of a separate self that I need to defend from the world.  I can make the case that my anger is different from the anger of someone shooting people in a church, but I also see that the roots of experience that I touch in my meditation and reflection are the same roots that motivate racial hatred and killing.  As long as I hold myself as separate from the rest of the world in any way, then I will, at some point, necessarily have to defend this Self in thoughts, speech, or action from things that seem to threaten my identity.  How that unfolds is the story of humanity's shadow - wars, slavery, oppression, endless arguments about right and wrong.

For me, I've discovered that a powerful antidote to the fundamental problem of a separate Self is to turn the light around and examine myself.  Who am I?  What aspects of me or the world are actual, real Things?  As I investigate all the phenomena of the world, I have so far only discovered that everything arises and passes away.  If that is true, than what is my identity that I keep clinging to?  Why do I tenaciously cling to an illusory sense of self?  How can I soften that sense of self through being kind and loving?

My answers are not in any particular actions, but in how I am living my life.  It is the process rather than the content, if you will.  How can I sip a cup of coffee generously?  How can I be firm with someone compassionately?  How can I get closer to anger in myself or others?  How can I accept the world as it seems to be without necessarily endorsing the aspects that I dislike?  This is my journey right now.  It feels good, it is sufficient beginning, and yet it is only a beginning.  I hope every moment in my life is like that.  

In Buddhism we talk about merit, which I take roughly to mean good or useful energy.  We offer it or dedicate it to others, as a reminder that our practice is actually to help the whole world and not just move ourselves along some imagined path of self-improvement.  In that spirit, if I should make any merit this year, I offer it to all those who need it.  It's for you in your rough spots, as was all the energy that helped me through my hard times.  Maybe it's all the good things in our lives that we recollect and call upon in our efforts to make the world a better place.

In packing up my tools, I felt deep gratitude to those who have helped me along the way by teaching me, working with me, hiring me, criticizing me, supporting me, and doing everything else that needed to be done.  This goes beyond carpentry into chaplaincy, teaching, backpacking, painting, and writing.  It goes into the nooks and crannies of my life, into the marrow of my curious bones.  I am supported by the efforts of all those who have come before since the beginning of time, which is such a tremendous gift.  If you are reading this, the gift of this moment has been given to you too.  What a joy and a treasure...

tender moment from a Japanese master

A world without

the scattering of blossoms,

without the clouding

over of the moon, would deprive

me of my melancholy. 

- Saigyo

I like this poem for reminding me that my whole journey is nourishing.  It's not even that I find myself in a melancholy mood right now.  For me the power comes from the simple reminder that every passing cloud and shadow in my heart, as well as all the sunshine of joy, is a precious gift given to me.  It's the only life I have.  

child river summer

claims you in that sweet breeze...

the maples, not uprooted a sacred inch, are

        carrying you home.

those crowded thoughts

are rendered                  nowhere

in the wholeness of

a warm cradle solstice.

all these collected efforts are similarly empty

to the shadow tangibles

of ducks on the sky,

rocketing downstream

as a creatively simple braid

of eloquence.

our life is laughter and forgetting

        into the pickling tears of wiz-dumb,

speechlessly recalcitrant.

tonight left me Nothing

as the broadest gift conceivable

in the rhapsody of moon    

on rust

on shivering

  bright

   water.

drop spindle of june morning

it is not exactly joy

that brings me

softly through the barefoot pines

of a June dawn

it is perhaps the dew,

the awe of feathery grass clumps

under my rough arches,

the harsh press of 

acorn caps loving my whole journey

the sweet stolen moment

of solitude,

the vain attempt

to do the nothing work

of dissolving...

just an arc of breath

by the sycamore,

the slender black bird, hopping

on a dead branch

among the ribald orchestra of summer green.

rediscovered porch truths

speckled May mountain

said a prayer for all that is gone,

bowed carelessly with devotion

to what is.

a small listing hut gives shape

to the whole valley - you are a hermit everywhere.

sleeping on straw,

you midwife all the wild roses

and swinging arcs of cardinals,

razor red in the smudged green canvas of trees.

your hands and thoughts are so clear,

they must be integral

to this dream fabric.

look! a sleepy vice sits with rusty bolts,

perfectly still on a leaning table

between the lanky pines.

an old brass lamp hangs

in soft morning mist, glowing

on the stream's surface.

a bough tugs at my shoulder -

leaning, I gaze in the swirls.