not sure

alone
i return to these woods
where trees reach high, high
above my head
and the earth is a bed of
leaves, living and dead

seated on a felled tree
i write a little
read a little
listen to the highway in the distance

these trees are not illusionary
nor is this stillness of heart
but i begin to think that i dream
even when i believe i am awake

a still night now
the cat's ears lift to catch night sounds
deep between the waking state, deep between the dream
i toss gently

the party

sometimes it is better
to laugh than to be silent

somehow the mind rests
in laughter as in silence

forming new pathways
renewing happiness

the halls

choosing a spot where the path divides
in the thick spring wood
i sit on a stump, legs crossed
and watch dog walkers come and go
emerging and disappearing in these
hidden green halls

hearing their voices before i see them
they come from the dense green leaf light
make comment
their dogs sniff me
and then they pass away into the woods

a blue jay flutters through the leaves
rare, unexpected and marvelous

there is sometimes a precious being
arising unexpectedly
where the path divides

kids

it's saturday night
the young of the world
sing their genuine songs
suddenly youth is something
i am not

youth is a moving picture
a television channel adults aren't supposed
to be watching
i'm a secret midnight viewer

the original temple poem

Moon Sitting

On this high froth-tipped mountain
the temple owns few lamps.
Sit facing the moon's glitter.
Out of season, heart of ice.

Hui Yung (4th-5th century)

difficult week

the temple owns few lamps

contemplating emptiness only delights and soothes me
under certain circumstances

overturned metal garbage pail
an inch of water rippling on top of it
in the wind after the rain

few dishes i use in my kitchen

a painting in white and black

images, images
pictures in my mind
the monkey's fairy tales

emptiness otherwise:
activities, friends, money, work, meaning
ugh! no thank you.
i want all ten thousand lamps in my temple
to light on command!

until true nature seeks the painful darkness

a beautiful night

swooping calling walking flitting
around me, around the bridge
around the makeshift bird feeder
in the green woods
seven different kinds of birds
a cardinal a redwing blackbird
two chickadees a starling
other birds in shades of purples blues blacks
ducks in pairs and groups
and squirrels, swinging to catch the feeder
moving in conscious patterns
beings everywhere!

the man with a spade on the path
by the stream
calls 'beautiful night, isn't it?'
who knows what he and his mother
are digging from the streambed?

at the end of the path
a long haired cat sits on a fallen tree
rising from a sea of yellow green
and tiny flowers
eyes open, watching me
eyes close, in sleep

this is the night i fall in love again
i was waiting for it
and now it is here
a country you stumble upon
once you stop traveling
for the sake of finding