Spanky wondered aloud “ how can people be so clueless,” it was an age old question, one pondered by generations long before Spanky came on the scene and, one Spanky generously acknowledged he was not the original thinker of, still Spanky questioned, why do people need to believe the unbelievable and the indefensible. How is it he thought, that people can spit on empirical evidence and call it opinion, again he spoke for all the creatures in the wood to hear, “how can people not see what is front of their face?”

A little chipmunk nose wiggled out from under a bright green leaf, then eyes and mouth became visible and with one seemingly impossible jump, she was on the stump across from the pondering figure of Spanky. “The answer is easy and it is not easy” she twitted in a sharp chippy voice. Spanky was not surprised at all by this talking chipmunk, he just lifted his head and gave her the same rapt attention he would with anyone who addressed him. He asked with excitement and humility, “please tell me more Ms. Chipmunk if you will.” The little monk smiled back at Spanky, and after turning around three times, found her spot and sat down.

“People are like all of creation, they are frightened by the seeming chaos inherent in the unknown, so like the Blue Bird they scurry about building an ever tightening nest around themselves for protection.” Spanky now deeply in his listening mode, nodded and smiled as the little monk took a breath before continuing. “Unlike the Blue Bird, people use things like greed, distrust and fear to build their nest of protection, what they end up with is not a nest at all, what they end up with is a wall and what a wall it is.”

Spanky sat quietly his eyes were half closed listening to the little monk share her wisdom, From time to time he’d nod as he felt her words fill him to the brim, each nod would make a little more space within Spanky’s brain for another crumb of knowledge. Spanky was content and happy that this little monk would take time out of her busy life to share with him what she knew. Spanky thought to himself as the little monk took a breath, oh how lucky I am to hear such as this.

The little monk read Spanky’s thoughts and ceased talking, she looked at him quizzically, hoping he would notice her questioning gaze and answer for himself. Spanky didn’t disappoint the little monk, he saw the question her scrunched up nose and wide eyes were meant to convey and took a deep breath preparing himself to answer.

Stiff from riding all day, plastic leather seats sticking to my clothes on the dirty city bus. Exhausted from grinding brakes filling my ears, diesel fumes filling my nose and selfish people jostling me like cattle. Stop after stop looking for something, anything that might give me a clue as to why.

Stop after stop Vagabonds pressing their faces against the windows, I wonder if we share the same longings or are they but animals looking for something to steal, looking to feed a primal need far divorced from what I seek. The bus driver guns the engine sending a shudder into their bodies, they shuffle back with only their plaintive gaze intact.

Day passes into night with every stop becoming the same, no recognition in anyones eyes. I ask the same questions as people board, each bus driver shakes their head no, no they have not seen me before, no they can’t help me. I sit down again in the back watching each passenger get on then off, watching crowds rise then dwindle with each new bus coming and going.

Something turns into nothing as my hope melts into the plastic seats on another city bus, no longer seeking recognition or clues, now only hoping for a place to lay my head, maybe a place with the vagabonds and their eternal primal urges.

I asked the monk why he always carried a tear in the corner of his eye, he replied “It binds me to compassion.” But I asked “why a tear?” He smiled and instead asked me a question, “why do you carry a gaping whole in your heart?” I was stunned and speechless but gathered myself answering “It reminds me to be vulnerable.” “Ah” said the monk, “the difference between my tear and your wound is?” We sat in a meadow back to back meditating till the sun went down.

I fall upon the rivers edge,
snow cold cocoon enveloping me
frozen fingers writing in snow,
can’t erase the pain I feel,
can’t erase this mistake
in my life of mistakes,

ancient frozen upon the river,
no bridge to the other side,
no bridge to cross to you.
I see you standing there, your
heart black and blue. Blue
to red then to black turning
back to red as you turn away.

Rolling darkness wraps her arms
around my cold shivering body,
wondering aloud she asks
“where have you been?” Foolishly
I tell her of you, of happy, she
laughs at me for being happy,
even for just a moment.

You gave me wholeness those cold days
when I was alone.
like a child I wanted more, sticky fingers
grabbing before you were ready.
stamping my shoes on the floor
scuffing both, onto an irrevocable path.

Zen melting into dirty attachments,
a petulant boy guised as a man,
nothing between the lines to read,
it’s all there, non-Koan.

