poetry, zen, Zen Poetry

Apprehending Beauty

Trailing Arbutus

March 31

Walking the power line cut
through dormant scrub oak and sweet fern
the shaly terrain full of briars and ticks
and there you are:
Trailing Arbutus, ephemeral harbinger of the season
Your prostrate form, tiny white flowers, and simple evergreen leaves
adorning this bleak scene.
Am I the only person who will see you?
Appreciate your brave arrival in this not-yet-Spring-time?
 
And beauty?……
Is it a thing out There?
Mere perception?
Do other creatures feel some difference in the wind or humidity?
Do they revel in the minute changes on the mountain?
Perhaps for them beauty is just
flitting, crawling, eating, mating
Being

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Zen Poetry

Meditation to Find Yourself

pics from pc718

If you’re looking for transformation

go to a gym or a hair stylist or a “life coach”

because the zafu cushion is a circle of deception.

You may experience flashes,

moments that stretch out and out and out….

into a taste of timelessness without reference-

a fleeting feeling of dissolution that gels

into this temporarily aware tendril

trying to hold onto that evanescent ether.

Then the aching knees or hips or heart

reassemble into

just you.

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poetry, winter solstice, zen

Things we used to Know- Winter Solstice

nov-feb 2014 172

Before morning, we knew where the sun would rise
At midday, how high in the sky.
At dusk, over which hill it would set.
Then , which star would be first to wake up,
where and when the moon would appear
and in which guise.

We knew that when shadows are longest
still the sun creeps northward
twig by twig, each day
as it rises anew in the southeastern sky.
We knew the startling hoot of the great horned owl
would come one moon before
the “phoebee” call of the chickadee,
and the phoebee call one moon before
the sap would drip from broken maple branches.
We may have dreaded cold-hearted winter then
but the return of the light was not in doubt

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