How deep can I go I ask her
through desert eyes,
“how long is your life” she asks,
then turns away.
A child acting with self-indulgence
selfishness foolishness,
now a man laying awash in tears,
remorse, futility.
the man seeing clearly awakes,
chilled to the bone upon
the river bank.

I’ll always be alone now that your gone.
My love was real, alas the petulant boy
guised as a man, was more real.

With one hand I pluck a round fragrant orange from the white china bowl, ignoring its pedestrian neighbors. Tossing it from one hand to the other wanting to know it, balancing it on finger tips rotating the fruit in and out of the palms of my smooth yielding hands.

Cupped hands encircling the California navel mimicking god, who cupped the earth, infusing warmth activating the sweet primordial juices beneath dimpled skin. Lonely hands massage the skin following its tactile ridges north to south then round its equator.

Slowly raising the orange to my nose I breathe deeply extracting musty bark flavor, exciting a tart smile at the corners of my mouth causing anticipation releasing saliva squirts into my mouth.

Slowly exhaling and rolling the orange down to my lips my tongue lingers, drawing a wet target and I bite, teeth piercing the peel hard without bruising the tender skin encasing the meat.

First my thumb makes it way under the skin then my fingers join as I carefully keep the peel in one piece, juice escapes first in one drop then in many leaving sticky tracks down my wrists.

My fingers pull at the core releasing the umbilical attachment exposing a hole like Alice may have seen, but instead of sending in my imagination I jam a finger into it spreading apart sections from their sisters clinging grip exposing them to life outside the womb.

To Be Continued….

Winter’s darkness caught me by surprise this year. I had few thoughts of the dimming light till a few days before Christmas when out of the corner of my eye I saw flickering lights.

The lights turned out to be a tug of war between Winter with all it meaning and the sputtering gasp of Fall letting go of its last colors. The Solstice risen up like a monks gray hood enveloping and erasing everything before it, leaving only barren dark cold plains for out memories to dwell upon.

Flickering lights signaling a brief pause before the emotional rolling in of  Winter and it’s bride, heralding the taking up a long extended residence not only outside out homes but inside our souls as well.

Flickering lights reminding us of the never ending turning of the wheel. The wheel turning season unto season breath unto breath creating everything while simultaneously destroying everything. The wheel that never stop unfolding moment unto moment vibrating energy into and then out of form out of reach out of memory. The wheel that is both fear and hope colliding and merging built with the impermanence that is change.

Kitchen Sink

My favorite summertime window is at the kitchen sink, sometimes I stand there for hours after all the bowls are washed.

Through the rusted screen a breeze caress my face, softly shaping my mouth into a smile. Briefly everything melts away leaving only the moment in which to dwell.

The tree branches heavily covered in green leaves gently brush the house, occasionally making a laughing sound with their organic touch.

It’s under the tree my gaze fixes itself today, I watch to see if the gray squirrel might sit against the trunk eyes half closed meditating on what only she knows.

The squirrel and I share the love of simplicity, she going about her day moment to moment, I going about my day bumping into emotions, trash cans and other people.

My favorite summertime window is at the kitchen sink. I stand there for hours after all the bowls are washed.

My surroundings will sometimes fade to nothing, and I’ll smile thinking I don’t really know anything, sometimes the smile is joined by a glistening tear and I’ll think
“isn’t it great.”

Praying For Potatoes

Standing on this corner with a tooth pick in my ear when along came this preachers kid, wearing a pork pie hat praying for potatoes

“Potatoes” I exclaimed,what will you do if you get them? Ha! She shouted and handed me a five pound bag of Brooklyn’s best spuds.

Imeadiatly I crossed the street becoming a Zen monk meditating on the question of starch.

I was Interrupted by an abbot wearing a pork pie hat who told me I was grasping at illusions, then handed me a frying pan as she showed me the door.

Outside and owl sitting on a pork pie hat gave me directions along with two cans of Sterno and a stick of butter.

I found my way to a cardboard city full of hungry people, opened the Sterno and fed the masses with just five pounds of potatoes.

Make mine French a voice commanded from the either, I looked up to see Lou Reed wearing a pork pie hat handing out bottles of ketchup.

I’m back on this corner outside a store that sells only, pork pie hats, I’ve got a suitcase in my hand waiting for the bus then off to the Midwest to plant potatoes.

I never got enlightened but I found the eyes to see what was in front of me. And there will always be a pork pie hat watching my back.

The difference between detachment and non-attachment may seem slight but in reality the two could no be more different. Today’s 100 word story is entitled Detachment, Enjoy!

Detachment

“Open it up Frankie” I said, “open up your stinkn mind.”

“For Christs sake can”t you ever shut up.” Frankie shot back.

Smiling, I shrugged, again I’d been sucked into my own insecurity.

I’d see it, then like a bowling ball racing down a lane I’d crash.

There really weren’t any secrets left, nothing to find.

Detachment like a disease on some hot desert highway ravaged me.

Really I knew the difference yet I wouldn’t change.

Another day waking to palpitating heart and cotton mouth vowing to God.

No matter how much pain I’ll change.

Of course, I never did.

Moons Reflection

The moon reflected in the pond.

Its stillness perplexed me, was this a reflection or really the moon itself.

A fish jumped causing the water to ripple in every direction, yet the moon remained still even as my anxiety mounted.

Another day passed into evening with the moon returning to the pond.

I laid wrapped in knotty rope unable to see the sky, helpless to give contrast to reality.

I questioned my perception of coming and going.

My efforts to escape ebbed.

Worry melted away like chocolate on a sunny day.

Bit by bit consciousness became the flux of impermanence.

If we ever need a reminder that impermanence sometimes seems static we need only look at the pain in our knees during Zazen. Today’s 100 word story is entitled Knees Exploding, Enjoy!

Knees Exploding

My screams teetered on the edge of my lips as my knees threatened to explode.

I imagined a monumental crippling expression of catastrophic proportions, washing over me.

Waves of prickly heat permeated my skin.

Again I stifled the urge to scream, biting my tongue beyond the taste of blood.

Shifting my position was not an option. I dared not disturb those surrounding me.

Inside my screaming grew louder, I pleaded, “make the pain stop”.

My mind would not shift out of terror, hazy hallucinations danced in front of my eyes.

Outside my tortured skull, the bell rang, Zazen, had ended.

Zen talks about each moment arising and if we understand this then each time we meet someone it is for the first time.Each time we see something it is for the first time.

I wonder how different I treat people I meet for the first time to those I have met hundreds of times. Think how wonderful things are for the first time and then see things for the first time. Today’s 100 word story is entitled Nice To See You Again, Enjoy!

Nice To See You Again

Shakti always woke early, then sat on the the bed doing Zazen.

My eyes would open to Shakti’s smile, she’d say, “nice to see you again.”

My hand would rise to meet hers, I’d pull her back to lay with me, are noses touching, giggling a little as we snuggled closer.

One morning she asked “ how do we take a journey?”

“There is no journey, no beginning, no end, remember it’s arising only” I answered.

Momentarily perplexed she started to ask then let go and kissed me.

Kiya Kiya she whispered through her wet lips, we fell back asleep.

Sometimes it’s a loud whack that opens our mind to reality. Today’s 100 word story is entitled A Loud Whack, Enjoy!

A Loud Whack

“It’s something and yet nothing” Angie said, “what do you mean something yet nothing” I asked? She smiled saying” the peace you’re feeling right now.”

A terror overcame me, she knew what I was feeling.

I started jogging in place trying to slow my mind as my thoughts assaulted me from every direction.

A hard stick struck my head with a loud whack. Angie grabbed my arm yelling “ open your eyes, you’re indulging your own fears, open your eyes.”

My eyes opened to see Angie completely alone in a field of opposites, offering me a chair in which to sit.

Reality comes in many forms, if we look closely all those forms may be the same. Today’s 100 word story is entitled Glass Vase, Enjoy!

Glass Vase

caressing the vase filled me with astonishment, the glass offering homage to the light that danced from all directions.

Knelling down I wrapped my arms around this strange and beautiful glass form, pulling it closer.

I ran my tongue over the sides leaving a wet trail of saliva. With my finger I wrote “no distortion”

immediately peering through the smeared damp writing into the clear glass, I could see the paint peeling around the edges of my imagination, discord rose from within reality’s furnace.

I grasped for a vision not there, the glass rewarded me with just what is.